Page 360

Then metal crashes.

“Vehicle disabled,” Trent says.

“Navarro?”

“No visual.”

I enter the office.

Empty.

A computer burns inside a metal trash can.

Papers cover the floor.

A rear door swings open.

Navarro ran.

“Kane, west.”

We move through the door.

The black SUV has crashed into a concrete barrier.

The driver’s door hangs open.

No one is inside.

Footprints cross the dirt toward the hills.

“Taylor, drone.”

“Already moving.”

We follow the tracks.

Holt joins us from the north.

Trent and Arthur approach from the wrecked vehicle.

Will guards the warehouse.

“Heat source ahead,” Taylor says. “Moving toward the ridge.”

We run.

The ground rises sharply.

Loose rocks slide beneath our boots.

Navarro appears near the top.

He looks back.

Then he fires.

The bullet strikes the ground near Kane.