The Warehouse

The warehouse district looked dead. Abandoned buildings. Broken windows. Streetlights that hadn't worked in years. Davis drove slowly through empty streets.

"This is a bad idea," he said for the tenth time.

"You've made that clear," Nickey replied.

Trina sat in the back seat. Silent. Her hand rested on her stomach. The baby. Their baby. Growing inside her while they drove toward possible death.

"You should have stayed at the safe house," Nickey told her.

"And wait to hear you died? No. We're in this together. That's what we said."

Davis pulled over two blocks from the coordinates. Cut the engine. Darkness surrounded them.

"The FBI is on their way," he said. "ETA thirty minutes. We should wait."

"We don't have thirty minutes. These people know we found the tattoo. They're probably moving operations right now."

"Or setting a trap."

"Probably that too."

Davis opened the trunk.