Rico's drive back home was total chaos. He managed to escape two crashes that would've been hideously fatal.
His grip on the steering wheel was so tight it felt like the leather might tear beneath his fingers. His hands ached but he didn’t loosen them.
The blurry image from the surveillance footage was still fresh in his memory.
He could remember the day he'd taken her with him to that warehouse. She was strangely curious about everything—the trucks, the number of shipments for departure, how many men worked that hour—and he'd blindly given out all the information.
He isn't someone who'd trust so easily, but this time, he had let his guard down.
Maybe his brain is just playing a cheap trick on him again. Perhaps he's somehow trapped in one of those his deep nightmares of horror. May
