Page 50 of Girl, Sought

‘Help you?’

Ella pressed her badge against the glass. The leather holder was starting to crack at the edges. She kept meaning to replace it but somehow never found the time. ‘FBI. Looking for unit 1121.’

‘FBI?’ The man folded his newspaper and shoved it under his desk. His expression turned sour, the kind of look that suggested he was wondering if what might transpire here was covered by his health insurance.

‘Yes. We’re looking for a Mr. Gabriel Thorne.’

The guard checked his notes. ‘Thorne, you say? He signed in about an hour ago. But I don’t know where he is.’

Luca said, ‘Unit 1121. Which direction?’

‘Up ahead, third left, follow the path around. It’s next to the blue dumpster.’

‘Thank you.’

They walked the narrow lanes between units. Crime scene photos from previous storage unit cases flickered through Ella's mind - dismembered bodies in freezers, drug labs that went boom, human trafficking operations packed into eight-by-tens. Amazing what people thought they could hide behind these roll-down doors.

‘That voice though.’ Luca kept scanning the rows like he expected their unsub to pop out wearing his bug mask. ‘On the phone. Did it match what we heard through Finch's security feed?’

‘Similar cadence. Same Richmond vowels dragging their feet. But phone acoustics are different from CCTV audio. I was too busy watching you tapdance through that cover story to do proper voice analysis.’

‘Same. Thorne is gonna be gutted when he realizes there are no sneakers.’

‘That’s the least of his worries.’

The steel corridors stretched ahead. Ella kept her eyes trained upward, searching for security cameras, but all she found were empty brackets where surveillance equipment should have been. U-Stor clearly subscribed to the ‘thoughts and prayers’ school of security. She cataloged entry and exit points too, building the kind of tactical map they taught at Quantico but never quite prepared you for in the field. Two main gates. Three fire exits. Plenty of room for a suspect to escape.

‘Not many people around here,’ Luca said.

‘Good.’

‘Means less obstacles if we have to shoot.’

‘No. Not unless he’s armed. If Thorne’s our guy, we need him alive.’

Luca shot her a noncommittal look as they turned a corner. Ella counted the storage units as they ascended: 1119, 1120.

‘There,’ she said. ‘1121. End of the row.’

Its door was rolled halfway up. Orange light spilled out onto the wet asphalt. Ella gave Luca a tap on the wrist – a signal for ‘follow my lead.’

As they edged closer, Ella saw a man standingwith his back to them, examining something on a folding table.Herhand dropped to her weapon but didn't draw. The pre-confrontation tension surged through her veins. With any luck, she was about to stare down a man with two dead bodies to his name.

‘Mr. Gabriel Thorne?’ she called.

He spun around. Average height, expensive suit that hung wrong on his frame, like borrowed plumage on the wrong bird. Short black hair, with the kind of face that belonged in corporate headshots - bland, trustworthy, forgettable. Behind him she saw a neat storage unit loaded with ornaments, and a steel door at the back with a bar across it.

‘Can I help you?’ His voice carried that Richmond drawl they'd heard on the phone, but softer now.

‘My name’s Agent Dark, and this is Agent Hawkins. We’re with the FBI.’

‘FBI?’ Thorne put his equipment down and came out of the unit. The orange halogen glow cut Thorne's bland features into planes and angles

‘Yes. We need to ask you some questions.’

‘About?’

‘You work for the Curated Value Group, correct?’

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