Page 73 of Peak’s Code

Peak started the truck, and instead of pulling onto the highway, he simply sat there, like he was thinking. Maeve had noticed something about him over the last forty-eight hours—whenever everyone else rushed, Peak slowed down. Not because he was indecisive, but because he refused to let panic make his decisions. She admired that, but it was also incredibly frustrating.

"We're burning daylight,” she grumbled.

He nodded. "I know."

"So, can we go?” she asked, feeling more impatient with every passing second.

“I'm thinking,” Peak breathed.

Warden sighed dramatically. "I hate when he does this."

Maeve looked between them. "He does this often?"

"Every damn time we go out on a mission,” Warden said, leaning back in his seat. "Five years ago somebody stole bikes from one of our storage garages."

Maeve frowned. "What happened?"

"We're all ready to chase 'em down, and Peak tells us to sit down."

Peak shrugged. "They wanted us chasing them, so I thought better of it."

Warden rolled his eyes. "Turns out he was right."

Maeve smiled. "What'd he do?"

"He followed the paperwork instead and did his computer thing,” Warden said dramatically, as though it was a bad thing.

Peak finally put the truck in gear. "The insurance claim led us to the buyer."

Maeve couldn't help but laugh. "You caught motorcycle thieves through paperwork?"

Peak smiled. "Criminals are lazy. They hide bodies, but they can’t hide taxes." The truck rolled slowly out of the motel parking lot, and Peak deliberately turned away from the abandoned seafood warehouse.

Maeve frowned. "Wrong direction."

"No, it’s not,” Peak insisted.

"We've got less than an hour before high tide,” she reminded.

"I know,” he said.

"Then why are we—" she started.

"They're watching the warehouse,” Peak said, cutting her off. He glanced at her. "If you were the Director, where would you expect us to go?"

"The warehouse,” she mumbled.

"Exactly,” Peak breathed.

Warden nodded. "So we don't go there then."

Maeve looked out the rain-speckled windshield. "So where are we going?"

Peak smiled. "To breakfast."

She stared at him. "What?"

"We’re going to breakfast." He pulled into a tiny twenty-four-hour diner overlooking the marsh. Three pickup trucks sat in the parking lot. An elderly couple walked toward the entrance holding hands, and a fisherman loaded coolers into the bed of his truck. Nothing about the place stood out, which was exactly why Peak had chosen it.