Page 84 of Nash
"I clocked it late," he says. "Fifteen minutes late. I was at the front entrance. She took the back stairs. By the time I ran around, her car was gone."
"Why didn't you call me?"
"I called East. He said he'd handle it."
My hand grips the counter. The edge bites into my palm the same way it did this morning when East told me the same story from a different angle.
"Kyle." My voice drops. "There are photos of her car taken from across the street at Amaranth. Grease marker on her windshield. The threat is escalating. If she gets past you again,it's not a prank war footnote. It's a gap in her protection that someone is actively looking for."
"I know, Nash. I know." His voice is tight. "It won't happen again."
"It can't."
"It won't." He pauses. "I added the back stairwell to my rotation. Fifteen-minute intervals. I also talked to Rider about staggering our positions so one of us has eyes on both exits at all times."
The adjustment is solid. Proactive. The kind of operational correction that tells me Kyle heard the weight behind my words.
"Good," I say.
"Nash." Kyle's voice is quiet. "If something had happened while she was off the grid—"
"It didn't. We're fixing the gap. That's what matters."
He exhales. "Copy."
I hang up. Through the kitchen doorway, Ruby is asleep again, curled up on the warm spot on the couch, the blanket pulled to her chin. One bare foot hangs off the edge. I walk over and tuck it back under the blanket. Her toes curl against my fingers.
My phone buzzes. Knox.
Decryption complete. War room. 6 p.m.
My chest tightens. I read the text twice, put the phone on the counter, and press my thumb into the headband until the weave bites bone.
The decryption is done. In four hours, I'll have the name of the judge who sealed three federal trafficking cases connected to the pipeline that took Sera. I've had suspicions. The letterhead in the files. Lawrence's flinch when Naya's name landed at the picnic table. Pieces that could mean everything or nothing, and I've been holding them at arm's length because of what it means if they connect.
I sit at the kitchen table and watch Ruby sleep through the doorway. The warm, golden afternoon light moves across the floor touching her hair, her shoulder, the edge of the blanket. She's peaceful. Ruby trusts me. She touched the headband this morning with gentle fingers and told me we'd find Sera.
In four hours I'll know whether the pieces connect.
Ruby shifts on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter, and murmurs my name in her sleep. Just once. Quietly. The way she said it this morning with her body against mine and her breath on my neck.
I close my eyes.
At five-thirty, I write her a note.
Gone to the clubhouse. Business. Back by eight. There's food in the fridge. I got you candy. No gas station runs. Keep the deadbolt locked. — N
I set it on the coffee table next to her sketchpad where she'll see it when she wakes up. The bag of sour gummy worms goes beside the note. After pulling on my cut, I check the windows, check the camera feed, text Rider to confirm he's on the building.
At the door, I stop. Turn back. Cross to the couch and press my lips to her forehead. She stirs, her hand reaching up, fingers brushing my jaw before falling back to the cushion.
"Be here when I get back," I say. Quiet enough that she won't remember.
Then I leave and lock the deadbolt behind me.
The ride to the clubhouse takes eleven minutes. Every mile is a countdown.
The war room is dim. Malachi sits at the head of the table. Knox to his left with the laptop open. East sits across from me. James is in his chair. Rider is on Ruby's building. Kyle is on the perimeter.
