The door flew open, and cold rain lashed against my face.

The alley was dark, lit only by a single flickering streetlamp at the corner.

Rainwater rushed along the asphalt, soaking my shoes instantly.

Daniel pulled me toward his car, which was parked half on the sidewalk fifty yards away.

Behind us, two men emerged from the stairwell into the rain.

One of them was Graham, his expensive coat ruined by the downpour.

The other man was older, taller, with a sharp jawline and grey hair slicked back by the rain.

It was Vance Harrison.

“Claire, stop!” Graham yelled, jogging toward us.

Vance didn’t run; he walked deliberately, his eyes locked on the leather book under my arm.

Daniel unlocked his car with a click of his key fob.

“Get in,” Daniel shouted over the noise of the rain and the blaring alarm.

I threw myself into the passenger seat, pulling the ledger close to my chest.

Daniel scrambled into the driver’s side and slammed the door.

He shoved the key into the ignition, and the engine roared to life.