Page 61 of Sawyer
“Judge is in chambers now,” Dean says. I can hear boots on concrete behind him—he’s moving. “Ninety minutes for paper we can use. Until then, sit on him without spooking. He’s at a mid-day at his VC pal’s office in SoMa. Orange Team has eyes on the lobby.”
“Rourke?”
“Whispers he was seen around a body shop in Lighthouse Point that doubles as a toy box for mercs. Name’sHatch Auto & Marine.It’s where you go if you need your boat transponder to suddenly die. The owner’s a vet with a code, but he hates freelancers who make him look bad.”
“Send me the address,” I say, heart rate ticking up into the zone that makes me useful. “Riggs can bounce on it.”
“You’re staying with Cam,” Dean says, reading my mind and closing the door to the reckless part of it. “I want you there when she comes up for air. Riggs is already en route with Rae. This is a two-prong: we cap Vale with paper and keep Rourke from flipping the board again. Copy?”
“Copy,” I say, and watch a janitor buff the floor in slow hypnotic ovals that reflect the ceiling back up at me like a weird, inverted lake.
Hartley appears ten minutes later, tie loosened, jaw tight. He nods to me like a man who’s chosen alliance over ego and doesn’t mind me knowing it. “She all right?”
“Resting,” I say. “You’ll get your statement when she’s ready.”
He looks like he wants to argue. He doesn’t. “We’ve got counsel on your pair from Riverfront. One’s giving us logistics: coded texts with drop locations, cash pick-ups, one-time numbers. The other—broken wrist—just found religion. He says the guy he called ‘Boss’ never used Rourke’s name, but he did use a phrase:Red star, canvas bleed.Ring any bells?”
“Perp’s poetry,” I say grimly. “He’s been sending us color metaphors since the first letter.” I pause. “What about Vale?”
“Meeting with his attorneys as we speak,” Hartley says dryly. “But wheels are moving. Your boss’s friend at Justice has more juice than the espresso downstairs.”
“He’s not my boss,” I say automatically, then concede with a tilt of my head. “He’s my cousin who keeps my leash long enough to run.”
Hartley almost smiles. “You’re going to love what my CSU found taped under the Riverfront unit’s table.”
“Tell me.”
“GPS jammer, yes. Flash-bang casings, yes. Also a little nest for a phone with a SIM that pings a prepaid at—wait for it—a co-working space in the Fox Hollow. The same neighborhood your shell company’s ATMs saw Alder’s cash-outs.”
“Rae’s already on Fox Hollow,” I say. “We’ll cross numbers.”
He pats the chart he’s not supposed to have, because he’s a detective and rules are flexible when heartbeats are on the line. “She’s tough,” he says, eyes softening. “When she talks, I’m going to need you to give her space.”
“She already took it,” I say, and the words taste like penance.
After he leaves, I stand because I’ve sat too long and the energy has nowhere to go. I pace the length of the hallway and back, hands folded behind me tight enough that the tendon in my left wrist clicks. On my third pass, a blur of green silk and perfume hits the T-intersection, heels skidding.
“Where is she?” Vanessa demands, hair wild, sunglasses fogging. Her gaze bounces off my chest and shoulders like she’s trying to climb me with eyes. “They wouldn’t tell me her room!”
“Keep it down,” I say, holding up a palm. “She’s resting. Hartley will let you in once she says yes.”
She plants fists on hips. “I’m on her yes list.”
“And I’m on the list that keeps the world small right now,” I say. “You’ll make it bigger.”
Vanessa deflates an inch. “Is she… is she hurt?”
I shake my head. “Mostly scrapes. Scared.” I weigh what else to say, decide honesty will help us both. “Gregory talked.”
Her jaw drops. “He— No. He wouldn’t.”
“He did,” I say, not softly. “And I’m not the one you need to yell that at.”
She looks at me like maybe I’m a door she could both kick and lean on. Then she sighs, pulls her sunglasses off, and the streaks of mascara under her eyes aren’t staged. “Tell my girl I’m here,” she says, voice gentled. “Tell her I’m not going anywhere.”
“Will do,” I say. She squeezes my forearm in a gesture that says thanks and sorry and don’t you dare screw this up, then stalks down the hall to find coffee she can weaponize.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
