The tires screeched on the wet asphalt as she backed out of the space.

She swung the wheel hard, the headlights sweeping across the front of the hospital.

In the glare, I saw the man’s face clearly for a split second.

It wasn’t Julian.

It was one of Eleanor Thorne’s private security guards, a man named Miller.

He held his phone to his ear, his lips moving rapidly as he watched us pull away.

“He’s calling it in,” I said.

Nora drove fast toward the parking lot exit, her eyes darting to the rearview mirror.

“We have the drive,” she said. “That’s what matters.”

“But we can’t use it yet,” I said. “If we go to the police now, Julian’s people in the department will bury it.”

“I know,” Nora said. “We need a secure connection to upload this to the federal database.”

“We can’t go to my house,” I said. “They’ll be waiting there.”

“We’ll go to my office,” Nora said. “The state attorney’s server is encrypted. Once it’s on their system, Julian can’t touch it.”

We drove out of the hospital gates and onto the main road.