Deke slid onto the picnic table bench next to a large Italian man eating carrots and humus and reading a small paperback featuring a bare-chested man holding a long gun. “Good book?”

“Your timing sucks,” Matteo said. “Come back in five minutes.”

He nodded toward the agent’s side. “How’s the injury?”

“Eighty percent.”

“Do you have clearance to be at work?”

“Modified duty. No bending, no lifting, no sitting for long periods of time. Lots of reading.”

“Sounds like you’ve already blown your doctor’s orders.”

“Only if I get caught.”

Deke raised a who-the-frick-am-I eyebrow.

“You don’t count. You’re one of us.”

“And responsible for your well-being.” He slid his thumbnail beneath a loose piece of green paint and it chipped free. “Just take it easy. SONR can’t afford to lose you.” He nodded toward the apartment building. “Any movement?”

“Nothing.”

“Signs of other surveillance?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Think or know?”

“A brunette sat in her vehicle outside the building for a quarter hour, then took off. Haven’t seen her back.” He flipped a page. “Probably waiting for someone and the person never showed up.”

“Can you pull yourself away from—” he nudged Matteo’s book up so he could read the title, “—Darkest Secret.”

“Don’t knock it.” Matteo dog-eared his spot. “Are we going in?”

“There’s got to be something inside Dylan’s apartment that’ll shed some light on what’s going on.”

Instead of leaving the book on the table, Matteo tucked it into the back of his jeans.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Told you, your timing sucks.”

They took the stairs two at a time until they reached the third floor. Deke led the way to apartment 307 and bent to pick the lock. The mechanism was so old that he managed the feat in less than five seconds.

He half expected to be hit by a wave of rotting food and poor plumbing. But all that wafted through the opening was stale air. A scent normally associated with homes that have been abandoned for weeks instead of days.

“You take the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll start in the bedroom.”

At the entrance to his brother’s bedroom, he paused to scan the square space. No clothes littered the floor, and smooth sheets graced the bed. He opened the closet and found a half dozen T-shirts, two pair of jeans, a jacket, and a set of running shoes. A scarce amount of clothes for a thirty-year-old.

He pulled down a shoebox and found it full of old baseball cards, some in protective sleeves, most tossed around haphazardly. He pushed on the walls and stomped on the floor.

Finding nothing, he strolled the room, looking for forgotten slips of paper, receipts, anything unusual or out-of-place. He scoured the area. Nothing.

“Come on, Dylan. Talk to me.”

Moving on to the bathroom, he found signs of the brother he knew. Toothpaste tube left open on the sink, toilet paper roll empty, towels on the floor… Deke gave the bathroom the same thorough search.

Still nothing.

He stood on the threshold, peering between the pristine bedroom and sloppy bathroom. Something besides stale air made his nose twitch with distaste.

He stomped his way into the front room, where he found Matteo methodically searching. The same neat cleanliness existed here.

“Does this place seem oddly tidy for a bachelor, especially one who’d just been caught hovering over a dead woman?” Matteo asked. “Items in the kitchen cabinets are in perfect alignment and even though the fridge is near empty it’s cleaner than a surgeon’s hands.”

“The bathroom’s the only place that looks lived in.”

“Might be worth taking a second glance.”

He retraced his footsteps. Once again, he paused in the doorway and scanned the ten-by-six space. An old memory surfaced. His attention sliced to the shower. He opened the glass door and flipped on the hot water.

“What are doing?” Matteo asked.

“Years ago, when we were kids—” he closed the door and waited, “—my brother and I used to communicate through secret messages.”

“In the bathroom?”

“Where else?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a piece of paper hidden in the closet?”

“Not as much fun.”

Steam filled the shower, coating the glass enclosure. Letters began to emerge.

“I’ll be damned,” Matteo said. “How’d he do that?”

“Soap.”

“You shittin’ me?”

“Give it a try, sometime.”

Curves and straight lines formed into three words. “Gold Star. Lean-to.”

“Gold Star. Coincidental?”

“Could be, but I doubt it. This has to be linked to the Gold Star reference we found at the Bamford raid.”

“An odd pairing of words. Any idea of what Dylan’s trying to tell us?”

“No clue. But Dylan went through a great deal of trouble to make sure I found it.”

“He knew you’d come?

“Despite our current estrangement, Dylan and I were close once.” He tapped speed dial number three on his phone and clicked on the speaker.

“Hit me, boss,” Jax said.

“Do you have anything on Gold Star yet?”

“Not yet—unless you want to hear about the history of the Chinese flag. Got something for me?”

“Nothing that will aid your search, I don’t think. My brother left those two words for me to find.”

“Ooh, a failure-ridden mysterious code. My favorite.” Furious clicking echoed in the background. “Get anywhere with the girlfriend?”

Deke didn’t want to go through that nightmare over the phone. “Yes and no. Let’s focus on Gold Star right now.”

“Kicked your ass, didn’t she?” Jax chuckled. “Or maybe she wanted to do something else with your ass.”

“Focus, Jax.”

Feet shuffled behind him, and he reached for his gun.

Evie pressed into the doorframe, her startled gaze on his weapon.

“Jesus, Evie.” He slid his Glock back into its holster. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Evie?” Jax asked. “Who’s Evie?”

With a wary eye on Matteo, she straightened, though kept her distance. “What’s going on, Deke?”

“Jax,” he said, “call me back when you have something.”

“Don’t hang up now, this sounds interesting—”

He disconnected before Jax said anything more incriminating. How much had Evie heard of their conversation? Could he still salvage his cover?

“What girlfriend, Deke?” she asked.

Shhhit. A thousand excuses drove through his mind, with lightning speed. How could he give her enough of the truth and still protect the team? Though his brother’s predicament had nothing to do with the Bamford case, he couldn’t easily explain away Matteo and Jax or him breaking into Dylan’s apartment.

His silence must have confirmed the heartbreak she’d feared. Without another word, Evie strode away. She didn’t run or break into “How could you?” or curse him to hell.

She simply walked away.

Dread like nothing he’d experienced before kept him rooted in place.

An oarless boat drifting out to sea.

A hollow shell blistering in the sunlight.

A damn fool watching someone special walk out of his life.