Too Late, Mr. Winters: I'm No Victim

ich was locked into place where a section of seating had been removed. She stared out

the Uber driver humming along to the radio. Her

distorted voice ca

quietly. "I'm hea

"Brave. I'm tracking the convoy's GPS

UVs in the distance. "My

scramble t

t them

high-frequency receiver, disguised as a medical sensor on his wrist, was picking up fragments of cellular traffic.

ched on the armr

ountant he'd picked up, a beautiful anomaly. He never suspected she

s meant to be a simple, if distasteful, corporate takeover. But Arla...

at, glanced in the rearview mirror. He c

collar mic, a frequency only

en comms. "Not Woods. Fitzgerald. Cross-reference with any sealed juvenile recor

strained. "Her digital footprint is

remained clo