The cousin turned back to Wells, and I could only see their feet—pushing the cart deeper inside.
Their feet stopped then, and one of the men walked over toward the wall.What was going on?
I heard a noise then, from inside the garage—a whine of some sort.
Bvvvvvv.
Wells was our C.I., and we had a duty to keep him safe. I considered my options. Inaction was always a choice. Or I could investigate.
Looking both ways, I ducked out of my hiding spot, darted across the alley, and cut into the shadowy space between the next set of buildings.
A buzzing noise began and slowly grew louder. With my back to the wall, I edged along until I was at the mouth of the garage, whose door was halfway down.
I crouched to look inside, and saw that Travis was in the far corner, behind the cart. The cousin’s back was to me.
That’s when I saw it.
A glint of something.
A diamond blade, spinning.
And then where it was headed: across Travis Wells’s face.
I heard a scream unlike anything I’d ever heard before.
And a spray of red flashed across the concrete wall inside the garage.
I swallowed.
I’d heard bone cut at dozens of autopsies during my career. And a diamond blade was stronger than any autopsy tool.
I ran back to my old hiding spot in the shadows. Texted Cassie—
Go. I’m a minute behind you.
As I sent the message, the storage door rolled up, and the cousin came out into the light. He pulled a work rag from his pocket and wiped at his face. A moment later, he walked back inside the shed and came out with a set of keys. Firing up the Camaro, he drove it past his truck. Then backed the sports car into the storage unit and locked the place.
He took out his phone and held it to his ear. I heard two words—
“It’s done.”
I cursed under my breath.
Another C.I. gone.
Craig Poulton would not be happy.
CHAPTER THIRTY
We followed the F-150 with the U-Haul attached to its rear, but hung back a good fifteen car lengths.
Since I’d joined Cassie and Frank in the van, the mood had grown quiet. Cassie sat in the back, again with headphones on, but said nothing. I imagined she was listening for some sign of life from Travis Wells that she was never going to hear.
She glanced over at me. “You’re sure?” she said. “A hundred?”
“The diamond blade started smoking,” I said, “and then it cooled down. His brain material and blood were lubricating it.”
Cassie shook her head, her brown hair crowded inside her hoodie. “Monsters.”
