Page 35

“Still? No better than the last time?”

“Apparently it’s a chronic condition,” I answer.

“Can it be treated?”

“Possibly.”

“With?”

I look at him, a brow raised.

Mathias shakes his head. “I promise if it ever gets to that point, you’ll have the honor.”

That makes me smile. “What a day that’ll be.”

He sets down the mug, and the faint humor in his eyes drains—an unmistakable sign that whatever he’s about to say is serious. “Something happened this morning. Well, now yesterday morning.”

“I assumed.”

“You hear about Mercer?”

“Negative.”

Mathias nods slowly, then begins to explain. “One of our storage locations got hit Tuesday.”

“What location?”

“Fourteen.”

I know it—it’s nothing glamorous, rented through two shell companies, used to hold product before distribution.

“How?” I ask.

“Lock was forced.”

“Camera?”

“Across the street.”

“Were we able to identify the thief?”

He drums his fingers along the edge of his desk. “Two low-level idiots named Milo Cross and Wade Garrett.”

I don’t recognize either name.

“Internal?”

“Milo occasionally moved product for one of Quillan’s people. Apparently he decided that meant he understood enough about our storage rotation to take advantage.” Mathias leans back, then adds, “They took six kilos.”

I whistle lowly. “Ambitious.”

“Stupid.”

“They often go hand-in-hand.”

“Milo tried moving one yesterday. That’s what got our attention.”

“And Wade?”