Maeve
Another series of knocks broke the silence. Three slow and two quick. Peak moved to the window and carefully lifted the edge of the curtain with the barrel of his gun. He stared into the parking lot for several seconds before letting the fabric fall back into place.
“Captain.” Relief tried to rush through her, but she stopped it.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I know his truck,” Peak insisted.
“That doesn’t mean he’s alone.”
Peak looked at her, and something like approval flashed across his face. “No, it doesn’t.” He moved beside the door and unlocked the deadbolt but left the security chain in place. Opening the door two inches, he kept his body out of sight.
Captain’s gruff voice came through the gap. “You planning on making me stand out here all damn night?”
“How’d you find us?” Peak demanded.
“Open the door,” Captain ordered.
“Answer the question,” Captain muttered something Maeve couldn’t make out, and then he stepped back far enough for Peak to see both his hands.
“I’m alone.”
“That wasn’t the question,” Peak said.
“The club put a tracker on your bike years ago,” Captain admitted.
Peak went still. “You did what?”
Captain sighed. “You disappeared for three days after your grandfather died. Your grandmother nearly had a heart attack looking for you. I promised her it wouldn’t happen again.”
“You’ve been tracking me for years?”
“Only when necessary,” Captain insisted.
Peak stared through the narrow opening. “You and I are going to have a conversation about boundaries.”
“Looking forward to it. Now, are you letting me in before someone sees me standing here?” Peak glanced at Maeve, and she nodded once. He closed the door long enough to remove the chain, then opened it again. Captain slipped inside, and Peak immediately locked everything behind him.
The club’s president looked like he’d survived a war. Soot streaked one side of his face. His jeans were ripped at the knee, and dried blood covered the sleeve of his shirt beneath his leather kutte. A fresh bandage circled his left forearm. Maeve lowered her pistol but didn’t put it away.
“She seems like a smart girl,” he said.
“Yeah, and she’s paranoid,” Peak corrected.
“Same thing if it keeps her breathing.” Captain turned and studied the room. His gaze passed over the single bed, the open takeout containers, and the two drinks sitting side by side on the nightstand. One eyebrow lifted, but he kept whatever he was thinking to himself. Maeve was grateful for that.
“Is everyone okay?” she asked.
Captain looked at her. “We’re all alive.”
“That wasn’t what I asked,” Maeve said.
“No, it wasn’t.” He removed his hat and dragged a hand through his gray-streaked hair. “Two prospects are in the hospital. One has burns on his arms and chest. The other caught enough shrapnel that the doctors will be pulling metal out of him for the next few days.”
Guilt wrapped around Maeve’s throat. “And the brother who was shot?”
“The bullet went through his shoulder, but missed the important parts.” Captain’s eyes narrowed when she looked away. “Don’t.”
She frowned. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t take responsibility for what happened,” Captain said.
“They attacked your clubhouse because I was there,” she breathed.
“They attacked because someone thought they could use Grave Prowler territory to traffic women without consequences.” His voice hardened. “They were wrong.” Maeve wanted to believe him, but the dark stain covering his sleeve made that difficult.
Peak moved closer to her, not touching her but standing near enough so that she could feel his presence. “What happened with Mercer?” he asked.
Captain’s expression changed. The exhaustion remained, but something colder moved behind his eyes. “We got him to the temporary clubhouse.”
“Did he say anything?” Maeve asked.
“He talked,” Captain said. He sounded pretty damn proud of the fact that they were able to get Mercer to talk.
Her heartbeat stumbled. “What did he say about Wren?” Captain didn’t immediately answer, and his hesitation terrified her more than any words could have. “Is she dead?” Maeve whispered.
“No,” Captain said. “Mercer didn’t say she was dead.”
“That isn’t the same as saying she’s alive,” Maeve insisted.
“No, it isn’t.” Maeve tightened her grip on the pistol until the textured handle bit into her palm. She’d survived eighteen months without answers. She could survive another few seconds—maybe.
“What did he tell you?” Peak asked.
Captain reached inside his kutte and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “He gave us a location.”
Maeve crossed the room before she realized she was moving. “Where?” Captain handed the paper to Peak instead of her, and she bristled. “Why are you giving it to him?”
“Because I need you to listen before you run out that door and get yourself killed,” Captain said.
“I’m listening,” she grumbled, putting her hands on her hips.
“No, you’re waiting for your chance to leave.” She hated that he’d read her so easily. Peak unfolded the paper. Maeve moved close enough to read it over his arm. It wasn’t an address. It was just a string of numbers, and she was sure that they were coordinates.
“Virginia?” Peak asked.
Captain nodded. “Looks like an abandoned naval communications station outside Chincoteague.”
“That’s not Virginia,” Maeve said. “Chincoteague is on the Eastern Shore.”
Captain looked irritated. “Close enough.”
Peak studied the coordinates. “Mercer says Wren is there?”
“He said she was transferred through there,” Captain said.
Maeve’s hope dropped as quickly as it had risen. “Transferred where?”
“He didn’t know,” he said. “Or wouldn’t tell you.” Captain’s mouth tightened. “Mercer likes playing games, but Warden doesn’t.”
Maeve knew exactly what that implied. “Is Mercer still alive?”
“For now,” Captain breathed.
She looked at Peak. “If Warden kills him—”
“He won’t,” Peak said. The certainty in his voice stopped her. Peak refolded the paper and handed it to Captain. “What’s at the station?”
“Nothing, according to public records. It shut down more than twenty years ago,” Captain said.
“Public records don’t mean shit,” Maeve said.
Peak looked at her and nodded. “No, they don’t.
” The familiar spark of shared understanding passed between them.
It was the same feeling she’d had when they discussed the shipping company and the hidden crawler.
The world might not make sense, but data and patterns did.
The man standing beside her seemed to understand patterns as naturally as she did.
Captain reached into another pocket and pulled out a small plastic evidence bag. Inside was a rectangular strip of paper stained with blood. Maeve’s stomach tightened. “What is that?”
“We found it sewn inside Mercer’s jacket.” Peak took the bag and held it beneath the motel lamp. The paper contained a handwritten sequence of letters and numbers, and Maeve leaned closer to see it. At first, the writing looked random, but then she saw it.
“Those aren’t serial numbers,” she said.
Peak nodded. “Encryption key.”
“Part of one,” she agreed.
Captain glanced between them. “How can you tell?”
“The repeating character groups,” Maeve said.
“And the spacing,” Peak added. “It’s broken into blocks of eight.”
Maeve’s mind started moving faster. “Wren used blocks of eight in her work.”
Peak looked at her. “You’re sure?”
“She built her first cipher when she was sixteen. Everything was grouped in eights because eight was her favorite number,” she said, smiling at the memory.
“Why was eight her favorite number?” Peak asked.
“She said it was balanced. Turn it sideways, and it became infinity.” Maeve’s voice cracked on the last word. Wren had drawn tiny infinity symbols on everything she owned. School notebooks, phone cases, and even the canvas sneakers Maeve bought her for her nineteenth birthday.
Peak studied the code again. “You think Wren wrote this?”
“I think someone used a system she designed,” Maeve said.
“Could Mercer have copied it from her?” Peak asked.
“Yes.” She nodded.
Captain nodded toward the bag. “He claimed it was a schedule.”
“For what?” Maeve asked.
“He wouldn’t say.”
Peak turned the plastic bag over. “There’s more writing on the back.” Three words had been written in faint blue ink.
TIDE BEFORE DAWN
Maeve’s pulse jumped. “That’s from Wren.”
“You recognize the handwriting?” Captain asked.
“No.” She pointed to the phrase. “Our grandfather used to say it whenever we went crabbing. He’d wake us before sunrise and tell us we had to catch the tide before dawn.” Her throat tightened. “Wren hated getting up early.”
Peak’s attention remained on the note. “It could be a message.”
“To me,” Maeve whispered.
Captain’s expression hardened. “Or to bait you into looking for her.”
She looked at him. “Everything could be bait to trap me.”
“Which is why nobody’s running to those coordinates tonight,” Peak said.
“If Wren was there—” she started.
“Mercer said she passed through there three months ago,” Captain said. The words struck hard because three months was a long time, and would only lead to another dead end. It would just be another place where Wren had been but no longer was.
Maeve stepped away, needing room to breathe, and Peak watched her every move. “Three months isn’t much time. It could be something.” Peak offered.
“It could lead to nothing, too,” she spat.
Peak placed the evidence bag carefully on the dresser. “A location gives us cameras, utility records, supply routes, vehicles, and personnel.”
Maeve looked at him. “And payment trails,” she added quietly.
“Exactly,” Peak said.
Captain watched the exchange with an expression Maeve couldn’t read. Finally, he said, “Mercer gave us something else.”
Maeve braced herself. “What is it?”
“He said the station wasn’t part of the Iron Serpents’ operation.”
Peak frowned. “Then whose was it?”
“The Director’s,” Captain said. The title seemed to chill the room. Maeve had seen it hundreds of times in the messages she’d pulled from Mercer’s server. But she’d never found a name—not even an initial.
Report sent to Director.
Awaiting authorization from Director.