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Monica? Not so much.
I’m a man of action. I plan and strategize, examine tactics and enact scenarios.
Waiting isn’t my style.
“I’m persona non grata at The Grove, I assume.”
“If it were legal to shoot you on sight, I’m pretty sure Marshall would have ordered the team to do so,” Silas replies with a rueful huff.
“I guess I have to see her.”
“You guess?”
“I do. I need to see her.”
“What’s going on? Is there intelligence I haven’t seen yet? A viewing of new evidence I missed?”
Oh, is there ever.
“This is personal. Between Lindsay and me.”
“Understood.”
“But it has to do with the texts on her phone. How many people have access to that information?”
He names Paulson, himself, and one techie on the team.
“Scrub those texts and remove the techie.”
“I have to clear this with Paulson,” Silas insists.
“Then do it.” Every word out of my mouth feels like I’m one step closer to death.
“Sir, why are the texts so important?”
As I look out the windshield, the world widens. My hands itch to have Lindsay here, in my arms, her skin under my heated touch, to have her concrete and palpable, able to be grabbed and secured.
Then again, maybe I need her as an anchor.
To keep me from floating away.
“Sir? Drew?” His voice changes, choked with compassion, and it hits me.
He knows.
He saw.
Bzzzzz.
A text from a number I don’t know.
Jane gave me a burner phone. Ignore whatever they’re telling you. Find me at the shore tonight at 8 p.m. Silas will help.
“Drew?” Silas’s voice is back to normal. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“I think I’ll do a little night running on the beach later on,” I say, testing.
“Good idea. I hear the weather’ll be great for it.”
