We walked out of the apartment, locking the door behind us.

The midday Miami heat hit me like a physical wall as we stepped onto the parking lot.

The air was thick, smelling of salt water and hot asphalt.

Marisol unlocked her sedan, the black leather seats radiating heat.

I climbed into the passenger seat, my heart still hammering against my ribs.

We drove down Brickell Avenue, the tall glass towers reflecting the blinding Florida sun.

“We need to be careful with Monica,” Marisol said, keeping her eyes on the traffic.

“Do you think she’s setting us up?” I asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe Derek used her just like he uses everyone else.”

“He has a way of making people feel important,” I said, remembering how he once made me feel. “Until he doesn’t need them anymore.”

We pulled up near the public library on Flagler Street.

A silver sedan was parked under the shade of a massive banyan tree.

A young woman with dark hair sat behind the wheel, her face buried in her hands.

Marisol parked behind her and turned off the engine.