“Don’t go alone,” she said immediately.

“I have to go,” I said. “If I bring police, he’ll run.”

“I’m coming with you,” Elena said, reaching for her coat.

We walked out of the penthouse and took the elevator down to the garage.

The concrete garage was damp and smelled of oil.

My car started with a low growl, the headlights cutting through the darkness.

As we drove out into the cold Minneapolis night, the streets were empty.

The frost on the windshield cracked as the heaters kicked in.

Neither of us spoke.

We turned onto 2nd Street, an industrial area near the river.

The old brick warehouses stood like dark giants against the grey sky.

I pulled the car over near a rusted iron gate.

A single streetlamp flickered overhead, casting long, moving shadows across the pavement.

A dark sedan was parked in the shadow of the brick wall.

The headlights of the sedan flashed once, then went dark.

“Stay in the car,” I told Elena.

“Claire, this is a bad idea,” she said, her hand on my arm.

“I need that drive, Elena,” I said.