Page 150 of Wrong Number Right Doctor

“I have to.”

“You do enjoy saying that when you mean you’ve decided to.”

I put the phone in my pocket. “Sometimes those are the same thing.”

“They’re never the same thing. You just have a hostile relationship with choice.”

I reach for my jacket.

Marcus follows me to the door, still watching me more closely than I prefer. “Is the hypothetical case connected to tonight?”

“No.” The answer comes too quickly.

He smiles without humor. “That was almost convincing.”

“Goodbye, Marcus.”

“Dalton.”

I stop.

He drops the jokes for once. “Whatever this is, don’t turn it into something you can solve on a board.”

I look back at him.

He points toward where the timeline was. “You can’t solve everything on a whiteboard. Sometimes an honest conversation is all it takes.”

I don’t answer.

He sighs. “That silence means you heard me and plan to ignore half of it.”

“I heard you.”

“Miracle.”

Then I leave before he can become more useful.

By the time I reach Alester’s house, I still don’t know why he has invited half of his circle.

That bothers me.

Alester doesn’t do aimless gatherings. He doesn’t enjoy crowds enough to tolerate them without purpose. His version of hospitality usually has an agenda, a seating plan, and some kind of future obligation hidden under the dessert fork.

Tonight the house is lit too warmly. There are flowers in the foyer, servers with trays, music low enough to be expensive but not enjoyable, and people speaking in the polite tones they use when everyone is waiting for the actual reason to appear.

Alester greets me near the entrance to the main room. “Dalton.”

“Alester.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“You made it sound necessary,” I say.

“It is.”

At least he’s honest.

I glance past him, scanning the room. It takes less than three seconds to find her.