Rett

“They’re fucking with us,” I said after the trackers on Ingalls’s and Boudreau’s cars had taken my men on a wild goose chase. “They know we’ve tracked them.”

“I thought,” Leon said, watching the same screen I was watching, “they’d take us into the bayou. Ingalls’s car crossed the river just like the Cadillac with Mrs. Ramses had earlier. It seemed like he was heading in, but now he’s on I-12. And Boudreau, ...