Page 9 of Crosscurrent

Reagan glared at him.

“What? It's the truth. I'd run the face,” Wade said. “I'd feel bad about it after, but I’d do it.”

Cara, across the table from Gabe, did not weigh in.

“No face running. We sit,” Gabe said. “Twenty-four hours. The coroner's finding will tell us what we need to know. If it comes back as we expect, Vega's going to call me back, and we're going to have a conversation.”

Tom said a whole lot of nothing.

“Tom?”

“I heard you.”

“Tom?” Gabe prompted again.

Tom shrugged. The light from the monitors reflected off his glasses, hiding his eyes. “No search. I got it.” He stood and reached for his jacket. “I need to get home. Piper’ll be back from band practice soon.”

Reagan went back to her three-color note, at no point looking up. “By the way. The Manny papers came back from the lawyer. Signed Friday. Effective immediately.”

Wade clapped. “Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

Cara winked at Gabe then turned to her friend. “When are you telling him you'll be at the Grill six days a week regardless?”

Reagan toyed with her pen. “I haven't.”

Gabe hid his own smile. Reagan had only recently agreed to make her longtime line cook the official manager of the Saltwater Grill. Not that she wouldn’t be up in Manny’s business on a daily basis, Sweet & Sawyer caseload permitting.

Gabe's phone rang on the conference table. He looked at it.

David.

“My brother,” he said, and stood.

He headed up the stairs. “Yo.”

“I just saw a news ping out of Haven Cove. Body in the surf. Coast Guard pulled him at eight.”

Great. His baby brother was one of the premier investigative journalists on the West Coast. Okay, the whole country.

“We heard that, too.”

“What's the story?”

“No idea. I'm not official anymore, remember?”

“Gabe.”

“David.”

There was a long pause on the line. Gabe could literally feel David trying to find the story angle. He tried to head him off. “Dude, the coast is steep here. People end up in the surf all the time.”

“Aha. You didn't say, ‘fall.’” David sounded annoyingly triumphant.

“I'm coming down,” he said. “This weekend. Sophie too. Don't tell me not to.”

“I'm not telling you not to, but there's no story here.”