Page 152 of What We Bury

And then, because apparently emotional triage with these men comes in a full tactical spread?—

Eli:

Did he threaten her?

I stare at the screen. At the sliver of contact.

My thumbs hover. Then I type.

Me:

Not directly. But I’d rather talk in person.

The dots appear from three different people at once. But only one message comes through.

Micah:

One of us will be there soon.

FORTY-ONE

HOLDEN

Tuesday. 7:30 a.m. The club smells like bleach and stale ambition.

I’m the first one here, which isn’t uncommon. I’ve been up since five with the Hudson file open, cross-referencing what we clocked at Pinecrest against the digital footprint I started building Saturday. I like to be prepared. I don’t like surprises.

The back room is set up the way it always is: chairs in a loose semicircle, table cleared, laptop open to the surveillance folder. I drop into my usual seat, kick my feet up, and scroll while I wait.

Knox arrives next. He’s wearing his usual black ops outfit and just leans against the wall instead of sitting. He nods at me. I nod back. Then he starts doing that thing with the quarter, rolling it across his knuckles, over and back, a metronome of nervous energy that he’d never admit is nervous.

“You tell Eli about Sunday?” I ask.

“Sent him the photos. Layout, parking, the restaurant sight lines. He didn’t respond.”

“Shocking.”

Micah comes through the bar entrance. He’s not working today, but he’s still carrying a crate of glasses that he sets on the counter.

“Morning.” He smiles, starts whistling while he puts the glasses away. Knox and I exchange a look. The guy seems lighter. Not in any way I can pinpoint. But like something that’s been sitting on his chest has eased.

Interesting.

“How’d Sunday night go?” I ask him. “With Sage.”

The whistling stops. The lightness goes with it.

“She’s not worried about herself,” Micah says. “She’s worried about Amy. Tyler’s escalating—controlling her, isolating her, pushing her into things in bed she doesn’t want. Sage kept the details to herself, protecting Amy’s privacy, but I got the shape of it.” His jaw sets. “I told her we’d keep eyes on Amy. I meant it.”

“We’re already watching Tyler,” Knox says from the wall.

“Now there’s a second reason.”

I file it next to everything else: Davis’s best friend, the man who took a private meeting with a name on our kill list, is leaning on Sage’s roommate. We’ll need more before we move on him, but my hatred is already settled.

Milo blows in, a giant coffee in one hand, a bakery box in the other. He’s talking before he’s fully through the door. “Morning, gentlemen. I brought pastries. Don’t say I never contribute to society.” He dumps the box on the table and drops into the chair next to mine, immediately putting his feet on the table.

Eli is last. He walks in with the kind of deliberate calm that makes me think he’s been rehearsing this version of himself in the car. He sits, opens the folder, and gets straight to it.