Chương 4
Curtis moved toward the dining room.
Delaney blocked him for half a second. “You don’t get to walk away from that sentence.”
“If they come through the windows, the sentence won’t matter.”
He pushed past her.
Ruth gripped the doorframe.
Delaney wanted to demand everything at once: names, dates, why Curtis knew her, why Gage Sartori had chosen the diner, why her mother had lied. Instead, the old part of her that had worked accidents took control.
“Get back in bed.”
“I need to speak to him.”
“He’s unconscious.”
“He may not stay that way.”
“He may not stay alive.”
Ruth closed her eyes.
Delaney heard the answer in that small surrender.
“You knew he might come here wounded.”
“No.”
“You invited him into my diner.”
“I gave him a place to bring something.”
“You gave a mafia boss our address as though he couldn’t find it on a map?”
“I gave him permission.”
“For what?”
Ruth’s fingers tightened on the frame. “To tell the truth before someone killed him for it.”
A man shouted from the dining room.
Curtis called, “Delaney!”
She ran back.
The front windshield of the nearest SUV had flared white. For a moment Delaney thought someone had turned on the headlights. Then flame rolled beneath the hood.
The blast came low and hard.
The diner windows bowed inward. The glass door jumped in its frame. Men ducked behind booths as the SUV’s hood lifted and slammed back down. Fire spread along the engine compartment, orange against the blue-white snow.
Evan lost pressure on Sartori’s wound.
Delaney shoved him aside and climbed onto the booth.
“Stay with me,” she said, though Sartori could not hear her.
His pulse had weakened further.
A guard named Mason crouched beside the window. “Movement on the east side.”
“How many?” Curtis asked.
“Two. Maybe three.”
“Vehicles?”
“None visible.”
“They came in before the plow passed,” Delaney said. “They were waiting.”
Curtis looked at her.
“The generator was cut before the lights went out. They knew you’d come here.”
A guard near the jukebox turned toward Evan.
The young man’s face became even paler.
Frank, the bruised guard, crossed the room in two strides and seized Evan by the coat.
“Your phone.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Your phone.”
“I lost it in the truck.”
Frank slammed him against the wall.
Delaney shouted, “Not here.”
Frank ignored her. “You were on it after the first hit. I saw you.”
“I called my sister.”
“You told somebody where we were.”
“My sister is nine months pregnant.”
“So you called during an ambush?”
“She’s alone.”
Frank struck him once across the mouth.
Evan’s head snapped sideways. Blood appeared on his lip.
Curtis pulled Frank back by the shoulder. “Enough.”
“He gave us up.”
“Maybe,” Curtis said. “Hitting him won’t restore the generator.”
Evan wiped his mouth with a shaking hand. “I didn’t tell her where we were.”
“You use location sharing?” Delaney asked.
He looked at her.
“On your phone,” she said. “Does your sister track your location?”
His expression answered before he did.
“Sometimes.”
Frank swore.
“It could be that,” Delaney said. “It could also be any one of you. Or the phone belonging to the unconscious man everyone assumes can keep a secret.”
Curtis’s gaze went to Sartori’s jacket.
He searched the inside pockets and removed a slim black phone. The screen was cracked but lit when he pressed the side button.
“No service,” he said.
“Because of the jammer.”
“There’s an emergency message.”
He unlocked it with Sartori’s thumb.
The screen displayed a notification sent at 7:31 p.m., seventeen minutes before the convoy reached the diner.
THE LAMPLIGHT IS BURNED. DO NOT ENTER.
Curtis read it twice.
“Who sent that?” Delaney asked.
“No number.”
“You received an instruction to come here, then a warning not to?”
“The first came at six-fifty from his secured account.”
“Could that be faked?”
“Not easily.”
“Not easily isn’t no.”
Curtis opened the earlier message.
FALLBACK WARD. ROUTE 28. RUTH HAS ORIGINAL. TRUST NO COUNTY BADGE.
Delaney read it over his arm.
Ruth stood in the kitchen doorway.
Curtis looked at her. “Original what?”
Ruth’s eyes settled on Gage. “The books.”
A pistol cracked outside. A bullet punched through the diner’s wooden siding and buried itself in the wall above the cash register. The property-tax notice fluttered from the force.
Delaney ducked instinctively. Her hand never left Sartori’s wound.
Curtis ordered the guards away from the windows.
Ruth did not move.
“Mom, get down.”
“I can’t get down without help.”
The absurd practicality of it cut through Delaney’s panic.
She climbed out of the booth, supported her mother under one arm, and lowered her behind the counter. Ruth winced and swore softly.
“You tore something?”
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
“I know what tearing feels like.”
“How?”
“I have lived longer than you.”
“This is not the time.”
“It has never stopped you before.”
A small laugh escaped Delaney. It sounded wrong in the dark diner, and for one second she hated herself for it. Ruth squeezed her wrist.
Curtis crouched behind the counter with them.
“What books?” he asked again.
Ruth looked toward the register.
Delaney followed her gaze.
“No.”
Ruth said nothing.
Delaney opened the cabinet beneath the till. Coffee filters, receipt rolls, extra pens, a mouse trap, and two bottles of glass cleaner filled the shelf.
“Lower.”
Delaney pulled out the bottom drawer. It stuck halfway, as it had for years. Her father had promised to plane the swollen edge and never done it.
She yanked harder.
The drawer came free.
Behind it sat a flat parcel wrapped in waxed butcher paper.
Curtis reached for it.
Delaney slapped his hand away.
“This is in my wall.”
“It belongs to Mr. Sartori.”
Ruth shook her head. “No. It belongs to people who were never supposed to exist on paper.”
May you like
Delaney unwrapped the parcel.
Inside were three ledger books, their black covers softened with age. There was also a thick envelope sealed with yellowed tape and a small brass key tagged with the number 214.
