37
RAFFAELE
The phone in my hand buzzes a second time.
I look down.
A saucepan.
A small orange cartoon saucepan, sitting under the bubble of text I’ve spent the last minute deciding whether to believe or not. I look at it for the length of a breath.
Then I’m moving.
I’m out of the bedroom and on the stairs before my head catches up to my legs. The folder’s in my jacket. The gun’s in my hand. The phone’s in the other hand, and I’m typing one word with my thumb as I take the stairs three at a time.
Coming.
I send it.
I take the front steps in two strides.
Lorenzo’s by the SUV. He’s got the side panel open and is digging through the case in the back. He turns when he hears the gravel.
“Any luck with?— “
“I know where she is.”
He stops what he’s doing.
“What?”
I hold the phone out. He takes it. He reads the address. He reads the messages above it.
“Saucepan?”
“Inside thing.”
“Boss.” He shakes his head. “I’ve witnessed a lot of code in my life, but a saucepan emoji is afirst.”
“Forty minutes north. We move now.”
“Backup?”
“No.”
“Boss—“
“Half our guys turned tonight.Half.I don’t know which of the ones still answering their phones are mine and which are Victor’s, and I’m not interested in finding out by getting Bea killed. It’s you and me. We go in as two.”
He looks at me.
“Two ghosts.”
“Two ghosts.”
“Alright.” He closes the panel. “Then I’m bringing the bag.”
We’re on the road inside ninety seconds.
