“Looks like they planned to bail,” Grant said. “You think we tipped them off?”
“Makes no sense,” Cody replied, tossing clothes out the back of the SUV. “Why let the hookers in if they know we’re in the neighborhood?” He shook his head and the video blurred. “Bags are a no-go.” He backed out butt-first and sat his ass down in a second-row bucket seat. “Any ideas here, Jay?”
“Anything jammed beside the front seat console?”
Cody copped a quick feel on both sides. “No, and nothing in the footwells either.”
“Then it’s not there,” Jay said. “Looks like you’re up, Kincaid.”
“Roger that,” he said, pulling his gun and doing a safety check before snapping on a suppressor. A precaution. Adam’s orders were clear. Zero body count. He didn’t say anything about broken faces though, and Hoyt deserved a little payback for abandoning his unit and stealing their equipment. A message his fist was happy to deliver.
“Any change to status?” Cody asked, coming up alongside the driver’s door as Grant’s boots hit the ground.
“Nope.” He tossed the handheld thermal scanner to the former marine. “One heat signature coming from the back shed. No one else on the property. Jay?”
“Nothing on the police scanners,” he replied. “Nearest car is fifteen minutes away.”
“I’ll be in and out in ten,” Grant said, hitting the record button on the arm of his smart glasses. The butt of his Glock solid in his palm, he crossed the street, slipped into the shadows, and used the shell of an old Camaro for cover.
“Got you on thermal,” Cody said through the earpiece. “No other heat signatures besides Hoyt. Asshole’s horizontal. Right rear.”
“Confirming camera is recording,” Jay added.
“Copy that,” Grant replied, gesturing to the yellow strip of light seeping out from under the shed door.
“Looks like Hoyt’s still awake,” Cody drawled, stating the obvious. “Must be your lucky day, Kincaid. As a reminder, your orders are to find out what happened to our shit and get out. No filling the little fucker full of lead. Please acknowledge you’re a pussy with a limp dick prior to initiating contact. Over and out.”
Fucking Babbitt.
Grant flipped him a thermal finger as he crossed a small patch of dirt, and the asshole laughed in his ear.
“Clear for breach,” Cody said when Grant came within range.
He didn’t bother with a response. Size twelve connecting with weathered wood, the flimsy shed damn near collapsed when the door splintered open and hoping the roof didn’t come down on his head, he entered gun first.
A familiar orange T-shirt sprang upright from a lumpy mattress in the corner. The faded Kix logo offering an excellent target between empty hands held in the air. “Nice T-shirt, asshole. Where’s the rest of my shit?”
“Sold it,” Hoyt said, eyes flitting to the door behind Grant before landing back on the Glock pointed at his chest.
Too obvious. Grant hitched his head, indicating the direction he wanted Hoyt to move in. Hands still in the air, he took a step to the right and another when Grant signaled again. With his weapon now in position to cover both the busted door and the man, he closed the gap to do a quick body search.
No gun, but he found the wire immediately. “Already neutralized your buddies across the street,” Grant said, lifting the orange hem to check out the object attached to the waistband of Hoyt’s jeans.
At the sight of his grandfather’s knife, relief flooded his system, and grateful imitation was the highest form of flattery, he gave a quick prayer of thanks Hoyt had no personality of his own.
“Goes in your pants, fucknut.” He demonstrated by jamming the closed blade into his front pocket, the clip catching the edge to keep it accessible. “Keeps you from losing it in a scuffle. Now, how about you give me the colonel’s laptop, and I’ll let you keep the shirt to stem the blood flow after I break your face.”
“Don’t have it.” Again with the eyes going to the door before circling back.
Trained to recognize when something was off, Grant felt a tingling set up at the base of his neck. Hoyt wasn’t reacting as expected. The last time they were face-to-face there’d been a whole lot of wannabe gangster coming off the man.
Now? Nothing. No false bravado. No fake swagger. No cocky attitude. Nothing but some seriously nervous twitching with a side of anticipation that put Grant on high alert. “Bullshit.” He cocked the trigger, the act meant to intimidate. “You have ten seconds to tell me where the computer is or I’m gonna—”
The movement was subtle.
A dark shadow shifting in the darkness beyond the door.
The only advance warning he needed to duck and cover.
