He dropped it onto the dirt.

“Is that all?” Vincent asked.

“Step back,” Derek ordered.

Vincent took three slow steps backward, his hands held open at his sides.

“Now give me the code,” Derek said.

I felt a sudden, sharp pressure against my wrist.

Underneath the long sleeve of my heavy sweater, something hard was taped to my forearm.

It was the small, cylindrical tool Vincent had pressed into my hand hours ago at the estate.

He had told me to keep it hidden.

He had told me it was my last resort.

It was a heavy, steel-tipped glass breaker with a spring-loaded punch.

My fingers brushed against the cold metal tip hidden in my cuff.

Derek did not notice my hand moving.

His attention was split between Vincent and the glowing phone in his hand.

The wind from the harbor blew a strand of hair across my eyes.

“The code is twelve, forty-eight, ninety,” Vincent said.

Derek stared at him, trying to read his face.

“Is that the real code?” Derek asked.

“Try it,” Vincent said.

Derek looked at one of his guards. “Go to the door of the blue container.”