CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dawn crested as they pulled towards large metal gates outside this new scrapyard. Ilse stared through the window, listening as Sawyer got off the phone. “You're sure?” Tom was saying, driving with one hand, gripping his phone with the other in a way that made Ilse uncomfortable every time Sawyer had merged.
“Yeah... Yeah that's fine, keep him—take a statement. But cut him loose. Yeh—right now.” He hung up. At the same time, he pulled the car to a halt.
Ilse stared. “What was that?”
Sawyer shook his head. “Got word back on that little group of organized criminals Mr. Connolly was talking about.”
“Yeah?”
Sawyer snorted, practically kicking open his door facing the metal gate. “It ain't the mob. Just a bunch of low-level radio thieves. They're not killers—they're teenag
