Reed had been watching the man outside for at least ninety seconds.
Cabot said, “That’s him.”
The radiator in the corner stopped its tick-and-hiss for a beat. Old houses had a way of holding still when something in the room changed. Outside, a dog barked twice and stopped.
I kept looking through the gap I’d opened between the slat and the casing. It was less than a finger’s width. That was enough to see the curb and the man standing there.
He balanced his weight on the balls of his feet. He held his hands loosely at his sides. The lack of a phone, leash, or purchase from a local shop made him suspicious. He couldn’t be explained as waiting for someone or heading home.
He was watching.
I knew the posture. I’d used it myself.
Dane came up behind me. The clean cedar scent reached me first, and under it the warmth of him at my shoulder, close enough that I knew the exact temperature of his skin without touching it.
He didn’t crowd the sightline. He bent slightly, looking over my shoulder. His breath moved past my ear.
I tightened my grip on the casing.
“He’s not waiting,” I said. “He’s watching.”
Dane didn’t respond. He watched back with me.
Then the man moved.
He walked past the front of the house at a clean, even pace, looking straight ahead. He kept going past the next house, turned at the corner toward Charles, and was gone.
“Got what he came for,” I said.
Dane stepped back. I followed him out of the window and let the shutter readjust. We turned our attention back to the room.
Wiley was on the couch. Cabot was still sitting in his armchair, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded on his knee. It was an old-money posture, trained in youth and kept for life.
I stepped clear of the window and let Dane have his angle on the corner of the parlor. I positioned myself a few feet short of the couch.
Wiley’s phone was on the coffee table where he’d set it down at the door. The screen was dark. The text was still there.
Nobody had stopped thinking about it.
Wiley picked up his pen. He rolled it once between his thumb and forefinger.
“That wasn’t a casing pass,” he said.
“No,” Dane said.
“He was confirming.”
“Yes.”
“They had us before we walked through the door.”
It was the right read. The address had leaked before any of us came up the steps.
“How?” Cabot asked.
“Multiple possibilities,” Dane said. “Eamon flagged a channel breach this morning that he’s still working. Either of youmay have been under surveillance before Patterson put your assignments together. Anyone close to your work this week is on the list until they’re cleared. We haven’t resolved any of it yet.”
“Resolved, meaning what?” Wiley asked.