“I said drop the crowbar!” the lead deputy roared, stepping onto the bottom stair.

Ryan was shaking so hard the iron slipped out of his fingers on its own. It hit the deck with a clatter. He pulled his leg slowly back out of the window frame and put both hands in the air.

“Hands on the wall! Both of you!”

As the deputies moved in to pat down my brother and my father, a fourth figure walked into the light. No uniform. A tailored trench coat over a sharp suit, and a complete indifference to the rain destroying her shoes.

Marisol.

She came up the steps with the casual authority of an executioner, carrying a thick folder in a waterproof sleeve.