Agent Mills's POV
My boots splash through another puddle as I check my GPS for the third time in five minutes. The coordinates I sent Derek are still two hundred yards ahead, but these tunnels twist like a drunk snake, and I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever find them.
"Control, this is Mills," I whisper into my earpiece. "Status on federal positioning?"
"They're setting up perimeter containment. Taking their sweet time about it."
That's what I was afraid of. When federal agents want someone dead, they move fast. When they want them alive... they take their time. Set up nets instead of traps.
"Any word on their specific orders?"
"Negative. But they've got transport vehicles instead of body bags."
Fuck. So my worst suspicions are confirmed. This isn't about eliminating witnesses. Thi
