He could see Val’s entire torso move up and down and knew his coughing wasn’t an exaggeration. A minute later Val collapsed onto the ground and rolled to his back, arms flopping at his sides. Kevin did exactly as Wyatt had hoped. He appeared from a vehicle parked alongside the far row of storage units and crept toward Val. A nudge against Val’s arm with one foot got no response, and Wyatt said a silent prayer that Val was faking. Smoke billowed around him, and when Kevin neared the door, Wyatt had to hold his breath and bite his lip to keep quiet. Kevin inched close enough to the unbalanced door to hear Wyatt if he coughed, but not close enough to look through the space created. Kevin reached inside his jacket, turned, and stepped toward Val again. “Shit,” Wyatt hissed. He waited for Kevin to take a few more steps before shimmying through the door. Rolling to his feet, he yanked his jacket off as he ran. Kevin’s handgun was trained on Val’s forehead.
