The Professionals

had called in a team of forensic technicians to analyze the scene. As expected, the van had been mostly clean. No latent fingerprints, no blood. No long strands of curly brown hair.
What they did come up with, though, was the van’s Vehicle Identification Number. Rotundi ran the VIN through the Driver and Vehicle Services database and called back with the good stuff: the van had been sold a couple weeks back from a dealership in Lake Forest, Illinois. Bought by one Ryan Carew.
Ryan Carew, thought Stevens. Hot damn. The fourth man.
The tow truck driver gave the van one last tug and then rolled to a stop beside him. The driver leaned out the window. “We all set here?”
“Sure,” said Stevens. “Go ahead and bring her back to town.”
Forty-five minutes later, he was back in the bureau

fists hammering down on the hostage

leading up to the brush

companion out in the bitter

shot off its stanchion