Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
Another fifteen minutes crawled by. She’d been so confident she could find it, but trauma memory wasn’t very accurate.
“There should be a chain-link fence with razor wire,” she muttered. “And a road that curves... no, that’s not right either.”
They passed another cluster of warehouses, all looking weathered and semi-abandoned. Ryder’s voice crackled over comms: “This district is huge. We could be at this all day.”
“We keep looking,” Dom said firmly.
“Wait.” Brie sat up straighter. “That sign. ‘Restricted Area - No Unauthorized Vehicles.’ I remember thinking this couldn’t possibly be the correct route.”
They were getting closer.
“Slow down,” she said as they approached another intersection. “This feels... familiar.”
For another five minutes, they crept along the streets, Brie directing them through turns that seemed random but were guided by some deeper memory.
“There,” she suddenly gasped, her whole body going rigid. “The green dumpster. I parked right behind it.”
Hunter studied the scene. The dumpster sat at an angle, probably hadn’t been emptied in months. Beyond it stretched a cracked parking lot and weedy field leading to another warehouse complex about fifty yards away.
“Siren, possible site located,” Dom said into his comm. “Establish perimeter security.”
Hunter was out first, weapon low but ready. The pack deployed while he opened Brie’s door.
“You’re doing great,” he told her as she stood on shaking legs.
She walked past the dumpster where she’d hidden her car, then stopped at the edge of the parking lot, staring across the field. Her hand rose to point at a loading dock on the far warehouse.
“There. The man with the briefcase was standing at that loading dock.” Her voice was distant, caught in the memory. “I could see them clearly even from here.”
Hunter could see it now, the scene playing out as she described positions. The concrete showed no obvious bloodstain after three weeks of Pacific Northwest rain, but their enhanced senses could detect something beneath the industrial grime.
“Got something,” Axel called from twenty feet away, holding up a shell casing with gloved fingers. “Nine millimeter. Kicked under the dock ledge.”
“This warehouse looks abandoned,” Siren observed, testing the door. Locked, but she had it open in seconds.
The interior was vacant, just dusty concrete and empty shelving. No chemical smell, no evidence of recent use.
“Check the connected buildings,” Dom ordered. “If Brennan was operating here, there would be traces.”
They spread out in pairs, maintaining visual contact as they investigated the warehouse complex. Hunter kept Brie with him and Dom, not willing to let her out of sight.
“Got something,” Ryder’s voice crackled over comms from three buildings over. “You need to see this.”
They converged on Ryder’s location. Even from outside, Hunter could smell it—P2P residue, sharp and unmistakable. Through the loading bay door, they found it.
The lab was massive. Industrial-scale production with three separate cook stations, professional-grade ventilation, and storage areas that could hold serious weight. But it had been abandoned for weeks.
Crystallized chemical residue coated abandoned glassware.
A coffee cup on the workbench had developed an impressive colony of mold.
Dust covered everything in a fine layer, but underneath they could see evidence of the evacuation.
Chairs were overturned, papers were scattered across the floor, and cabinet doors hung open.
“This is definitely Brennan’s work,” Hunter said.
“The police never found this place,” Dom said, “but the cartel couldn’t risk it. Someone had seen them, might lead cops here eventually. So they pulled out immediately.”
Hunter did quick math. Three weeks of lost production minimum, probably longer to set up somewhere new. Hundreds of thousands in immediate losses, not counting the equipment and setup costs.
“You didn’t just witness a murder,” Hunter said, pulling Brie against his side. “You shut down their operation.”