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Authors: Craig Schaefer
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sighed.
“Nope, I don’t date coworkers, and Harmony here insists she isn’t queer.” She cupped her hand to one side of her mouth and dropped to a stage whisper. “We need to talk to her about her wardrobe, okay?”
“I meant Kevin ,” April said, both of them ignoring my very best death glare. “This is a good sign. He’s taking his first steps, growing past his fixation on Mikki. Tracking Roman Steranko should still be our top priority once this mission is complete—for his client list as much as anything else—but Kevin might just be able to find closure on his own.”
“Can you keep an eye on him while we grab Lawrence?” I asked her. “Just in case.”
She shooed us off. “I won’t let him get in over his head. Now, go on: I’m sure the esteemed Agent Lawrence has spent the better part of his evening coming up with new insults for us, and you won’t want to miss a single one.”
Beyond the parking lot, a wide and pebbled path snaked into the sparse forest. We were still on the lodge’s grounds, and it showed—all the trees were carefully pruned back, the path swept clean. A taste of nature, without the messy bits. Small signs posted at each branch in the trail bore letters artfully seared into the wood, pointing the way to the private cabins.
We could tell which was Agent Lawrence’s cabin as soon as we rounded the bend. It was the one with the kicked-in front door hanging on one twisted hinge.
Jessie’s smile vanished, and the Glock seemed to sprout from her hand, drawn in a blur. I pulled mine, keeping it in a firm grip as we kept low and headed for the log cabin in a cautious sprint. We didn’t need to talk: we knew what to do and what we expected of each other.
Jessie was the first one across the threshold, sweeping her gun sights left. I stepped in at her shoulder and broke right, covering the other half of the room. I took it all in—the splintered furniture, the ransacked luggage on the sliced-open mattress—but no signs of life. And a single corpse, laying facedown on the cabin floor in a pool of dried blood.
I kicked him over onto his back. Not Lawrence. I didn’t know the man, but he’d met his doom with a range-perfect Mozambique Drill: two shots to center mass and one between the eyes.
“Lawrence put up a fight,” Jessie said, prowling the wreckage.
I put on my glasses and snapped a postmortem photo. Whoever the dead man was, if he was in the system, we’d find him. Then I crouched down and peeled his bloody shirt back to get a good look at his skin. His flesh, where he’d been left facedown, was mottled and purple.
“Extensive livor mortis,” I said. “Can’t tell time of death for certain without a full forensic workup, but I’d say this happened sometime last night.”
Jessie shook her head. “Lawrence is still alive. If they’d killed him, they would have left his body here with their buddy’s. That means he’s been in enemy hands for at least eight hours.”
We shared a glance, and the same thought, as we raced from the ransacked cabin and back up the pebbled trail. April and Kevin.
We found them just where we’d left them. Kevin, chatting up his new friends, and April—invisible in her chair—idly watching the lobby from a spot by the windows. We broke off, Jessie striding toward April while I moved up and clamped a hand on Kevin’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” I told him, “the CEO’s on the phone, calling from New York. He wants to talk to us about that new infrastructure improvement.”
He said his good-byes, and we hustled the entire team back up to our room. Jessie walked them through what we’d found. Kevin’s eyes got wider, while April’s got harder.
“To say we have a security leak would be an understatement,” April said, “and it’s about to get much worse. If they’ve taken Lawrence alive, they’re wringing him dry as we speak.”
I paced the room, thinking fast. “Not here, though. They need someplace remote, away from the
“Nope, I don’t date coworkers, and Harmony here insists she isn’t queer.” She cupped her hand to one side of her mouth and dropped to a stage whisper. “We need to talk to her about her wardrobe, okay?”
“I meant Kevin ,” April said, both of them ignoring my very best death glare. “This is a good sign. He’s taking his first steps, growing past his fixation on Mikki. Tracking Roman Steranko should still be our top priority once this mission is complete—for his client list as much as anything else—but Kevin might just be able to find closure on his own.”
“Can you keep an eye on him while we grab Lawrence?” I asked her. “Just in case.”
She shooed us off. “I won’t let him get in over his head. Now, go on: I’m sure the esteemed Agent Lawrence has spent the better part of his evening coming up with new insults for us, and you won’t want to miss a single one.”
Beyond the parking lot, a wide and pebbled path snaked into the sparse forest. We were still on the lodge’s grounds, and it showed—all the trees were carefully pruned back, the path swept clean. A taste of nature, without the messy bits. Small signs posted at each branch in the trail bore letters artfully seared into the wood, pointing the way to the private cabins.
We could tell which was Agent Lawrence’s cabin as soon as we rounded the bend. It was the one with the kicked-in front door hanging on one twisted hinge.
Jessie’s smile vanished, and the Glock seemed to sprout from her hand, drawn in a blur. I pulled mine, keeping it in a firm grip as we kept low and headed for the log cabin in a cautious sprint. We didn’t need to talk: we knew what to do and what we expected of each other.
Jessie was the first one across the threshold, sweeping her gun sights left. I stepped in at her shoulder and broke right, covering the other half of the room. I took it all in—the splintered furniture, the ransacked luggage on the sliced-open mattress—but no signs of life. And a single corpse, laying facedown on the cabin floor in a pool of dried blood.
I kicked him over onto his back. Not Lawrence. I didn’t know the man, but he’d met his doom with a range-perfect Mozambique Drill: two shots to center mass and one between the eyes.
“Lawrence put up a fight,” Jessie said, prowling the wreckage.
I put on my glasses and snapped a postmortem photo. Whoever the dead man was, if he was in the system, we’d find him. Then I crouched down and peeled his bloody shirt back to get a good look at his skin. His flesh, where he’d been left facedown, was mottled and purple.
“Extensive livor mortis,” I said. “Can’t tell time of death for certain without a full forensic workup, but I’d say this happened sometime last night.”
Jessie shook her head. “Lawrence is still alive. If they’d killed him, they would have left his body here with their buddy’s. That means he’s been in enemy hands for at least eight hours.”
We shared a glance, and the same thought, as we raced from the ransacked cabin and back up the pebbled trail. April and Kevin.
We found them just where we’d left them. Kevin, chatting up his new friends, and April—invisible in her chair—idly watching the lobby from a spot by the windows. We broke off, Jessie striding toward April while I moved up and clamped a hand on Kevin’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” I told him, “the CEO’s on the phone, calling from New York. He wants to talk to us about that new infrastructure improvement.”
He said his good-byes, and we hustled the entire team back up to our room. Jessie walked them through what we’d found. Kevin’s eyes got wider, while April’s got harder.
“To say we have a security leak would be an understatement,” April said, “and it’s about to get much worse. If they’ve taken Lawrence alive, they’re wringing him dry as we speak.”
I paced the room, thinking fast. “Not here, though. They need someplace remote, away from the
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