The driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror and tapped his foot on the accelerator.

“Drizzle’s turning to ice, lady,” he muttered, turning the wheel hard to the left.

I stared at the black screen of my phone.

The silence from my apartment feed was louder than the engine’s drone.

I knew Cole’s career was ending at the Maybourne Grand.

Albright’s military police would have him and Vanessa in custody by now.

But Cole was a planner, and Vanessa had connections that ran deeper than the lobby of the hotel.

They had people who didn’t wear uniforms.

The cab slid to a halt outside my brick apartment building on Sixteenth Street.

I tossed a twenty-dollar bill onto the front seat before the car had fully stopped.

“Keep the change,” I said, grabbing my bag and pushing the door open.

The cold rain stung my cheeks.

The street was empty, the streetlamps casting long, yellow glares across the wet asphalt.

I ran up the concrete steps to the front entrance.

The heavy glass door of the lobby was unlocked.