“Michael, she has the files!” Daniel shouted.

I didn’t look back as I pushed through the side door into the cold, damp night air.

The gravel crunched under my boots as I ran toward my car.

In the driveway, Patricia’s white sedan sat idling, the headlights cutting through the dark.

I saw her silhouette emerging from the driver’s side, her coat disheveled, her face twisted in rage.

“Elizabeth!” she screamed, her voice hoarse and raw in the driveway.

I unlocked my SUV with the remote, threw myself into the driver’s seat, and slammed the heavy door.

I locked the doors just as her fingers clawed at the window glass.

Her face was pressed against the glass, her eyes bloodshot, her mouth open in a desperate shout.

I turned the key, put the car in reverse, and backed out into the street.

She stumbled backward, shouting curses that were drowned out by my engine.

The green folder lay on the passenger seat, a heavy weight of paper and ink.

I drove straight to the precinct downtown, the heater blowing cold air against my face.