[Dan takes a look around the locker room, keeping an eye out for blood, hair, fingerprints, anything that could give them a new trail now that Beckett's nose is beat.]

Think maybe she switched out of her clothes and changed into someone else's.

[He goes to look through the trash for any identifying information - maybe something new for Beckett to smell, maybe something else - and pauses when he sees something alarming.]

Don't touch this. Give me a second. And, uh...stand as far back as you can. [He gestures at the wire and the shredded clothing in the garbage, then, gingerly, starts to pick through it, holding the wire taut with one hand. He's seen these, used these before, ever since his dad took him and his big sister out to the range to practice setting them up and defusing them in case the feds ever "stormed" them. Dan was young enough at the time that he assumed that "storming" meant sending lightning and thunder.

Never disarmed one in a trash can, but it's the same thing. Steady the wire, disconnect, carefully remove the shipping plug and blasting cap. Dan bites his lip as he works, and breathes a sigh of relief when he's done. It's not that he cares too much about getting blown up - as far as deaths go, it seems fairly swift - but he'd rather not die from a mine in a trash can splattering his body parts all over two colleagues, because fuck that.]

She knew we'd follow her, and she's got access to military weapons. That was a claymore.