“No.”

From the driver’s seat, Fred says, “Since I’m not getting fired, can I make a suggestion?”

“Yes,” Cole says.

“What if we relocate Charley and Luke temporarily, until we’ve got something better in place?”

Christ, Cole thinks. Imagine the looks on their faces when I tell them I have to whisk them out of town after all the lectures I just gave them on their safety. It’s not worth it. Not if the source of this stink with Jordy and his angry ex turns out to be a weak fart.

“How long to get at least one person on that house who can see and shoot straight?”

“We can make that happen quickly,” Scott says.

“Once we have a team in place, what should they do if they split up?” Fred asks.

“The team?”

“No, the peanut gallery.”

“She’s the priority. If her men want to act like cowboys, they can do it at their own risk. Do we have an update on Lacey Shannon? Maybe Ed hired her as our new office manager before he left.”

Fred laughs silently, but Scott looks serious.

“Her SIM card went dead two days ago,” Scott says.

“Dead?”

“No signal at all. Like it was destroyed.”

“Two days ago . . . What time?”

“Eleven p.m.”

A half hour after I called the station and told Luke to let Jordy go, Cole thinks. So either Lacey destroyed her own SIM card to avoid being tracked, or Prescott’s right and I set her killer free.

“Freeway’s coming up,” Fred says. “Which way am I headed?”

“See if the airport’s got a hangar or an office I can use.”

“I doubt it, sir,” Scott says. “It’s pretty threadbare, but I’ll check.”

“Just find me a hotel, then. And let the plane go. I don’t want to pay out the ass for it while it just sits there. And bring me my helicopter. That always puts me in a better mood.”

“I’m not sure we can find a hotel in the area that’s up to your . . . standards,” Scott says.

“A motel’s fine. I don’t need five-star room service. Just privacy.”

“For what, if I may ask?” Scott asks.

“A videoconference. I’ll also need a secure line on my laptop. Call the office. They can set that up remotely.”

Scott nods. “I’ll need to say who the conference is with.”

“Donald Clements, Jordy’s father.”

“Forgive me, sir, but wouldn’t it be easier just to call him?”

“No. I want to see his face when I tell him about the trouble his son’s causing me.”

After Cole’s team drove off into the rolling golden hills, Luke walked halfway up the dock, as if their departure were pulling him on a string. Now he’s standing where he stopped, his back to Charley and Marty.

“I’ve got an idea,” he says.

“What?” Charley asks.

Luke turns. He doesn’t look excited, but at least he seems calmer now that Cole’s gone.

“Someone who might be able to help us,” he says.

“Help us do what?” Marty asks.

Charley has a sixth sense about where this is headed. Suddenly the pit of her stomach feels very cold.

“Find Lacey. Maybe find some stuff on Jordy. More than what was on the flash drive, and maybe a nice sampling of what was so we can make up for the fact that Cole just stole it. So we can give it to the right people.”

“Luke,” Charley says.

He starts walking toward them. “Now just hear me out. I’m sure there’s a way we can reach him. Honestly, I don’t think he ever stopped listening in. If Cole’s guys are also listening, he probably found a way around them. So maybe if we just stand in my living room and say the right words like last time, he’ll—”

“Luke.”

Something in her voice stops him in his tracks. His mouth goes slack; he’s studying her face with increasing alarm. “Oh, no,” he finally says. “What? What happened to my brother?”

“He’s OK . . . I guess.”

“You guess? What does that mean? Did somebody catch him? Somebody caught him and Cole didn’t do anything?”

“No,” Charley says, “not exactly.”

“Not exactly? Charley. Come on. What?”

It seems to hit Luke in a quick rush, and suddenly he’s closed his eyes and he’s shaking his head back and forth and he’s moving to the bench and taking a seat as if his knees are about to go out from under him. “Oh, no,” he mutters, “oh no, oh no. Christ.”

“What am I missing here?” Marty asks.

“Bailey’s working for Cole now,” Charley says.

“Shit,” Luke whispers.

“OK,” Marty says, “but how is that any different than when he was working for us? I mean, no offense, but Bailey’s basically been sleeping and breathing crime since he was a kid.”

“It was different,” Luke says.

“OK, but how?”

“Because he’s my brother.”

At this snakelike response, Marty holds up his hands and steps back. It wasn’t the smartest and most mature reaction on Luke’s part, but he’s shocked and hurting, and Charley doesn’t blame him.