Page 110 of Lorenzo

Lorenzo does not look at either vehicle.

He already knows where they are.

“You planned this route,” I say.

His eyes flick toward me for a second. “I’m familiar with the area.”

It must be why he chose this exit.

We reach an industrial stretch with fewer businesses and more empty lots. Chain-link fences run along both sides of the road. Most of the buildings are dark.

The sedan tries to move around the SUV.

The SUV shifts with it, never touching, never forcing enough to cause a collision.

Just pressure.

The sedan moves back into line.

“They’re boxing it in,” I say.

“They’re guiding it.”

“Toward what?”

“You’ll see.”

The crossover takes the next left.

Lorenzo follows.

The sedan hesitates.

The SUV closes the space behind it.

The only clear route is left.

It turns.

The road narrows between two long warehouse buildings. Loading bays line one side. A row of dark windows runs along the other.

There are no pedestrians.

No passing traffic. No cameras visible from the street.

Of course this is where Lorenzo wants them.

The crossover slows ahead, then turns through an open gate.

Lorenzo follows it into a broad paved lot behind the larger warehouse.

The sedan tries to continue past the entrance.

The SUV moves up beside it, forcing it toward the gate.

The sedan jerks left and enters the lot.

Another vehicle appears from behind the warehouse and blocks the exit once all of us are inside.