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“Does Smoke know he's being hunted?”

“We don't know.”

“Where is he?”

“We don't know.”

I rub my thumb along my jaw. “You're really earning your money tonight.”

“Fuck you.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes.”

His tone changes. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to make me straighten.

“Mercer isn't the only person looking for Smoke.”

I go still.

“Who else?”

“Don't know yet.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You wanted information. That's what I've got.”

“That's barely information.”

“It's more than you had an hour ago.”

I hate when he's right.

My phone vibrates against my ear. I pull it away long enough to glance at the screen.

Chaos: Home. Alibi survived my absence. Barely. He says your stakeout snacks were subpar.

Another message follows.

Chaos: I defended the jerky.

My eyes close for half a second.

“McConnell.”

“I’m here.”

“You distracted?”

“No.” The lie comes automatically.

Across the street, the door to the brick building opens. Mercer steps outside.

“Gotta go.”

I end the call before Bishop answers.