Page 41 of Ruin
"I heard you the first time."
I step out into the cold. The wind off the water cuts through my coat and carries with it the sound of the ship's crane beginning to move.
Harris meets me at the warehouse door.
He's sweating despite the temperature, which is normal for Harris.
The man runs a multimillion-dollar smuggling operation and still gets nervous every time a crate hits the dock.
"Twelve units, all accounted for," he says. "Customs cleared the manifest at eleven. Our guy stamped it through without a second look."
"The rotation?"
"New inspector next week. The one Deveraux flagged." He glances toward the SUV. "She's, uh. She's something."
"She's not your concern."
He nods quickly and leads me inside.
The warehouse is cavernous, lit by industrial fluorescents that turn everything the color of old bone.
The first four crates are already on the ground, wooden sides stamped with a legitimate electronics company logo.
Lionel's crew is working the crowbars, prying lids.
Everything looks clean.
The product is packed correctly, the quantities match the order, the secondary packaging shows no signs of tampering.
I check two crates myself, running my hands along the interior panels where the real cargo sits behind false walls.
Good. Organized. Professional.
Then Lionel's phone rings.
I know something is wrong before he answers.
It's the way his body changes.
The way he goes from relaxed vigilance to something coiled and lethal in the space between the first ring and the second.
He answers, listens, and his jaw tightens.
"Boss." He lowers the phone. "Warehouse Six. Our backup storage. It's on fire."
The words hit like cold water.
Warehouse Six holds overflow product, cash reserves, and three months of documentation that hasn't been digitized yet.
It's not our most valuable asset, but it's the kind of target that sends a message.
"How bad?"
"Fully involved. Fire department's already on scene. And there's something else." He pauses. The kind of pause that means the next sentence is going to change the shape of my night. "The crew we had posted there. Demetri and Santos. They found Demetri outside with his throat cut. Santos is missing."
The warehouse goes quiet around me.
My men stop working.
