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“No,” Bricker says. “I mean, yeah, we do. But…let’s keep this quiet, and off the radar. If you think Jacopo’s the best guy—”
“Oh, he is.” I send Jack a quick text as we keep looking through the texts on the phone. Most of them are basic, brief. Times, dates. Bricker’s face goes dark as he reads them.
“These are the times and dates of all our jobs that went wrong,” he seethes. And then he finds a photograph of all the maps and blueprints, including Rook’s notes, and he swears long and loud. “This is it,” he says at last. “Whoever had this phone was our mole.”
“Yep,” I agree, pointing at the last text.
It reads, simply,It’s on.
And an hour later, Rook was dead.
CHAPTER31
BRICKER
I stareat the burned-up cell phone, feeling sick at the thought that it’s true. It’s really true. Someone in the crew has been playing us, for God knows how long.
“But why not dump the phone somewhere else?” I say at last. “Why try to destroy it at the Lair?”
“Maybe they figured they wouldn’t have a chance to dispose of it afterward,” Max speculates. “Still, dumb move to burn it at the house.”
“Dumb move to turn on us in the first place.” I squeeze his shoulder, a brief but heartfelt gesture. “Good work,” I tell him, my voice sounds strangely gruff. He covers my hand with his, just for a moment, before getting back to it, digging further into the data.
Johnny Jacopo really is a wonder. Half an hour later, the number comes back registered to a prepaid phone, now out of service and bought with cash. But he manages to trace where it was first activated. Max and I take a look at the map location.
“Anyone from the team living in that area?” Max asks.
“A couple of them are close. Pony. Jazz. Tank would pass through that area on his way to the Valley.” I pause, then add grudgingly, “And Van.”
I wait for Max to jump on that, but he just nods. “Tomorrow we should have a talk with each of them.”
He’s right, and I need to remember he’s not the kind of man to jump to conclusions. So far, he’s been scrupulously fair. It’s just that none of the options are good. And one looks more likely than the others, as far as circumstantial evidence goes. But I can’t believe it of Van, I really can’t.
“Tomorrow,” I agree. “Tomorrow’s problems. But tonight, I’m beat.” I look over at Max, hoping what I’m about to say will come out right. “Listen, I mean this in the best way, but I don’t think I’m up for, you know—”
“It’s all good,” Max says, too quickly. “I’ll sleep in my room tonight.”
“Uh, sure. If you like. But I was going to ask if maybe we could just…sleep together. I mean, like,actuallysleep. I don’t know what it is, but I sleep like a log when you’re next to me.”
A slow smile spreads over his face. “You know what? Me, too.”
A good night’s sleep is what we need. And tomorrow…
Tomorrow we have some hard conversations waiting for us.
* * *
I sleep like a log and wake feeling more optimistic about things in general. Maybe it’s something about knowing Max Pedretti is on my side. Committed.
It’s been a wet couple of days and there seems no chance of it stopping just yet. The rain pelts rhythmically against the window, providing the soundtrack for our conversation over breakfast. Max and I sit across from each other after we’ve eaten—cereal today, on his insistence—and try to decide which of my closest friends is most likely to have betrayed us.
“Well?” Max asks at last. “What’s our play?”
“Whichever one we start with, we can’t spook them. We’ll lose their trust if we accuse without proof.” I try to suck up some of that calm that Max is projecting. “Honeybee’s at the hospital every day,” I relent at last. “Let’s start with her.”
“Because she’s the most accessible or because you think she’s least likely to be the mole?”
“Both, I guess,” I admit, feeling the need to defend her. “Honeybee’s basically still a kid, only just turned twenty. I don’t want to believe she could betray us like that.”
