Mateo closed his fingers around the key.
Rachel felt tears threaten again.
She refused them.
For now.
They drove to Rachel’s apartment first.
Hammer and two bikers followed in a truck.
The others remained at the diner.
Rachel did not want twenty motorcycles arriving outside her apartment and sending Mateo into another panic.
The storage facility sat three miles away.
Concrete rows.
Metal doors.
Heat trapped between them.
Rachel unlocked Unit 214.
Boxes.
Luis’s old tools.
Two chairs.
Christmas decorations.
Mateo’s toddler bicycle.
A folded crib Rachel had never been able to throw away.
And on the back shelf:
The radio.
Rachel stared at it.
Dark wood.
Dust.
One broken knob.
Mateo walked closer.
“That's it.”
Hammer lifted it carefully.
Heavy.
Rachel removed the back panel.
Nothing obvious.
Dust.
Wiring.
Old speaker.
Mateo reached past her.
“Dad did this.”
He touched two screws.
Different heads than the others.
Phillips instead of flat.
Hammer looked.
“Good eye.”
He removed them.
The speaker assembly shifted.
Behind it sat a sealed plastic pouch.
Rachel stopped breathing.
Inside:
A flash drive.
Photocopies.
A handwritten notebook.
Hammer whispered:
“Luis.”
Rachel pulled everything out.
The first sheet was a maintenance invoice.
Parts ordered.
Steering assemblies.
Brake components.
Tires.
Prices.
Then matching internal vehicle logs.
Parts marked installed.
Luis had highlighted truck numbers.
Several repairs appeared billed but not performed.
The notebook contained dates.
Names.
One repeated constantly:
Craig Danner.
Another:
R. HOLLIS
Rachel frowned.
“Who is Hollis?”
Hammer shook his head.
Mateo pointed toward a line.
“Police?”
Rachel looked.
Luis had written:
Danner says Hollis can make reports disappear. Asked if that means sheriff’s office. He laughed.
Hammer’s face hardened.
“Deputy chief Robert Hollis.”
Rachel looked toward him.
“Whitaker worked under him.”
“Yes.”
She felt sick.
The flash drive might contain everything.
Hammer said:
“We don't plug that into your computer.”
“Why?”
“If someone is watching digital access…”
Rachel almost laughed.
“This isn't a movie.”
Hammer looked toward the gray SUV visible at the diner.
“No.”
“It isn't.”
Rachel swallowed.
“Then what?”
“Lawyer.”
“Outside county.”
“State police.”
“Maybe federal if commercial fraud crossed state lines.”
Rachel stared at him.
“You've thought about this.”
“For three years.”
The words hurt.
But less now.
Rachel looked at Mateo.
He had wandered toward his old bicycle.
She lowered her voice.
“He can't be part of this.”