Page 34 of Shadow Justice

Reid didn’t comment. Holly didn’t either. He’d learned enough about her pride to know she wouldn’t thank him for handling Hoyt, and he hadn’t done it for gratitude. He’d done it because Hoyt needed to be reminded that Holly wasn’t a subordinate he could boss around.

A man at a corner table rose after Hoyt left, carrying a ceramic mug toward the counter. Holly had waited on him earlier while Reid unloaded the dishwasher in the back. He was in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, neatly dressed, with silver threading through dark hair and a trimmed beard.

The man set his mug on the counter as he gave Reid a courteous smile. “I thought I recognized you. You’re Judge Fleming’s grandson. Reid, yes?”

“That’s right.”

He extended his hand. His grip was firm but not performative. “Allen Davies.”

Reid shook it. “Good to meet you.”

“Your grandfather believed in the letter of the law.”

The words were mild. Maybe even respectful if Reid hadn’t spent years listening for what people folded beneath polished phrasing. Allen’s tone didn’t accuse, but it carried weight around the edges, a faint pressure that made Reid look at him more carefully.

“He still does,” Reid said.

Allen’s smile didn’t change. “Principled men rarely stop being principled. Whether the rest of the world appreciates it is another question.”

Holly came up beside Reid with a coffee pot in her hand. “Allen, can I warm that up for you?”

“If you don’t mind.” He passed her the mug. “Busy morning.”

“That’s a good thing,” she said with a smile. “Keeps the lights on.”

His return smile was warm. His gaze moved to Reid again. “Good to have extra help, I’m sure. Blackridge has a way of pulling people back when they’re needed.” Allen accepted the refilled mug from Holly. “Thank you, Holly.”

“Of course.”

He returned to his table, leaving Reid with the odd impression of a door that had opened an inch and closed before he could see the room beyond it.

The line grew, and Sanctuary’s morning rhythm took over. Reid wiped, stocked, carried, and watched. He looked for the big man in the canvas jacket but didn’t see him again. Hoyt didn’t return. Allen finished his coffee, spoke briefly with Holly about an afternoon meeting, and left a generous tip beneath his mug.

After the rush thinned, Holly leaned back against the counter and drank half a cup of coffee that had gone cold an hour ago. “You handled Hoyt well,” she said.

Reid loaded mugs into the dishwasher. “I knew him a little in high school.”

“That’s the politest he’s been since I opened.”

“Does his family still own Sullivan Ridge Development?”

“They do.” Holly set her cup aside. “He’s now running it. He comes in a few times a week. He likes things a certain way.”

“That’s a generous way to put it.”

“It’s code for ‘rude.’”

“Rude can be code for dangerous if it’s unchecked.”

She stared at him for a long moment, as if reframing Hoyt in her mind. “I’ve dealt with worse than Hoyt Sullivan.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

A small sigh escaped her. “He complains and makes snide comments. Sometimes he acts like waiting three minutes for coffee is a human rights violation. He’s unpleasant, but unlikely to be the man the FBI is looking for. I can’t imagine him getting his hands dirty.”

Reid nodded and closed the dishwasher. He trusted her read of the man’s impact on her. He didn’t trust the world to leave unpleasant men in the category where they belonged.

“And Allen?” he asked.