Gibson activated that app now using his own cell phone and waited for it to access the GPS feature on Hendricks’s phone. When it finished loading, a red dot appeared on his phone’s map. It moved steadily north away from the green dot that represented Gibson’s location. He watched it until it stopped moving. Expanding the map with his fingers, he found an address and ran a search on it.

It was the address of a self-storage facility.

A twenty-minute drive out of Somerset, Grafton Storage sat on a dismal two-lane highway banked on both sides by a state park. It came up on his right and was the first structure he had seen in miles. Gibson slowed for a better look.

The property took up the better part of two acres and was a pretty simple operation—a tall razor wire–topped cinder-block wall that circled the property, an automated gate with a small office, and rows and rows of identical one-story warehouses with identical blue rollaway doors. What would possess someone to build a storage facility out here in the middle of nowhere was beyond him. But that probably explained why Grafton Storage was out of business and, from the look of it, had been for some time.

He drove on until he found a dirt road to pull onto and stashed his car. Walking the quarter mile back to Grafton Storage, he didn’t see a single car pass by. The defunct storage business looked even more run-down up close: a battered “For Sale” sign hung slantways from the gate, and thick tufts of grass grew between the cracked asphalt. The thick chain and heavy corroded padlock that barred the gate didn’t look like they’d been disturbed in a hundred years.

Was his program glitching? He closed and reloaded the app that was tracking Hendricks’s location. Nope, it still showed Hendricks as inside Grafton Storage. Gibson looked at the padlock more closely. Were those flecks of steel showing through the rust where someone had worked a key into the stiff lock? When exactly did he become an expert on rusted padlocks?

He looked around. If Jenn and Hendricks really were inside, who had locked the gate behind them? It made no sense unless there was another way in. Or Hendricks had thrown his phone inside the wall to throw him off. But that would mean Hendricks knew he was being followed.

Or, or, or . . .

Gibson rubbed his forehead. There were too many options; time to whittle some of them away.

He called Hendricks’s phone. It rang five or six times before Hendricks answered. Sounded mightily put out too.

Good.

“Hey,” Gibson said as dumbly as he could manage.

“Hey what? Aren’t I done with you? I remember you leaving. Didn’t that happen? I remember that happening.”

“I know. Sorry. Is Jenn there? Got a quick question.”

“She has her own phone, you know? I’m not her secretary.”