CHAPTER TWELVE
THE MOST RECOGNIZABLE item among the pieces was a data drive. Mich glanced at the oddly shaped pieces of plastic scattered around it. She had no idea what they were.
Charley took one look at the pieces and began to fit them together. Eyes focused, brows drawn together, lips pursed. His movements were sure and confident, so Mich watched in silence as he worked. Within seconds, she found herself staring at a tiny dart with an empty rear canister.
“You’ve seen one of these before, I take it?” She held out her hand for the thing. The plastic was cold—not held by Charley long enough to pick up his body heat. It was barely heavier than a quarter piece of peeled orange stone fruit.
“Yeah, it’s called a spike. It can only be inserted inta a specific made-ta-order finger pistol.
