My phone buzzes.
The secure line. The kind of buzz that means something has broken.
He hears it. Looks at it. Looks back at me. His hand still on my hip. My jeans on the floor.
"Whatever that is. It's not good."
"No."
"You should look."
He lets go in stages. The hand on my jaw last.
I pull my jeans up. We both put our shirts back on. The dressing is bright through his. I am going to redress it after.
The before of the after has just been suspended.
I cross to the phone. I do not let him see the screen.
MATTEO IN TRANSIT. CATSKILLS PERIMETER REGISTRY PING. ETA TWO HOURS.
He will not find this address. But the secure line does not buzz for the registry ping alone.
I open the security app.
Six cameras going dark in order. North to southwest, clockwise. Someone walking the perimeter.
This address is not on any registry. The only people who knew this cabin existed are dead, retired, or me.
Someone has found it.
He is watching me. He cannot see the screen. He can see my face.
"Nadia."
"Get your boots on."
"What is it?"
"Get your boots on."
He goes for his boots. I do not tell him what is on the screen. He does not ask twice.
5
NADIA
Ihave a Glock 19 in the cabinet under the sink.
There is a Sig Sauer in the bedside drawer. There is a shotgun in the front coat closet. There is a knife in the cutlery drawer that has nothing to do with cheese.
I take the Glock. The Glock is the one I trust.
He is at the kitchen window. His shirt is back on. I put it back on him twenty minutes ago when the cameras started going dark, my fingers on the buttons, his hand on my wrist, neither of us speaking. He holds the Sig he retrieved from my bedside drawer in the time it took me to cross the kitchen. A piece of information I am going to sit with later.
"How many?"
"Six cameras. Six guys, conservatively."
