The rain came without warning, the way it does in Miami — one minute the sky was blue, the next it was black, and then the world was water. We'd been at La Casita de Mila for lunch when it hit, and the restaurant filled with the sound of rain on the roof like a thousand fingers drumming.
We'd arrived just as a black SUV with tinted windows pulled away from the back of the restaurant. I caught a glimpse of it — late-model, no plates visible, moving fast but not too fast. The kind of exit that was designed to look casual.
"Ooh, Miami drug lords," Victoria said, watching it disappear around the corner. "How cinematic."
"Very Miami," Sofia agreed, adjusting her sunglasses against the sudden dark. "Everything here is a little cinematic."
Mila came out the back door a moment later, wiping her hands on her apron. "Who was parked back there?" she asked, her smile easy, her eyes scanning the empty spot where the SUV had been.
"Nobody," Victoria said. "Just left."
