“Is that your equipment?” I ask, eyeing the little bit of what looks like a turntable that I can see.
“Yeah.” He zips it back up and points to each bag as he counts softly. “And it looks like it’s all here.”
“Can you check to see if our phones and whatnot are in with it?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I watch as he opens each bag and looks inside, and I’m not surprised when he doesn’t find anything.
“Do you have any security on your phone?” I ask as he zips up the last bag. “Other than just biometrics or a passcode?”
“No, but it’s a burner, so they won’t find anything on it.”
“It is?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
He tosses me a little smirk. “Yup. Figured out early on in my career that carrying my actual phone on jobs is too big a risk, so I have a burner I use just in case something happens.”
“Smart.”
“What about your phone? I’m assuming you’ve got a shit ton of security on it?”
“I do, but they got my alternate, so they won’t find anything useful on it, either.” I close the trunk.
“Alternate?”
“Let’s just say that phone will lead them right to Jonathan Greely, a day trader from Manhattan who exists on paper and nowhere else. My real phone is locked up in my hotel room.”
“You have a phone set up under your fake name?” He shoots me a confused look. “So it’s not just a name you use as a cover, but a whole-ass identity?”
“Yup,” I say absently, my gaze fixed on the pile of canvas bags as more pieces of the puzzle fall into place.
There’s definitely at least one more accomplice out there, and they must have used a van or some other transport vehicle to get us here.
They might not have been pros, but they were organized, and unless the last guy was one of the bar staff, they had to have been connected to the rave somehow if they were able to drug us and drag our bodies out of there without anyone noticing.
“What’s that face for?” he asks.
“I had a theory that the guys who grabbed us were somehow connected to the rave, and I was just thinking that if they were able to drug us and they have your equipment?—”
“Then someone either gave it to them or let them take it,” he finishes grimly. “So they either worked it, or they knew people who did.”
I nod and mull over everything we know so far. There are so many questions I want to ask and so many blanks that need filling in, but now isn’t the time. We need to leave before anyone else shows up and we have to fight our way out again.
“Was there anything in the truck?” I ask, pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind to percolate while we focus on getting the fuck out of here.
He shakes his head. “The glove box was empty, and the bed only has some sandbags and a couple of old tires in it.”
“How about we get out of here?” I ask. “I’ll drive?”
He nods, and we toss the backpack with our pilfered items in the back seat before getting into the car.
“Do you know where we are?” he asks as I start the engine.
“Yeah.” I put the car in gear. “I checked the map on that asshat’s phone, and we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. From what I could see, it’s about three miles to the main road, and another five or so before we’re on the highway. Then it’s just over a hundred miles to the city limits.”
He leans back in his seat and almost seems to melt into it as I maneuver the car out of the tight parking space and onto the dirt road that will take us away from the cabin. He looks drained, like he’s fighting another wave of fatigue that I’m guessing has nothing to do with being drugged and is his way of dealing with everything that’s happened.
“How are you doing?” I ask, going as fast as I dare on the narrow dirt road.
