Page 201 of What We Burn

Milo groans so loudly the bird probably hears him from three streets away.

It took us all about an hour to recover and get to the motel after the club. By then, Dean had Stine secured, the cleaners had stripped most of room nine down to surfaces they could bleach, and Milo had been relegated to the walkway after trying to explain why the silver bow improved the corpse’s complexion.

Dean assured us he had control of the scene.

Then he told Holden to take Milo home before he put him in the van with Stine. “A retort can hold two,” he’d said.

Now all six of us file into the kitchen smelling like sex, blood, disinfectant, and the cool air of dawn.

Holden heads for the coffee machine.

“Nobody goes to bed yet,” he says, pointing to the table. “It’s time we all clear the air and get on the same page.”

I pull out a chair. Every muscle in my body objects as I lower myself down.

Knox disappears into the lounge room and returns with a cushion for me to sit on. Then he takes the chair beside me. Eli sits on my other side, close enough that his knee presses against mine. Micah disappears into the pantry and returns with crackers and painkillers and sets them in front of me.

“Thanks,” I say.

Milo drops into the chair opposite mine and folds his arms on the table. His head follows a second later.

“If this meeting lasts longer than my remaining blood-sugar reserves, I want it noted that I died in service to the cause.”

Holden puts six mugs on the counter.

“Milo.”

“I’m awake.”

“You’re face-down and drooling.”

“I can multitask.”

I touch the leather collar still circling my throat. The cameo choker is upstairs on the nightstand where I left it. The tracker inside it is sitting exactly where I wanted the men to believe I was while I drove south to kill Dale Stine.

That lie worked because they trusted me.

And because I knew exactly how their surveillance worked.

I asked to be included. I demanded full access to the next operation. I told Holden I’d pass Odin’s test.

I can’t do that while deciding for myself which threats the team deserves to know about.

“I’ve been lying to you all,” I say, lifting my eyes and looking at each of them. “About the messages.”

The kitchen goes still. Milo lifts his head and wipes the drool off his chin. Wide awake now.

“What messages?” Micah asks.

“The ones from Brock’s number.”

Eli’s knee leaves mine as every muscle in his body tightens at once.

The coffee machine releases a mechanical hiss.

“How many?” Holden asks.

“I don’t know. One every few days. Sometimes more. I kept blocking the number. It kept coming back.”