My phone on the dashboard screen flashed with a new incoming call.

The caller ID displayed a blocked number.

I pressed the answer button on the steering wheel.

“Allison,” a voice said.

It was not the sender of the text.

It was Grant.

“How are you calling me?” I asked, my eyes scanning the road ahead for an outlet.

“I took the guard’s phone while they were arguing with my mother,” Grant said, his breathing shallow and rapid. “You have to turn around.”

“I am in the middle of an operational pursuit, Grant,” I said.

“It’s a trap,” he said. “There is nothing at the warehouse. The signal is automated.”

I slowed the car down, pulling into the driveway of an abandoned brick church.

The Escalade had missed the turn and was gone from my immediate field of vision.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“Because they are going to kill you if you go there,” he said. “And because I need you to help me.”

I sat in the idling sedan, the wipers sweeping across the windshield with a rhythmic click-clack.