Zack just said, “I’ll be damned.” He smiled inwardly, thinking he deserved a fucking Oscar for his acting abilities. He wasn’t surprised in the least that Gentry was getting fingered for the hit. Denny Carmichael was a crafty old fox, after all.

She continued, “Shot him in the chest, then led Babbitt’s security detail on a chase across Chevy Chase and Bethesda.”

He blinked. “Oh.” Zack’s surprise was authentic now. Apparently they had hard evidence Gentry was there at the scene. But Zack still had to employ his acting talents, because it was becoming clear Gentry had been in range of Zack’s Remington, and Zack had failed to see him. “That is very interesting.” He said it as slowly and flatly as he could. “Any idea where he went?”

“He was tracked from Babbitt’s house, and was cornered for a short time, until he blew up a McDonald’s.”

“He did what?”

“Yeah. Tossed nearly a hundred rounds of ammo into a fry cooker.”

Zack burst into laughter. “Holy shit. Kill anybody?”

“No, luckily. Two Townsend men are going to have some pretty bad sunburns for a while. Another security officer was shot in the legs.”

“And then Violator just vanished?”

“For ninety minutes. He then turned up on the Capital Beltway, where he first caused a traffic accident and then carjacked a taxi. The cab was discovered just twenty minutes ago in Bethesda. No sign of Gentry, though there was blood at the scene of the carjacking, and significant blood in the vehicle.”

Zack said, “So he’s hurt, but apparently not so badly he can’t ninja his way across the greater metro area.”

“Exactly. Since about three a.m. we have been monitoring hospitals, all-night pharmacies, and minor emergency clinics, expecting him to show up for supplies. Nothing so far.”

Zack shook his head. “He won’t go to a hospital or a clinic. He’ll treat himself. If he didn’t already have wound management supplies, he’ll get them at a grocery store or a corner market or a vet clinic because he’ll expect you to monitor video feeds at pharmacies. There can’t be more than a dozen that are open all night around here.”

Brewer nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. Any other suggestions?”

Just then, Jordan Mayes leaned into the TOC. “Sorry, Suzanne. I’ll need to borrow Zack for a few minutes. I’ll send him back down when I’m done.”

—

Zack followed Mayes up to seven, neither man speaking the entire way. The older man with the white hair looked exhausted, which Zack found hilarious, because he had been the one in the field the night before, not Jordan Mayes.

Zack was late forties, Mayes was just a few years older, but Mayes was a suit. Zack told himself he wouldn’t let himself go to pot like Mayes when he hit his fifties; hell, not even when he was eighty-five.