Resident managers of a mini-storage investigate complaints of a foul odor and find the gruesome remains of a dismembered tenant stuffed into the saddlebags and trunk of a motorcycle. Will the perpetrators be found in time to prevent more murders?
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Sara and Lane North are resident managers of a mini storage located in glittering Las Vegas. When tenants begin complaining of a foul smell issuing from one of the units, the two investigate and find a gruesome scene inside Unit 13--the remains of a dismembered body stuffed into a motorcycle's saddlebags and trunk. A piece of glass Sara picks up from the ground near the murder scene turns out to be a diamond which is somehow connected to a former shady tenant just two doors down from Unit 13. Will the authorities crack the case and find the murderer(s) before Sara and Lane become the next victims?
She couldn’t believe they were actually here, yet the apartment was so familiar it felt as though they’d never actually left. So tired she could barely turn down the covers, she prepared to slide between the cool sheets and sleep, maybe for the next three days or so.
Then she heard the noise from the front of the apartment. “Was that a gunshot?” she said to one of the cats who, of course, didn’t answer but simply stared at her with big green eyes. Then she realized Lane was still outside! She tried to find some shoes to slip into to go out and check on him but by that time the front door opened and Lane stepped inside. “Was that a gunshot?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered. I saw the muzzle flash.”
“Oh, Lord,” she said. “Welcome back to Vegas…”
Even though I used to be tattooed, wear my hair in a long braid with a bandana tied over the top of my head, and sport leathers, I was actually a nice guy. I never had a beef with anyone and most everybody liked me—at least those who weren’t put off simply because I was different and actually took the time to know me. I was well respected in my community and worked every day in a great motorcycle shop as an artist to personalize bikes for owners who were wowed when they saw my work. Never thought I’d end up hacked to pieces, stuffed into my favorite motorcycle’s saddlebags and left to rot in a storage unit in the Las Vegas heat simply because I drank a little too much and made a minor mistake, but then you know the old saying that 13 is an unlucky number…