house. “The Grunt must be a cash machine,” said Knox as they got out of the car.

“I think selling stolen government secrets is probably more lucrative,” replied

Puller dryly.

 

They walked up to the front of the house. “Puller, the door is open,” said Knox.

 

Puller already had his gun out; Knox followed suit.

 

He looked down at the asphalt drive. “That looks like a fresh oil spot,” he

said, pointing to a dollop of liquid.

 

They stepped to the side of the front door and Puller gave it a nudge with his

foot. It swung open and he did a quick look inside.

 

He eyed Knox and motioned with his head.

 

She ducked into the house, her gun pointing center left. Puller followed her

performing his arc center right. They cleared the first floor and then checked

the garage. “That’s Myers’s BMW,” said Puller. “I don’t know whose Maserati that

is.” Knox opened the door to the Maserati, popped the glove box, and took out

the registration. “Josh Quentin.” “Okay, this is starting to make sense.” “Do

you think they’re here?” asked Knox. “We have more house to search, but I didn’t

hear anything.” “You think they’re dead?” “I think we’d better check.” They

moved up the stairs and went room by room on the second floor. In a bedroom,

Puller reached down and picked up a length of rope and a balled-up washcloth.