I looked back at the security monitor.

The vehicle had turned off its headlights, but the silhouette of the SUV was visible in the rain.

The wipers on the vehicle were still swiping back and forth, cutting through the downpour.

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” I asked.

“To who?” Madison asked, her voice cracking. “Dad owns the local precinct. He funds their charity drives. He drapes himself in the flag.”

She was right. Richard Brooks was untouchable in this county.

“And Hayes is a decorated colonel,” Madison added. “Who would believe me?”

The wind battered the side of the security office, rattling the loose tin sheets on the roof.

A leak in the ceiling began to drip, the water hitting a stack of old logbooks with a dull thud.

“We need to download these files off the security server,” I said.

“I’m already doing it,” Madison said, tapping the trackpad.

A progress bar appeared on the screen, crawling from forty to forty-five percent.

“How much time do we have?” she asked.

“Not enough,” I said, looking at the dark SUV on the monitor.