Sophia hesitated, looking at the sleeping infant in the backseat of my truck.

“Be careful, Daniel,” she said.

“Wade knows his career is over.”

“He’s dangerous when he’s cornered.”

I nodded, got back into my truck, and shifted into drive.

The drive to the old Reed boathouse was short and silent.

The rain fell in thick sheets, blurring the shoreline.

I parked the truck in the brush, turning off the lights to avoid detection.

I checked on Leo, who was still asleep under his blanket.

I locked the doors and walked toward the weathered wooden structure at the water’s edge.

The door creaked open, protesting against the wind.

Inside, the smell of rot and old gasoline was thick.

I turned on my flashlight, the beam cutting through the dust motes.

I found the generator in the far corner, half-covered by a moldy tarp.

I knelt in the dirt, my fingers searching the wooden planks beneath it.

One of the boards gave way with a dull groan.

I reached into the dark cavity, my hand brushing against cold plastic.

It was a waterproof tackle box.