His white shirt was soaked, clinging to his shoulders in the downpour.

His hands were secured behind his back with silver steel cuffs.

Despite the rain and the hands on his shoulders, his head was held high.

He did not look like a defeated man.

He looked like a hunter who had simply run out of room to run.

Behind him, standing under the wide glass awning of the gala entrance, was Marcus Reed.

Marcus held a dry umbrella, his tailored suit completely untouched by the storm.

Beside Marcus stood Victoria Crane.

She wore a long black evening gown, her arms crossed over her chest to ward off the chill.

Her face was pale and entirely devoid of emotion.

She looked at Alexander with the cold detachment of a stranger.

Marcus leaned toward her and whispered something.

Victoria did not nod, but her jaw tightened.

“Watch his head,” one of the officers called out, pushing Alexander toward the back seat of the cruiser.

Alexander paused just before entering the car.

He turned his head, his eyes scanning the dark street, the parked cars, and the shadows near the alley.