“They’re looking for me. If I need to outrun them, I don’t mind another ticket.” He pushed back the driver’s seat and started the car. “We probably only have minutes until they get here.” He sped out of the parking area. “Tell me there’s a back entrance to this complex.”

“Yep. Take the next right and then left.” She reached back for her seat belt. “Where are we going?”

“I have a storage unit a few hours away and we need to hit that for more supplies.” He took a corner slowly.

She secured the belt. “Like clothing?”

“Yes, as well as weapons and the copied case files.”

Figured. He couldn’t go minutes without his case files. “You know, if the killer isn’t Lassiter, it’s not our case. Why don’t you let Tate and Metro do their jobs and worry about getting yourself out of this mess?” She wouldn’t watch his obsession kill him.

“Because the team is the target, regardless of the killer’s identity.” He spoke almost absently and turned the radio to the news. “Let’s keep track in case they find another body.”

She looked at her purse on the floor. “Wait. I forgot my new phone.”

Angus kept driving. “Sorry, but it’s on your counter. Mine is turned off, and I’ll toss it in a garbage can on the way—once we’re far enough from your place. These phones can be tracked, and right now, I’d like to stay under the radar until we figure out where to go.”

She shivered. For years, she’d worked for government agencies. Now she was hiding from them.

* * *

Right after a dinner of fast-food sandwiches, Angus knocked on the metal door of the loft, smiling when Jethro opened it.

“Ah, shite,” the Brit said as Roscoe pushed past him to start scouting. He sighed. He was dressed in black sweats with a green shirt, and his usual glasses were perched on his straight nose, his brown eyes more resigned than irritated. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” Angus gestured Nari ahead of him and then followed, one large duffel over his shoulder and the other in his hand. “Sorry to intrude, but we really didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Nari kept moving into the industrial-style loft, walking to the floor-to-ceiling windows gridded with metal. “This place is amazing,” she said, turning around and viewing the open design. There was a massive gas fireplace flanked on one side by the living room and on the other by a rec room with a pool table and a bar.

Angus looked to the left, where the cement-block kitchen lay. “You don’t—shit.”

Roscoe jumped onto the metal dining table, captured a bottle of red wine, and quickly tipped it back. He finished the last gulp and tossed the empty bottle with a shake of his head.