Benny
Nixx and I had spent enough years tracking people together that most of the work happened without conversation.
He knew when I was about to tell him to drop back because I shifted in my seat before I spoke. I knew when he wanted a different angle because his eyes moved toward the next intersection instead of staying fixed on the vehicle ahead. We had done this through cities, across county roads, and through enough bad neighborhoods that the rhythm came back almost immediately once we settled into it.
The man inside Red Mesa had JJ’s old phone, which made keeping that rhythm a little harder.
Nixx drove several blocks past the property before turning onto a parallel road. The second Dagger vehicle stayed farther out, ready to pick up the runner if he came out in a direction that f
