Soon, they’re all seated at the table, no board game or deck of cards between them. A few months earlier, Brasher’s Oprah comment might have been a little more cutting. Maybe something that used words like wuss, or included some more articulate weaponization of the idea that any exchange of feelings between men rendered at least one of them unmanly. Of late, the group’s taste for gendered, if not flat-out sexist, remarks is leaving them. Watching a woman crush a man’s entire hand with one of her own does that.

Or maybe the guys hear themselves clearly and learn from their mistakes quickly now because they’re always sober. Luke’s not really sure. The guys don’t talk about their recovery much, even though all three of them met in AA, and Luke’s pretty sure Marty’s their mentor, or whatever they call it. Sponsor. Though they never lecture Luke about the occasional beer he drinks in their presence.

And God knows, Marty’s more than capable of lecturing people when he sets his mind to it.

“Heard you got into it with Jordy Clements yesterday,” Brasher says.

“No law enforcement talk at the table,” Martin says.

“That’s during game play,” Brasher whines. “There’s no game. What are we going to talk about?”

“Lacey Shannon, any of you know her?” Luke asks.

“She’s Clements’s girlfriend, I think,” Brasher grumbles. “Seems a little on edge, few times I’ve seen her.”

“She a drinker? She ever pop into one of your meetings?” Luke asks.

“Couldn’t tell you if she had,” Marty says. “It’s an anonymous program.”

“Never seen her at the clubhouse,” Rucker says, then bows his head when he sees Marty’s withering look.

“Any ideas why Cole Graydon called and told me to let Jordy go last night after he beat her up?”

This question—and the news wrapped inside it—settles over the table like a thick blanket, and for the next few seconds, it’s like they’re trying to take deep breaths through it and failing. You could say Charlotte’s the one who brought them all together. Or you could say it’s Marty, since he’s the one who brought Brasher and Rucker into the hunt for the Mask Maker at the eleventh hour. But not really.

Cole Graydon’s the reason they’re all sitting where they are now.

Cole’s the reason Marty, who up until a few months ago was just a small-town contractor whose specialty was hot tub installs and floor refinishing, was made a highly paid key foreman on the construction of the expansive luxury resort, and Brasher and Rucker his two suspiciously well-paid point men. Maybe Cole’s buying their silence about what went down with the Mask Maker, or maybe he really does just want to ensure Charlotte’s happiness by ensuring the happiness of everyone around her.

If that’s the case, Luke wonders, why didn’t he at least let me force Jordy to spend the night in holding? That would have made me very, very happy.

“Thoughts?” Luke asks.

“Keep an eye on him,” Marty says, “but don’t make a mess.”

“Cole or Jordy?”

“Jordy.”

Luke feels like he’s been shoved.

It’s not the injustice of letting Cole decide which of Altamira’s woman beaters gets to walk free. It’s that never-minces-words Marty—fierce defender of the downtrodden, the guy who seemed willing to defend Charlotte’s honor with his fists when Luke first crossed his path as a grown-up with a badge—is the one saying it’s a good idea.

It’s that Cole is frightening enough to scare Marty.

“Look,” Marty says into the tense silence, “it may feel like we’re the only ones who know Altamira might have made a deal with the devil, but other people have got their suspicions. True, they haven’t seen the side of Graydon Pharmaceuticals that we have, but still . . . If more bad elements come rolling into town, there’s going to be pushback, and then you and Charley can both say something to Cole.”

“Unless Cole’s the one putting them here,” Rucker says quietly.

“Say what?” Marty asks.

“Unless Cole’s putting the bad elements here for a reason. Because there’s a profit to him.”

“He runs a billion-dollar company,” Marty says. “He’s not messing around in organized crime.”

“So that’s what you think we’ve got now?” Luke asks. “Organized crime?”

“No,” Marty says as he shakes his head, but he’s staring down at his Coke can as if he’s not sure his next words are the truth, but he’d like them to be. “No, I think we’ve got hookers. And I think we’ve got Jordy Clements thinking he can get away with whatever. And when the resort’s finished and the tunnel’s built and the roads are done, Jordy and everybody else who’s come here for a piece will move on to the next feeding frenzy.”

“So the mess isn’t permanent, is what you’re saying,” Luke says.

“Look, this is how it always goes when there’s a building boom or an oil strike. Everybody tries to get a piece of the action, and for a while it’s chaos. Then the project’s done and things settle and the locals are all fat and happy.”

“Until they run out of oil,” Brasher grumbles.