“Stop,” Lorenzo whispered.

He reached out and caught my shoulder.

His grip was firm, his fingers pressing into my collarbone.

We stood perfectly still in the shadow of a large stone urn.

A few yards ahead, the gravel path ended, transitioning into the muddy lawn that sloped down toward the pump house.

A flashlight beam flickered through the trees near the greenhouse.

It was a small, weak light, moving erratically.

“Is that him?” Lorenzo asked.

“He is moving too fast,” I whispered. “He is panicking.”

We watched the light bob up and down, heading toward the brick structure of the pump house.

The pump house contained the controls for the estate’s irrigation system, but it also housed the backup generators for the northern perimeter fence.

“If he cuts the power there, the electric fence goes dead,” Lorenzo said.

“The door is locked,” I said. “Only the managers have the key.”

“He has keys to everything,” Lorenzo said.

We started moving again, faster now, abandoning the path for the soft grass.

My shoes sank into the cold mud, making wet, sucking sounds.