I could smell the hot scent of burning coolant through the dashboard vents.

The truck was dying, but it only needed to last another mile.

The road curved sharply to the left, climbing the steep hill toward the main house.

I shifted down, keeping the momentum going.

The Whitmore estate appeared through the gray sheet of rain.

It was a massive three-story structure of white stone and dark timber.

Every window on the ground floor was brightly lit, casting long yellow squares across the wet lawn.

I drove the truck straight up to the circular driveway in front of the main entrance.

I slammed on the brakes, sending the truck into a sliding stop on the wet brick pavers.

The engine sputtered once and died.

A heavy silence fell over the cab, broken only by the rhythmic sweeping of the windshield wipers.

I sat there for a second, letting the adrenaline settle in my chest.

My hands were steady on the wheel.

I reached down and turned off the ignition, pocketing the key.

Then I reached into the glove compartment.