“Jake is watching the street for her,” Derek whispered.

We heard the heavy metal door at the top of the stairs creak open.

The sound of sharp heels clicked against the concrete landing.

“Hide,” Carl whispered.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me behind the massive, decommissioned oil tank in the corner.

Derek slipped behind a stack of old wooden doors leaning against the wall.

I pressed myself into the narrow gap between the rusted iron tank and the brickwork.

The smell of old oil and damp earth was thick in the air.

Mallerie stepped onto the basement floor.

She was wearing a dark trench coat, her hair pulled back tightly.

In her right hand, she carried a two-foot-long steel pipe wrench.

In her left, she held a brass key used for the main gas and water valves.

She didn’t look like the woman who had smiled at the neighborhood block parties.

Her face was tight, her lips drawn into a thin, hard line.

She walked straight toward the massive green boiler.

“Jake?” she said aloud, speaking into a wireless earpiece.

“I’m in the basement,” she said.