alerted on an abandoned toolbox containing blasting caps left behind after a construction theft. It was not aggression. It was not curiosity. It was not play.
It was an alert.
The girl reached past him. Wait.
Vincent’s voice changed enough that she stopped instantly. He straightened and stepped between her and the shoe. Don’t touch it yet.
Her face tightened. Why?
Vincent did not answer, because footsteps were already pounding along the road outside the gate.
Ellie!
A woman appeared at the entrance, breathless, one hand clutching the strap of a canvas bag and the other pressed against her side. Early thirties, navy work pants, steel-toed boots, a gray jacket with the reflective stripe common to warehouse crews. Her dark hair had been pulled into a knot that was already falling apart.
She saw the girl. Then Vincent. Then the guards. Whatever relief had been on her face vanished.
Oh
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