“Not much other than the plow.”
“Cambridge is behind on salt,” he said.
“Cambridge has been behind on salt since 2003.”
Dane took a sip of the coffee.
“Eamon said six.”
“Then he’ll be here at five-fifty-eight.”
“You’re staring,” Dane said without turning his head.
“I am.”
“For a reason?”
“There’s always a reason.”
He looked at me. His eyes in the pale glow of street light through the windows were a darker blue than they were in regular light.
“Let it keep,” Dane said. “Whatever the reason is. Let it keep for after Eamon.”
“He’d love to be our best man.”
He didn’t look at me and continued to drink his coffee.
The radiator ticked. Upstairs, a floorboard shifted under Vega’s weight as she moved her chair an inch.
“I’m going to do the kitchen check,” I said. “Buzz me when Eamon’s at the door.”
“Copy.”
At five-fifty-seven, Reed was in my ear. “Eamon’s at the side door.” He was early.
I let him in. He entered with a leather portfolio under his arm and snow on the shoulders of his coat. Maybe four hours of sleep, by the look of him.
“Coffee,” he said.
“Made.”
He smiled.
Eamon hung his coat in the mudroom and followed me into the kitchen. Dane entered from the hall with an empty mug. The three of us sat around the table.
“Status?” Eamon asked.
“Vega upstairs,” I said. “Reed at the door. Wiley and Samuel are sleeping. Cabot’s down the hall, sleeping too. Köhler woke at three but hasn’t come out."
“What’s the latest from Watertown?” Dane asked.
“The contractor logged nothing in fourteen hours. No vehicles or thermal anomalies.”
“It doesn’t mean they’ve stopped using the house,” Dane said. “It means we’re seeing a quiet window. They cycled the perimeter two nights ago. They know surveillance is on it.”
“Or they’ve moved it already,” I said.
Dane nodded.