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Enzo shouts out instructions, and everyone flies into motion. Someone pulls me off the couch, and I stumble to a car, dazed and confused.
By the time I finally start to recover from the shock, we’re halfway to the city. I clutch the unclaimed phone in my trembling hands, staring at the photo of Matilda.
Enzo’s flying down the interstate toward the city, and I pray that we arrive alive. The rest of the crew is behind us, moving at a slightly more acceptable pace, but we’re definitely breaking all the speed limits.
“Enzo,” I caution him as he swings violently onto the off-ramp. I clutch the handle for dear life. “We can’t save her if you kill us.”
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” he moans, letting the speedometer fall a few ticks. “I can’t help it. I’m used to sports cars.”
“Well, we’re in a fucking pickup truck from 1977.” I snap.
He grits his teeth, switching to the map to track our progress again.
“I’m sorry,” I say lamely. “It’s a lot.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“You weren’t yelling,” he assures, throwing me a small smile. “Sometimes we just talk loud, it’s okay.”
We’re five minutes away from the docks. It looks like the location is on the warehouse side of the river, a place I’m not fully familiar with. Enzo maneuvers it like a professional, though, and pulls up near a large metal warehouse.
“What is this place?” I ask, hopping out.
“It’s my warehouse,” he says, giving me a confused glance. “She’s keeping her here?”
“No, wait.” I check the map. “It’s closer to the water, around the back of the building.”
“Let’s check it out.” He nods, pulling me along.
We press ourselves flush against the cold metal walls as we near the corner and stick to the shadows. Enzo rounds the corner first and stops in his tracks.
“What is it?” I ask, peeking around him. A large white luxury yacht sits docked near the warehouse, blazing with lights. I double-check the map and gasp.
That’s the location?
Enzo shoots me a questioning look, and I nod, confirming this is it. He shakes his head and pulls me back around the corner, away from the yacht’s view.
“I don’t like this,” he says nervously. “This could be a setup.”
“We have nothing else,” I plead. “We need to check it out.”
“We will,” he agrees, gritting his teeth. I see the muscle in his jaw twitch and know he’s trying to assess the likelihood of this ending well for us. “But we wait for the others.”
“Fine,” I agree, even though I’m ready to bolt onto that yacht alone.
We rest against the wall, nervously scouring the parking lot for approaching headlights. I keep my gun pressed flush against my thigh, ready to defend Enzo with all I’ve got if it comes down to that.
“Where are they?” I whisper anxiously. “They were right behind us when we left the house.”
“Lenny,” he whispers, his voice low and gruff. “That was an hour ago, and you know how fast I drive. It might be a few more minutes.”
His hand finds mine in the darkness, and I grab it, holding on for dear life. Silence stretches between us, no sounds around us except late-night traffic and tugboats.
“Enzo,” I beg, itching to go.A minute out here is a minute I’m away from Matilda.
A piercing shriek throws us into action. Enzo’s around the corner in seconds, and I blindly run after him, using the wall as my guide.