“Gregory has too many friends in the county sheriff’s department.”

“The district attorney here has dined at our house three times this year,” Eleanor said.

“They will bury it,” Vance agreed.

“Then we go higher,” I said, starting the engine.

“The federal courthouse in San Francisco is two hours away.”

“We need to get this to the Assistant United States Attorney before Gregory realizes we have it,” I said.

I pulled out of the parking space, keeping my headlights off until we reached the main road.

Behind us, the orange glow of the warehouse fire lit up the sky over the industrial park.

We drove in silence for the first twenty miles, the highway empty under the dark canopy of trees.

My phone buzzed in the center console.

The caller ID showed an unknown number.

I pressed the speaker button.

“Natalie,” Gregory’s voice came through the speakers, calm and cold.

“I hope you and your mother are safe.”

“We’re fine, Gregory,” I said, keeping my voice level.

“I heard there was an accident at one of the logistics facilities tonight,” he said.