“I don’t want to be in the real estate business.”

“Hell, maybe I’ll go in on it with you and we can both get the—”

“Mona, come on. This is . . . doable. It’s a lot, but we’ll figure it out. We’ll get more people. We’ll manage.”

“I’m just tired, is what you’re saying.”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

She plants her elbows on her desk and rubs her face with both hands. “It’s hard.”

“I know.”

“It’s hard because it reminds me of your mom. The chemo, the hospitals. And I feel weird saying that because she was your mom, and I don’t want to . . .”

“Don’t want to what?”

“I don’t want to steal your story. What you went through was a lot worse than what I dealt with.”

“Not really.”

“Luke . . .”

“I’m serious. I was a snot-nosed kid back then. You did all the heavy lifting. Driving her to doctor’s appointments, helping her keep track of meds.”

“You took care of your brother. That was the important part. You guys called a truce on whatever war you had with each other so that your mom could have a little peace in the end. That was important, Luke. It was important to her. She said so. Many times.”

Luke just nods, but any mention of Bailey spears his gut worse than any memory of his mother’s final days.

One of the richest men in the world could have cleared his record, allowed him to come home again, and Bailey still said no. He actually chose the life of a criminal in hiding over coming home and being a family again.

“You miss him?” Mona asks.

Mona knows Bailey had to flee the country after conducting an elaborate hack to locate the dean of a small community college who fleeced Bailey and his classmates of their tuitions. But that’s just a fraction of Bailey’s story now, and no way can he tell Mona the rest of it.

“Yeah, I do,” Luke says.

“Well, you’ve got Charlotte now. That’s gotta help.”

“It does.”

When Luke’s cell phone rings, they both jump. He half expects to see some text from Bailey that makes it clear he’s been eavesdropping on them via one of the many networked devices in their vicinity. Then the phone rings again, reminding him it’s an actual call. The number’s unidentified.

“Luke Prescott,” he answers.

“Good evening, Deputy,” the voice on the other end says.

Cole Graydon.

Luke rises out of his chair and steps quietly from Mona’s office. He’s aware he’s taking steps, but he can’t feel his feet connecting with the floor. He’s suddenly sweating all over, so much the phone feels slick against his ear. Not good, he thinks. A call from Cole and not Charley means this is not good at all.

“Good evening,” Luke says, but his voice sounds reedy, breath starved.

“Is this a good time?”

“I can always make time for you.” Even though you’ve never called me on the phone before.

“Well . . . good,” Cole says. “Two things.”

“Go ahead.”

“Our operation is complete and Charlotte is recovering nicely.”

“Recovering?”

“She should be home in a day or two. I’ll let her explain, provided you keep those details confidential.”

“Of course. But . . .”

Now his vision is spinning, and he feels as if some invisible string that was holding him up by the back of his neck has been cut. All the tension of the last few moments, possibly the last five months, collapses in a single instant. He grips the back of the nearest chair. Only now that his bones have gone liquid can he truly feel the extent to which his fear for Charley calcified his every move for over a month now. He better pull it together before everyone inside the station starts offering him cold compresses.

“But what, Luke?” Cole asks.

“She’s OK?” he whispers.

“More than OK. She continues to be her remarkable self.”

“Good. Great.”

Cole is silent; probably he can tell Luke is trying to catch his breath. He’s also blinking back tears, but he’s pretty sure Cole won’t be able to hear those.

“Is that both things?” Luke finally asks.

“No. Let Jordy Clements go.”

Luke is stunned silent.

“Luke?”

“I’m here.”

“We’re doing important work. Momentous work. And you’re supporting us more than you realize. Continue that support by not making mountains out of molehills. They’ll ruin everyone’s new view. Including yours.”

Luke’s not exactly sure what the hierarchy is for the strange deals Cole Graydon’s put together to bring all this new construction to Altamira. But never in a million years did he think a problem with Jordy Clements would travel all the way up the shadowy ladder to the man who’s become the puppet master of both his life and Charley’s. (And pretty much everyone in town, even if they don’t quite realize the extent of it.) “We haven’t even given him his phone call,” Luke whispers. “Who did he call?”

“He didn’t call anyone. He didn’t need to.”