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He put the lid back on it. His ears were red.

I’ve said before that I’m not a stupid guy. But sometimes the smartest thing a person can do is to not ask.

“Cool,” I said. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” He stood, tucking the box under his arm like a stolen crown. “Yeah. Let’s go get drunk. On champagne. In a classy way.”

“Only the best for the best.”

“I’m not the best.”

“You’re the best I know,” I said, and he stopped, and looked at me, with those big raw hazel eyes, and for a second I thought he might say something. Might just let the whole thing spill out on the floor between us.

Instead he grinned. Lopsided, cracked, and terrified.

“Shut up, Reyes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Jason?”

“Yeah?”

He didn’t say anything. He put out a fist. I bumped it. His knuckles were cold.

“Thanks,” he said, roughly. “For being around.”

I don’t know if he meant it the way I heard it. But I’ve been thinking about that fist bump ever since.

We walked out the door together, Lex and Chip and me, three idiots in the snow, and I looked up at the second-floor window of the far corner room and saw a shadow in the curtain, tall and still, watching us go.

Harold, I thought, and lifted a hand.

The shadow lifted one back.

Chapter 20

LEX

The Necklace

The box had layers.

I’m not exaggerating. Black lacquered box, dark wine ribbon, a lid that fit so snugly it made a little sigh when I lifted it. Under that lid, a second box, slate gray. Under that, a third, felt-lined, the size of a deck of cards. Somebody had put serious thought into the unwrapping. Somebody had wanted me to sit on the edge of a cot in Room 118 and take my time.

I hated him for it. I took my time.

Inside the last box, on a bed of black velvet, lay a necklace.

It was a chain, fine as thread, in some pale metal that caught the lamp and threw it back cold and bright. At the center hung a single stone, dark red, cut plain, no bigger than my thumbnail. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d find in a jeweler’s window. It looked like something that had been made for exactly one neck, by someone who’d studied it.

I picked it up. The chain slid over my palm like water. It was heavier than it looked.

Beside it lay a folded card, cream-colored, in that upright handwriting I’d have known anywhere.

Lex,

I was wrong to stand still in the lobby. I should have walked to you. I did not, because I feared that if I did I would not be able to hide what I felt, and I was afraid for you. I see now that I was afraid for myself. I am sorry.