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Lila laughed, drawing Tristan’s attention. He peeked through the dock door and grinned, strolling across the shop. “How’d you slip in?”
“By being sneaky.” She followed him to one of the trucks parked outside. She climbed into the passenger seat while he started the engine and pulled to the end of the street. Dixon and Frank stopped behind him. Fry and Dice backed a third truck from the shop’s dock door, bringing up the rear.
“Are we splitting up the list?”
Tristan’s eyes slid to the rearview mirror as they pulled into traffic. “No, I called them for backup. They’ll stay close in case we run into Natalie and Oskar. I have another few teams on standby.”
“You’re worried about Dixon,” she guessed, removing her hood as the other trucks made their own way to the first address.
“He’s not at one hundred percent. Last night exhausted him. I shouldn’t have let him come along.”
“He’s a grown man.”
“He’s my family, and he’s unwell.”
“And you don’t want to let him out of your sight? Dixon can take care of himself. He’s used to leading teams, not being watched like he’s some invalid child.”
Tristan’s gaze flitted to his vibrating palm. “If he could manage to stay awake for more than five minutes, I might feel better about the situation. Apparently, he’s already sawing logs in the front seat. Send them a message not to wake him, will you? I’m driving.”
Lila tapped out the message. “A nap will do him some good. It’ll take us twenty minutes to get to the first address.”
A nap would have done her some good as well. She’d just begun to stretch her toes when Tristan intertwined his fingers with hers. He didn’t seem to care that he had only one hand to steer.
Lila said nothing against it. Instead, she fought the urge to curl up against his shoulder.
Her palm vibrated. Prolix, you’re testing my patience. Surely you could have spared a moment before breakfast to send me a message. I’m sure you father wouldn’t have minded.
Lila swallowed.
Reaper’s partner had followed her to Bullstow.
“What’s wrong?” Tristan asked. “You just got pale.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
Moments later, Tristan pulled into an abandoned tire shop and stopped the truck, brakes squealing faintly in the morning heat. The building was one of many stand-alone businesses on the dying block, a row of loosely cracked and crumbling structures, lost amid fields of weeds. The businesses’ names had once been painted on the buildings, but the lettering had faded on most. Perhaps the names had been lost to the neighborhood, just like the residents.
A pit bull barked nearby, already aware and unhappy with their presence. They closed the truck doors gently, and Tristan winced as the noise echoed off the empty buildings.
The pit bull barked louder.
“I should get a dog for the shop,” he said. “I doubt you’d be able to get in so easily.”
“Dogs love me.”
“Barking or whining at the door, they’d still hear you coming. Dogs are good like that.”
They padded down the sidewalk, the weeds thwacking against their knees. They did not wait for the others to join them. The two trucks circled the neighborhood several streets away, waiting to be called only if needed.
The pair walked along a chain link fence and slipped behind a junkyard. It smelled of engine grease and rotting food. Lila had to breathe through her mouth to avoid gagging.
The pit bull rushed, jaws clenching on the fence between them, his nose dotted with crimson flecks. Drool flew and landed with a splat on the sidewalk.
Lila backed away, her boots unscathed.
“He might have torn his nose up on the fence, but that doesn’t look promising. What do you suppose—”
Lila sprayed a mist in the dog’s direction, ensuring both she and Tristan were upwind. The dog whined and stumbled, falling in a cloud of dust.
