After a beat, he took his hand off the door. I closed it and walked beside Wiley toward the carriage house. Dane stood inside the open door, outlined by the warm light behind him.
Wiley crossed the threshold and went past Dane without speaking.
I walked in behind him. Dane closed the door, threw the deadbolt, and turned to me.
His voice was soft. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
Dane wrapped me in his arms and cupped the back of my neck in his hand. It was over as quickly as it had started.
He led me through a short hallway into the carriage house’s front room, and I followed with my coat still on and the sidearm still warm against my ribs. The kitchen was small. Wiley sat at the table with the secure handset in his hand. I pulled a water bottle from the refrigerator for him.
Dane joined us. “Eamon set the phone. You can call.”
“I can, but—“
“He’ll want to hear from you,” I said.
“Yes, but if I call him at five in the morning, he’ll know it was bad.” He paused. “He’ll hear it in my voice in the first three words. Samuel won’t ask how bad. He doesn’t do that. He’ll ask,are you somewhere safe,and I’ll say,yesand he’ll know I’m lying, because I’m not somewhere safe. I’m only somewhere new, and he’ll lie back to me and say,good, and we’ll both sit onthe line and listen to each other not saying anything for the rest of the five minutes.”
He set the handset down.
“I’ll let him sleep.”
I didn’t answer.
“Thank you for not telling me to call him,” Wiley said.
“You don’t need anyone telling you what to do with Samuel. You worked it out a long time ago.”
Wiley looked up at me. “Have you ever had someone like Samuel?”
“No.”
He nodded.
Wiley pushed up from the table and picked up the half-empty water bottle.
“I’ll show you where you sleep,” Dane said from the doorway.
I stayed where I was until I heard a door open and a minute later close. Then I went to find Dane.
Chapter thirteen
Dane
Iwoke and went downstairs at four-fifteen a.m.
The kitchen was warmer than upstairs by at least three degrees. Farrow was making coffee. He stood with his hip against the island.
“Morning, Farrow.”
Dane turned. He’d shaved at the end of his sleep shift, just before midnight, and wore a soft grey sweatshirt, with the sidearm holstered at the small of his back. He poured a mug of coffee and slid it across the island.
I sipped.
“Cabot’s up before six today,” he said.