Before he could draw his weapon, a hand reached out from behind the shipping container and pulled him into the fog.

A muffled groan echoed through the damp air.

Moretti heard it this time.

He spun around, his hand moving rapidly inside his wool coat.

“What the hell is going on?” Moretti shouted.

He looked back at me, his face twisting with rage.

“You brought them,” Moretti hissed.

He drew a heavy black pistol and pointed it at my chest.

James panicked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Moretti, wait,” James said. “You said nobody would get hurt.”

“Shut up, James,” Moretti snapped, his eyes scanning the fog. “Get the baby out of the car. Now.”

James hesitated, looking toward the rear door of the SUV.

He opened the door slowly.

Inside, on the back seat, sat Lily’s plastic car seat.

She was wrapped in her pink blanket, her thumb tucked into her mouth, her small eyes wide and blinking.

She saw James and let out a soft, whimpering cry.

James froze.

His gun hand lowered slightly as he stared at his daughter.