“Throw Dave in the trunk with Wilson! Don’t forget to dig the tracking device out of Wilson’s left calf,” said Rudd. “Then clean up the shell casings.”

Walsh gave him a thumbs-up before summoning the rest of his team. One of his men remained next to the pickup truck, pressing a bloodied bandage against his face.

“What about her?” asked Ward, nodding at Gray.

“Same thing. I’ll start picking up the shell casings. Grab Nate to help you move Gray.”

“Be right back,” said Ward, handing him the radio and flashlight before taking off.

Rudd picked up the pistol next to Gray’s hand and ejected the magazine. Still a few rounds left. He reinserted the magazine and stuffed the pistol into his waistband. A quick scan of the asphalt around Gray’s body revealed about a dozen shiny brass shell casings and two empty darts. He’d have to search for the rest, which probably lay hidden in the grass in front of the guardrail. The cleanup didn’t need to be perfect. With nothing more than a few reports of gunshots, local authorities wouldn’t have much to pursue. And barring any unforeseen circumstances, this compact crime scene would be long vacated by the time the first law enforcement units arrived.

He knelt next to her and searched her pockets for a phone. If Gray had called 911 at any point since they had stopped her car, he’d have to assume that she’d provided the dispatcher with a description of their vehicles. That would demand additional changes to the route they’d take to reach the drop-off point given to him by CONTROL.

The bullet-riddled sedan and damage to the other vehicles already meant they had to use back roads. An all-points bulletin for the van and pickup truck would necessitate an immediate and discreet vehicle swap. In other words—grand theft auto. A difficult feat at four in the morning in rural Tennessee. Very likely impossible without adding to the operation’s growing body count, which was the last thing he needed right now.

Failing to find anything in her jacket or pants, he rolled Gray onto her back to reveal the phone underneath one of her legs. Two bullet holes had penetrated the center of the screen, less than a half inch apart. Rudd picked up the phone and muttered a few obscenities as Ward and Nate Clark, the other operative assigned to his team, hopped the guardrail next to him.

“That isn’t good,” said Ward, nodding at the phone.