Page 61 of Wrecked With You

“Miss you, too, and I will. Later,” I say, and end the call.

When I look up, Tony’s smiling at me.

“What?” I demand as I text the Chevron address to Denny, then send in the order for delivery to Lorenzo’s office, which doubles as his house these days. I use Flying Saucer Pizza so often that they just keep my credit card on file. I glance back up at Tony, who hasn’t answered, and roll my hand in an effort to get him to answer.

“I just like him, that’s all. And I like that he’s been there for you and Eliza.”

“He was a good cop, he’s a great PI, and he’s the best man I know. Though you rank high on my list,” I admit, even though I’m probably crossing a non-relationship line.

But all Tony says is, “Thanks. That means a lot.”

His eyes are fixed on me as he says it, and I feel the crackle in the air. The dangerous kind, like the way the air feels before lightning strikes. For a moment, we both just stand there. Then he clears his throat, and I sag a bit, though I’m not sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

I glance over and notice that Quince is looking at me through the glass door, his brow furrowed. I turn away quickly, not even wanting to know what he’s thinking about, only to realize that Tony’s been speaking and I haven’t heard a word.

“What?”

“I said pizza sounds like a great idea. Why don’t you order a dozen or so large for the office. A variety of toppings. My treat, since everyone’s working late. And with this Chevron intel, I have a feeling we’ll be working even later.”

“That’s a great idea. Very sweet.”

“Just feeding the troops,” he says as we head back inside, but I know it’s more than that. When Ryan first agreed to let us bring Tony’s mission to the SSA, Tony was an outsider. Now he’s full-on part of the team. More than that, for this job, he’s the leader. And a leader takes care of his people.

“Oh, fuck me.”

The curse comes from Denny’s workstation, and I frown, thinking that she’s annoyed we’re working late. Her husband, Mason, is still on official leave as he continues a massive debriefing with the SOC. I didn’t work with him there, but I know the story, and the idea of daily meetings to try to pull out bits and pieces of memory sounds horrible to me. Mason, however, assured me that it’s not. “Best thing ever,” he’d said. “Every day, I remember a little bit more about Denny. It’s like Christmas all over again.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but I still think the process would drive me bonkers. Then again, after all Mason went through, maybe he’s decided that the only way to live life is to look at the upside.

I glance at Tony and sigh. Maybe I should take a page from Mason’s book, and instead of moping that I don’t have everything I want from this man, I should be grateful for what we did have. If it weren’t for Tony, I’m not sure I’d ever have felt like this. And even though this part is painful as hell, what we shared has been wonderful. Maybe that’s supposed to be enough. Maybe for some people, it would be.

I’m just not sure I’m one of those people.

“Guys!” Denny’s call rings out. “Did you not hear me? Get over here.”

I catch both Quincy and Tony’s eyes, and we hurry over. Liam’s already there, and Mario rolls over, his desk chair coming to a perfect stop beside Liam, whose rock-solid build dwarfs Mario’s skinny ass.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize the curse was a battle cry,” Quincy says, and Denny shoots him a killer glare that doesn’t even faze him. They often work as partners, so I suppose he’s used to her withering looks.

“I have no idea how yesterday’s search didn’t pull this, but look.”

She pushes a lock of blond hair out of her face as she points to her screen, and we all bend forward.

“The Daily Meditation Foundation.” I read the title on the file aloud. “Maybe I’m too tired, but I don’t get it.”

“It’s one of the entities created from Morgan’s trust. And it’s just the kind of thing I was looking for, so why it didn’t get pulled in the first batch, I really—never mind. Moving on. The point is the name. Daily. Dailey. Get it?”

“You think this entity is somehow a cover for Harvey Dailey?”

She looks back over her shoulder at us. “I think right now it’s the best lead we have.”

“Do you have an address?” Tony asks.

“That’s the beauty of it,” Denny says. “It popped when I was cross-referencing a two mile radius around your Chevron station. I don’t know if it’s your answer,” she says, “but at least it’s a lead.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Dailey Meditation Foundation was a solid lead, but it was useless without an address. And that took a bit more time. The corporate documents that Denny had located had been filed with the state over a year ago, and the address listed was simply a PO Box in a strip shopping center by the Chevron.