Chapter 19 Jace
JACE
The information cost Brooks his remaining dignity before it cost him his life, but I extracted every detail I needed before staging the scene. Now we have a target, a destination that might hold evidence linking Bryan to the crimes he has committed and the coverups he has orchestrated.
Sabine stirs against me and her eyes open slowly, focusing on my face with a confusion that clears quickly into recognition. "What time is it?"
"Almost seven." I brush a strand of hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. "We should get moving soon. Fort Bragg is about ninety minutes from here, and we need to find a storage facility before the day gets too busy."
She sits up carefully and stretches, wincing at the stiffness in her neck and shoulders. "Brooks gave you something?" She never asked last night, and I didn't offer because the way things went was too perfect to ruin it.
"It's a place called Bragg Storage." I swing my legs off the bed and stand, crossing to where my bag sits near the door.
"We'll need to rent a unit ourselves just to get past the gate.
Most storage facilities have security measures that prevent random people from wandering the grounds, and showing up without a rental agreement will draw attention we can't afford. "
Sabine nods and moves to gather her things, shoving clothes and toiletries into her bag as she speaks. "So, what? We pay cash and give fake names?"
"Exactly," I tell her, but she doesn't know I have multiple fake personas to choose from, all stuffed in my glove box with my car registration.
"Once we are on the property, we find Bryan's unit and cut through whatever lock he has on it.
Get in, search for evidence, and get out before anyone notices. "
The plan sounds simple when I say it aloud, but I know from experience that simple plans become complicated quickly when variables enter the equation.
Security cameras, nosy facility owners, other customers arriving to access their units.
Any number of things could go wrong, and we need to be prepared to adapt if circumstances change.
We check out of the motel at seven thirty and stop at a fast-food restaurant for breakfast that we eat in the truck while driving south toward Fort Bragg.
There's minimal traffic this time of morning, and Sabine navigates using my phone while I focus on maintaining a speed that won't attract attention from highway patrol.
I glance over to see her staring at my phone screen with a frown.
"How did you convince him to give up that information?
" she asks me, and her question is fair.
She didn't sign up for torturing her ex brothers in arms. My world is so gruesome for her, and I wouldn't blame her if she never wanted to look me in the eye again if she found out. So I won't tell her all the details.
"I asked him nicely at first." The lie comes easily because the truth is too brutal to share. "When that didn't work, I became less nice. Eventually, he understood that cooperation would make his death quicker and less painful, and he told me what I needed to know."
Sabine doesn't press for details, and I appreciate her restraint. She knows what I do and how I do it, but hearing the specifics serves no purpose except to make her more complicit in actions she already struggles to reconcile with her sense of morality.
We reach Fort Bragg at 9:23 and drive past the main gate without slowing, heading farther down Bragg Boulevard until I spot the sign for the storage place on the right side of the road.
The facility sprawls across a few acres with rows of identical orange units separated by paved driveways, and a tall iron fence surrounds the entire property.
The entrance features an automatic gate controlled by keypads mounted on poles, and a small office building sits just inside the fence line.
I pull into the parking lot outside the gate and kill the engine, taking a moment to survey the layout.
Security cameras are mounted at intervals along the fence and at the entrance to the office, their lenses pointed toward the gate and the main driveways.
Nobody appears to be moving around the property at the moment, but I spot at least three vehicles parked near various units throughout the complex.
"Ready?" I look at Sabine and she nods, though I can see the tension in her shoulders and the way her hands clench in her lap. "Remember, we're locals renting a unit because we need extra storage space."
We approach the office together and I hold the door open for her, letting her enter first. The interior is small and cluttered with filing cabinets and a desk covered in paperwork, and a man in his sixties sits behind the desk reading a newspaper.
He looks up when we enter and sets the paper aside, offering a smile that reveals tobacco-stained teeth.
"Morning, folks. What can I do for you?" His accent marks him as a local, someone who's probably lived in this area his entire life and knows the military community well.
"We need to rent a unit." I keep my voice friendly and casual. "Something small, maybe five by five if you have it available. Just need to store some overflow from our garage while we do renovations."
The owner nods and pulls a clipboard from a drawer, flipping through several pages before finding the form he wants. "Got a couple of five by fives available on the south side. Month-to-month rental is eighty-five dollars, first month and deposit due today. Are you folks local or military?"
"Local." Sabine speaks before I can answer, and when she speaks, my chest grows warm. "My husband and I just bought a house off Raeford Road and we're doing some updates. We just need a place to keep tools and equipment out of the way until the contractor finishes."
The owner accepts her explanation without question and starts filling out the rental agreement, asking for names and contact information that we provide without hesitation.
I give him a fake name and a disconnected phone number, and Sabine does the same.
When he asks for identification, I pull out a driver's license that matches the name I gave, one of several I keep for situations exactly like this.
The transaction takes less than fifteen minutes, and by 9:50 we have a key to unit 103 and a gate code that will allow us access to the property.
The owner gives us directions to our unit and reminds us that quiet hours begin at eight in the evening, then returns to his newspaper while we leave the office.
Back in the truck, I program the gate code into the keypad and the iron barrier slides open on its track. Then I roll through slowly and follow the main driveway toward the north side of the property where unit 217 should be located according to the directions Brooks gave me before he died.
The facility's larger than it appeared from the road, with dozens of units arranged in neat rows separated by wider driveways meant to accommodate moving trucks and trailers.
The orange doors all look identical except for the numbers painted in white, and I navigate carefully while Sabine watches the unit numbers and directs me toward our destination.
"There." She points to a unit in the middle of a row, and I pull the truck into the space directly in front of it.
Unit 217 sits closed with a heavy padlock securing the door, and the surrounding area appears empty of other customers or facility staff, which is good for us.
I know security cameras will pick up what we're doing, but I can block the view of those with the body of the truck.
What I can't do is assault someone in broad daylight because they get nosy.
I grab the bolt cutters from behind the seat and step out of the truck, moving quickly to the unit while Sabine follows close behind. She looks nervous now, more tense than she was in the office, and her eyes dart around the property as though expecting security guards to appear at any moment.
"What if we find something terrible in there?" Her voice comes out quiet and strained. "You know… like he did other things to other people too…" She looks pale, and the fear in her voice makes my chest tighten.
I set the bolt cutters down long enough to turn and face her fully. "No matter what we find in there, I'll be here with you. If there are recordings or photographs, we'll keep them as evidence. You won't have to face this alone, Sabine. I promise."
She nods and wraps her arms around herself, and I pick up the bolt cutters again and position them around the shank of the padlock.
The tool is designed for this purpose, and the lock gives way with a satisfying crack that echoes between the buildings.
I remove the broken lock and lift the unit door, revealing the dark interior packed with boxes and furniture and various items covered in dust.
The smells of stale air and mildew hit me immediately, and I step inside while my eyes adjust to the dimness.
Sabine follows me in and pulls out her burner phone, using the flashlight function to illuminate the space.
The unit is approximately ten by fifteen feet and filled to capacity with what appears to be random personal effects accumulated over years of military service.
Boxes line the walls stacked three and four high, and several pieces of furniture occupy the center of the space—a desk, a bookshelf, a filing cabinet with drawers that hang slightly open.
None of it looks particularly organized or valuable, and I wonder if Bryan simply used this space as a dumping ground for belongings he didn't want to deal with during deployments.
"We need to search everything." Sabine moves to the nearest stack of boxes and starts opening them one at a time, sifting through the contents like she knows exactly what she's looking for. "The phone he recorded my assault on has to be here somewhere."
I start with the filing cabinet, pulling out drawers and checking the folders inside.
Most contain mundane paperwork related to military service—training certificates, performance reviews, commendation letters.
Nothing that would incriminate Bryan or provide evidence of illegal activities.
I move through each drawer systematically while Sabine continues working through the boxes.
An hour passes, then two. The unit gets warmer as the sun climbs higher and beats down on the metal roof, and sweat begins to soak through my shirt.
Sabine has removed her jacket and tied her hair back, and her face is flushed from the heat and exertion of moving boxes and searching through their contents.
Three hours into the search, Sabine stands and stretches with a grimace. "I'm hot and thirsty. Can you go get us drinks from the front office? I'll keep searching while you're gone."
Given the temps being warmer this far south and in that metal box, and the physical demands of what we are doing, her request makes sense. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Keep your phone on you in case you find something."
I leave the unit and walk back toward the front of the property where the office building sits.
The sun beats down mercilessly now, and the asphalt radiates heat that makes the air shimmer.
When I reach the office, I find the owner still sitting behind his desk, and I head straight for the soda machine in the corner.
The machine accepts my crumpled bills and dispenses two bottles of water, and I collect them from the dispenser while the owner looks up from his paperwork.
"Getting some use out of that unit already?" His tone is friendly and conversational, and I force myself to return his smile and respond in kind. I hate small talk, and more than that, I hate interfacing with small-town folks. But being a grumpy old curmudgeon will blow our cover.
"Just organizing some tools and equipment. Making sure everything fits the way we want it before we start hauling more stuff over." I lean against the wall near the door while I wait for him to lose interest in the conversation.
But he sets his pen down and leans back in his chair like he's just settling in. "You folks been working all morning? Must be eager to get that renovation project started if you're out here organizing for that long."
"My wife's particular about how she wants things arranged." I chuckle, like I'm that guy who thinks he knows better than his wife but won't say it aloud. "Better to do it now than have to reorganize later when we are in a hurry."
The owner laughs and nods agreement, and I see movement through the window as a pickup truck rolls through the gate and heads toward one of the units on the south side.
Another vehicle follows behind it, a sedan with two people visible in the front seats, and they turn down a different driveway that leads deeper into the property.
The increased activity makes me nervous because more people means more potential witnesses, more chances for someone to notice us searching a unit that doesn't belong to us.
I need to end this conversation and get back to Sabine before something goes wrong, but leaving too abruptly will seem suspicious and draw attention I don't want.
"Well, I appreciate you folks choosing our facility." The owner picks up his pen again and returns his attention to the paperwork on his desk. "You need anything else, just let me know. I'll be here until five."
I thank him and push away from the wall, heading out toward the unit with the drinks clutched in my hands. I just want to get this over with and get back on the road. Number ten on my list is waiting for me and so is Barone.