The high-pressure wash of D.C. rain hit Rhea's face the moment she and Lyra burst through the parking garage exit door into the alley.
Fifty yards down the narrow lane, the black SUV sat idling, its hazard lights dark, tires resting on the wet asphalt like a coiled spring. Madam Vane swung the rear passenger door open from the inside, her tactical rifle resting across her knees as she swept the surrounding rooftops for marksmen.
"In! Move!" Madam Vane ordered.
Rhea shoved Lyra through the door first, then pulled herself into the leather cabin, slamming the door shut. Before her seatbelt could even click into place, the SUV's tires spun against the slick pavement, accelerating hard down the alley and making a sharp, aggressive right turn onto Constitution Avenue.
Behind them, the Se
