18. Erik #2
Her shoulder settles against mine. I wait for her to move, but she doesn't.
The casebook slides farther down her lap as her breathing evens. I catch it before it reaches the floor and put it on the coffee table. Rowan shifts against my side without waking, and I leave the report unread on my knee.
I should move her to bed and return to the office. Instead, I sit there until the building across the avenue switches off most of its office lights.
When I finally lift her, Rowan wakes halfway down the hall. She raises her head from my shoulder and blinks at me.
"I can walk."
"I know."
"You're ignoring useful information."
I keep walking. "Yes."
She settles back against me without another attempt to get down. "You're becoming difficult again."
"I'll address it tomorrow."
She sighs dramatically. "That sounds procedural."
"You're half asleep."
"That doesn't reduce my observational skills." The yawn ruins it.
I put her into bed and pull the blanket over her. Normally, I'd return to the office, finish the foundation report, check Makari's overnight brief, and fall asleep after midnight.
Instead, I remove my shoes.
Rowan opens one eye. "You're staying."
"Yes."
She yawns again. "That's suspicious too."
I put my watch on the bedside table and get in beside her.
She's asleep again within minutes, and I let myself sleep too.
Peter calls at six-forty the next morning. By the time I enter the kitchen, he's already at the penthouse with Makari. A map fills the wall screen, and a gray sedan is frozen near the access road to the hotel safe house we used after the gala.
Peter points toward the timestamp. "This vehicle passed the turnoff twice before the shooting. It returned forty minutes after we moved you there."
Makari changes the image to the plate registration. "Foundation contractor."
I read the company name. Liya's office has used them for event transport and donor logistics for years. "That proves they own a car."
Peter's patience thins. "Keep going."
Makari opens the relocation plan. The safe-house address appears in the document six hours before the gala shooting.
I move closer to the screen. "Who had access?"
Makari brings up the permissions tree. Liya's staff received the foundation transport section.
His operations team had the complete route.
Peter's shipping desk received the vehicle request because two cars came from family inventory.
My university office received the emergency relocation plan through campus-security authority.
A clinic-security notification sits farther down the list.
Peter notices it too. "Evelyn."
"Her office." I open the workflow and check the timestamp. "The clinic received temporary movement notice because Rowan's academic-security file was active after the shooting."
Peter steps nearer. "You're protecting her people."
"I'm refusing to accuse someone because her department appears on a distribution list." I close the workflow and face him. "That standard applies to Evelyn, Richard, Liya, Vanessa, your office, and mine."
He doesn't appreciate hearing his name included.
Makari remains beside the screen while I work through the paths.
Liya has unexplained calls. Richard's credentials appear where they shouldn't.
Vanessa has photographed foundation vehicles and private meetings.
Evelyn's clinic sits inside multiple processes later compromised.
Peter removed the shipping folder before returning it.
Each fact deserves investigation, but none deserves a verdict.
Rowan enters twenty minutes later wearing the sweater from last night. She stops near the island when she sees the wall screen, then walks closer without asking for a summary first.
"The safe-house address leaked?"
"Yes. Before the gala."
She takes Makari's tablet when he offers it and works through the permissions herself. Peter watches her reach the same list we did.
Rowan looks at me. "Do we know which route was used?"
"No."
She reads the timestamps again. "Then all of them stay open."
Peter shifts behind her but says nothing.
A month ago, Rowan would've chosen the person she trusted least and started there. I would've done the same thing with more resources.
Now neither of us does. As I told Makari, evolution can move slowly, but we're making progress.
Her phone vibrates against the island at eleven-thirty. Rowan opens the message. Whatever she sees makes her stiffen.
I stay on my side of the island. "What is it?"
"Orell." She turns the phone toward me.
Jeremy Bennett sits across a restaurant table from Orell Zaitsev.
The photograph is timestamped four months before Jeremy died.
He wears the gray suit Rowan identified in earlier photographs.
Coffee is in front of him, while Orell has a glass of wine and enough room around both men to suggest whoever took the photograph waited for a clean frame.
Rowan enlarges the image.
She studies the table, the windows behind Jeremy, the server's station near the edge, and the reflection in the glass. Her thumb stops over the screen.
I don't ask what she thinks it means.
I expect her to send it to Harper or walk away with it until she's built a theory she can defend. Instead, she moves around the island and stops beside me.
"I need you to look at it with me."
She keeps hold of one side of the phone while I take the other.