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Tyler scrolled. For a while.
Michael fidgeted. It was seven-fifteen now, and no one had come through the door.
“This guy said you could bring your brothers.” Tyler handed back the phone, and Michael slid it into his pocket. “And the police.”
“I know.”
“And you didn’t think maybe that was important?”
“I’m not leading my brothers into a trap.”
“Do they know you’re here?”
The question hit Michael hard. His brothers had no idea—but admitting it out loud seemed dangerous. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”
ather spoke from the doorway. “What do you think?”
Hannah straightened so quickly that she bumped the table and made the water slosh. “Dad. Sorry.”
“What do you think?” he said again. His tone was even—not irritated, yet not warm either. Just level. Patient. His investigator voice.
Hannah hated that voice.
She looked back at him. “I guess it’s going to have to remain a mystery.”
“Your mother asked if you could get the rolls and put them in a basket.”
She hated this voice, too. This was his dismissal voice.
Hannah was tempted to curtsey and mock him. Luckily, this wasn’t high school. Besides, she had an audience.
She looked at Irish before she made her way back to the kitchen, and gave him one last warning. “Remember what I said. He’s great at this job, too.”
Then she brushed past her father without even looking at him.
CHAPTER 11
The Roadhouse Bar and Grill sat along Magothy Beach Road, a few blocks off the water and surrounded by an acre of trees. Beige paint peeled away from the siding in numerous places, and a few fake palm trees swayed in the November wind.
Michael had never been here, but it was obviously popular, given the packed parking lot. He found a spot for the truck at the back of the restaurant, between the back door and the Dumpster.
When he killed the engine, he just sat there.
He had half a mind to drive back to Adam’s apartment, to tell his brothers that “the guy” never showed to talk about a landscaping job that didn’t exist. Then he’d help himself to a few slices of pizza—if there was any left, given the way they’d attacked the boxes when the delivery guy showed up. They could break out a deck of cards and pretend their lives weren’t skirting the edge of disaster.
And then the real guy who was threatening them would burn down the whole place.
Michael got out of the truck.
The gravel of the parking lot offered no information. No threat of danger, no hint of a problem.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text.
How will I know you?
You’ll know me when you see me.
Did that mean his mysterious texter wasn’t here yet, but he’d arrive in a way that was unmistakable? Or that Michael would recognize him on sight?
