Twelve hours later, the rain was washing the city clean, but it couldn't touch the grime at Club Vane.
Sarah shifted in the driver’s seat of her unmarked sedan. Her back was stiff. She had been parked across the street since morning, watching the rich and famous filter in through the velvet ropes.
She checked her watch. 9:15 PM.
"Movement," Sarah said into her radio. "Target is on the move."
Through the rain-streaked windshield, she saw a black limo pull up to the VIP entrance. A man stepped out. He wore a silk suit that shimmered under the streetlights.
Darius Krell.
"I have visual on Krell," Sarah said, gripping the steering wheel. "He's entering the side door. He's carrying a briefcase."
"Copy that, Vance," Captain Thorne’s voice crackled in her ear. "Hold position."
Sarah looke
