It was just before lunchtime when James drove past the Sunset Cheese Factory, the gated parking lot alive with semis and forklifts. Behind the factory was a rundown neighborhood of small, identical houses whose only beauty was the trees that towered above them.
Chris read the house numbers as James maneuvered around cars parked in the street. “It should be that one on the left,” he said, pointing to a white-sided house with a purple porch that stood out among the others.
James pulled into the small driveway and parked behind a black Jeep Cherokee that was missing its rear bumper. He turned off the engine, then handed Chris the keys. “If we run into trouble, I want you to get back to the car and get out of here. Don’t wait for me.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Yes, you are, or I’m going
