“That dot is moving,” Derek muttered.

His thumb hovered over the glass.

“It is heading toward the north terminal,” Vincent said.

He did not move a muscle.

“You lie,” Derek spat.

He dragged me backward, his arm choking my throat.

My shoes scraped against the concrete floor.

“If I am lying, go look for yourself,” Vincent said.

“We are going together,” Derek said.

He whistled loudly, the sound echoing through the empty rafters.

Two men in dark coats emerged from the shadows of the warehouse.

They carried short automatic rifles.

“Keep him covered,” Derek told them.

The guards pointed their weapons at Vincent’s chest.

Derek pulled me toward the metal double doors at the back of the room.

The cold air hit my face as we stepped onto the outdoor loading dock.

It was dark outside, the sky a bruised purple.

Large shipping containers stood in neat, towering rows.

This was the main shipping terminal of the harbor.

The smell of salt water and diesel fuel was thick in the air.

Derek kept the gun pressed hard against my temple.

“Move,” he whispered in my ear.