Claimed by My Husband and His Bestfriends
“It’s like K. Strauss existed for five minutes and then vanished off the face of the earth.”
“Could be fake identification,” Jared said, grunting as he performed a series of lunges near the fountain. He was sweating. His shirt lay on the grass, showing the tight bandages across his shoulder.
“No,” Beck said immediately. “It’s too clean.”
Myla looked up from her book. “Too clean?”
“That’s the problem.” Beck leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Fake identities usually leave sloppy trails somewhere. Tiny inconsistencies, old metadata, or timing issues. Something.” He rubbed his temple. “This one is wiped perfectly.”