16. Dark Closet （Micah）

16

DARK CLOSET (MICAH)

T he closet.

For some reason, my mind spins as I pore over Lucas' old folder of newspaper clippings, searching for clues about the Jacobins and Xavier. It's all old info Lucas gathered about Montero Arrendell's shady past during his obsession with his sister's death.

I'm back in time, remembering the closet in my childhood home.

That dingy, worn-down apartment. A two-room rathole that didn't even have a kitchen, just a mini-fridge and a foldout range top. The sink embedded in the wall had to double as a kitchen sink and the sink for the tiny telephone booth of a bathroom through the door just to one side of it.

Windows so grimy the whole world looked like mud. Bars over the glass.

Institutional as hell.

No curtains, so I'd tacked up blankets, tiny me standing on a wobbling, half-broken chair to reach.

Privacy was nonexistent.

My brother and I shared one little room, while our father lived in the other. Ate, slept… drank. He was always half-fused to that stained sofa in front of the TV, either drunk off his ass or on his way there, surrounded by empty bottles.

It was always so fucking cold in that place, even in summer.

It's like the hopelessness of those dead grey walls sucked the life out of everything, especially me.

Maybe I was ruined long before Jet died and my life became one long vendetta.

Maybe I was ruined the moment our mother died and left us alone with that man, in that dead place, stealing more of our humanity into its awful walls every day until there was nothing left.

Except for the closet.

Barely taller than a coffin, just big enough to stand in.

No light inside at all.

Nothing on hangers or anything else, just a lot of old clothes piled up on the floor, like a standing junk drawer. For any other kid, it would've been a dingy nightmare.

For me, it was safety.

Because, weirdly, it locked from the inside and outside.

If our father was piss drunk enough, he couldn't fumble the outside latch and pry it open.

That's why I hid in that closet so many awful nights.

I'd make a nest in there with the rags and old clothes that still stank like sweat and God only knows what else. Sometimes Jet would hide with me, but most of the time not, and I think that was when I started to hate myself.

One of us had to be out there—visible—when our father came straggling home late at night after tearing it up at the bar down the street from the industrial building where he worked as a janitor.

As long as Jet was his punching bag, the monster wouldn't go rummaging around in the closet for me.

So I'd huddle in the dark and listen.

I'd listen to our father's slurring words, the banging, the clatter of bottles.

Listen to the meaty sounds of fists on flesh.

Listen to the sad, hurt noises Jet made as he tried not to scream or even cry.

Listen to my own deafening heartbeat as rage welled up inside me until I felt so full I could gag.

I could see it all happening, just from those sounds.

No comfort whatsoever, besides the old floppy stuffed crow crushed in the corner.

It was Jet's when he was a baby, a gift from our mom, chucked in here and forgotten ever since.

Those beady black button eyes would stare at me, even when I couldn't see them clearly. That's when I could always hear it whispering the loudest.

Look at you! Hiding away while your poor big brother takes the brunt of it. Is that what you wanna grow up to be, Mikey? A stinkin' coward?

You're just gonna stand around and listen?

That's what it feels like I'm doing now as I try to piece together this case against Xavier. Sitting on my ass, listening to the telltale cries, trying to form a complete picture that will let me nail his dick to the fucking wall .

I just need hard evidence and it's frustrating as hell.

My phone goes off in my breast pocket.

Blinking, I roll my shoulders.

I've been staring at these files without really seeing them for so long that the newspaper clippings have turned into an unfocused blur of black and white.

As my vision clears, I glance around the office.

Everyone's out except Mallory, manning— womaning, whatever —the dispatch desk. Really, she's playing with the Korean boy toys in her game. I really wish I could un-hear the moaning coming from her phone.

But my phone needs attention, so I flip the file shut and swipe through a barrage of texts.

Talia: 911, 911, 911, 911

Talia: Well, wait, what's 911 for good things?

Talia: Maybe a good thing. I don't know yet but it could be. But it could also be big trouble and when can you come see me?

Talia: 411

Talia: That's it, I have the 411 on a thing!

Huh?

My dark memories implode in her jibber-jabber. Somehow, I'm smiling.

She does that a lot.

Calm down first, I send back. Back up. What do you have?

Talia: I can't say! Not here where it could be incriminating.

I snort with amusement.

Mallory stops tapping her screen and gives me a discerning look over the rims of her glasses.

I ignore her and type, Stop watching dumb cop shows. I've got a lunch break in fifteen. Red Grounds? Or would you prefer somewhere not public?

Talia: Grandpa's out right now. The Faircrosses need a new desk for their kid and he wanted to talk to them about dimensions. We can talk at the shop.

I'll be there as soon as I clock out. See you soon, I send back.

I set my phone down and look up.

Mallory's still watching me, sharp as a hawk.

"What?" I growl.

"You're smiling a lot lately," she points out. "Does it have anything to do with that nice young lady I see you out and about with?"

"No idea who you're talking about," I grumble, stuffing Lucas' folder into my desk as I stand. "But I think your 2D boyfriends are getting lonely. Those moans sound pretty impatient."

Mallory doesn't fluster easily.

She just gives me a flat look before turning her nose up and swiveling back to her desk.

No time to waste.

I straighten my uniform, resisting the urge to check my hair and my buttons in the station bathroom, and head out to meet Talia.

Ho.

Lee.

Shit .

I stare at the camera sitting in the middle of the kitchen table in Talia's loft.

It's a Nikon D3500. The black nylon camera strap with its woven green and yellow inner padding has the name brIAN NEWCOMB stitched into it, plain as day.

In the silence, Talia fidgets with her hands, watching me nervously.

She looks like a doll today, wearing a knee-length off-the-shoulder dress in some sort of pale-lavender gauze with a flared skirt. Her red hair hangs down around her shoulders in a curtain of fire.

She must've changed and prettied up before I came over. I know damn well she wouldn't let Xavier see her with those bite marks blooming on her shoulders.

She's pale with uncertainty, too, moving back and forth from foot to foot, biting at her strawberry mouth until it's swollen.

"Don't worry. I used tissues to pick it up," she says uncertainly. "And gloves when I got home. So I wouldn't leave my prints on your evidence."

"We don't know if this is evidence just yet," I say, but my heart beats faster. "How did you get this?"

"Xavier—" Her voice cracks. She coughs anxiously, then tries again. "Xavier's office. I, um… I might have screwed things up with Joseph Peters. I was pretty direct, but he knew what I meant. He got all defensive and shut me down. But he left me alone in the office while his boss was on a call, so I did some sleuthing. Found that in his desk drawer. I also took photos of his phone records. He didn't even notice anything was messed with. He seemed really mad about some shipping issue, though, and he barely talked to me before sending me home."

Fuck.

I don't even know how to feel right now.

On one hand, this could be everything.

On the other, it could be bad goddamned news.

If Xavier realizes Talia took this, who knows what he'll do.

In my stunned silence, Talia's face falls.

"…I screwed up, didn't I? I thought just, y'know, with Xavier having the camera, that's incriminating, right?"

"No." I shake my head. "It's circumstantial. There are a million reasons why he could have a dead hiker's camera that have nothing to do with him being connected to Mr. Newcomb's death. A judge would toss out any accusations in a heartbeat." While that crestfallen look on her face deepens, I pull the nitrile gloves I always carry around on duty out of my pocket and snap them on. "Now, what's on this camera might be evidence. You did good. But you also took one hell of a risk, Talia. I don't want you going up to that house again and digging around. Not until this is sorted."

She'd started to brighten halfway through my speech, but then she frowns.

"But I have to. Won't it seem suspicious if I start avoiding him?"

"I don't care," I snap with a ferocity that surprises me. She recoils. I stop, sighing. "Sorry. Look, I just don't want him hurting you if he suspects you're snooping."

"I know how to run," she points out weakly, trying to smile.

I give her a hard look and pick up the camera, turning it over to look at the digital screen on the back and activating the interface.

It still has some battery life, and it only takes a few clicks to navigate to the gallery.

It's been completely cleared out.

"Fuck!" I drop the camera, letting it hang from my hands. "Somebody already emptied the archives. They deleted everything . It's been wiped. Digital forensics might be able to do something with this, but…" I hesitate.

But I'm not working this case for Redhaven or Raleigh PD.

For now, I'd rather keep them out of it.

"…but it might take too long," I finish lamely.

Talia rounds the table to lean against me, peering at the screen. She tugs on my wrist until I lift it again.

"What's that?" She points at something in the upper right corner.

I frown.

It looks like an account management icon, next to an email address. I read the address out loud, cocking my head.

" SighinBrian . Huh. It's an email." As I tap the icon, the account settings open, and I inhale, going stiff. "Looks like it was synched to the cloud."

Talia blinks at me, perking up a little.

"So the data was backed up? Oh, but we don't have access, do we? Can you get like, I don't know, a warrant or a subpoena?"

"No need." My determination hardens. "Because I know who might be able to get us in."

If we'd been an hour later, we might have missed Ariana Lewis.

When she opens the door to her room at The Rookery, it looks vastly different from last time. Restored to hotel condition, all her belongings—and his—packed up and piled next to the door, anything personal swept clean.

She's dressed plainly in jeans and a cardigan.

It's not hard to tell the grief has been taking its toll on her, judging from the creases under her eyes to the way she's shed weight. But she still finds a pale smile for me as her eyes warm with recognition.

"Officer Ainsley," she whispers, looking past me at Talia, who wouldn't even entertain staying behind. "And girlfriend?"

"Um, no, we're—" Talia makes a flustered sound.

"Yes," I cut her off. "Ariana Lewis, Talia Grey. Talia, Ariana." I can't explain our relationship to Talia, let alone to Ariana, and I'm not about to try.

This is easier.

That's why I say it.

That's the only damn reason.

Even as Talia goes silent, staring at me with her wide-eyed, delicate blush, I move on quickly, offering Ariana my practiced Officer Friendly smile.

"Sorry to bother you, but I'm glad we caught you. I know this is a hard subject, but you may be able to help us with Brian's case." I stop short of saying death , a word the grieving never want to hear.

Ariana's smile fades, hurt flickering in her eyes, but she nods and steps back. "Come in. If I can help, it's my pleasure. I just need to make my flight in six hours."

I cock my head. "Your sister didn't make it?"

"Oh, she couldn't find anyone to watch the kids, so she's been yelling at me nonstop to come home ASAP." That weak smile flutters over her lips again.

She leads us inside, gesturing to the dining table. While Talia and I sit, Ariana starts making tea. She seems like the type who needs to keep her hands busy.

"So what's this about?" she asks.

I nod at Talia.

Right on cue, Talia flips open her messenger bag and retrieves the camera, now wrapped up in an evidence bag, and deposits it on the table. Ariana looks at it and freezes, dropping the teakettle she'd been setting down on the counter with a clatter.

"You… you found his camera?" she asks, sounding so lost, taking a step closer to the table.

"We did." I conveniently leave out how or why it's in an evidence bag. No point in hurting this poor girl with what-ifs without good reason. "However, it was damaged in the fall, and the data was corrupted." The lie works for now. "We're working on piecing together everything that happened before the incident, and being able to access those files would help fill in some gaps for the medical examiner's report. It looks like he had a cloud backup with his email address. You wouldn't happen to know the password, would you?"

"…I don't know. Is it his iCloud account?" she asks.

"I'm not sure. It seems like it might be Google, judging by the email address."

Ariana just stares at the camera like it might magically bring her dead boyfriend back.

Talia gives me a worried look, then says, "It's cool if you can't remember. I know it's hard for you right now."

See? I knew bringing her with me was the right idea.

Part of me wants to be the man Talia brings out, who was able to be so kind to Ariana the last time I was here.

Only, right now I smell blood.

I'm all sharp edges.

If I'm not careful, I'll be a spinning knife, cutting everyone around me.

Ariana looks at Talia for a few seconds, heavy with pain. She's a small woman, but her sadness takes up so much space.

"Talia, right?" Ariana asks. "Have… have you ever been in love?"

Talia makes a flustered sound.

There's a weird feeling as she looks down at the table. Her gaze darts over the smooth surface like she's looking for an answer. The only place she won't look is at me.

"Yes," she finally answers.

Fuck.

Does she mean me?

How could she, when I've been such a prick?

Ariana's gaze flicks to me before snapping back to Talia with a worn smile.

"Then you know," she says. "You know that when you're in love, you feel like your world revolves around them. Even things that don't have anything to do with them are just like that , in your head. All the little things. Noticing something your boyfriend would like in a store or thinking of something random and funny and wanting to share a laugh. Naming your pet after their childhood stuffed animal. Or… or…" She swallows, her throat working so tightly it's easy to tell she's trying hard not to cry. "…or using their nicknames or birthdays as passwords. That kind of thing." Her smile widens, but it's trembling and heavy and hurt. "My email password is MySighingBriBri-something . How dumb is that?"

"No," Talia says, looking at Ariana with so much empathy in her eyes. "That's not stupid at all. It's the kind of thing you do when they're everything."

Why is it suddenly harder to breathe in this room?

Like there's just not enough air here anymore.

Not for the man I am and the specter of the man Talia wishes I could be, instead of this hollow shell who can't even give her a straight answer about whether or not we're truly together.

I hold still, though, letting them speak.

Letting Ariana say what she needs to.

She sniffles, wiping at her eyes, even though they're dry.

"Yeah. Brian was like that. He was my life and I'd like to think I was his, too. We were so ridiculous together, but it was great. I miss him." Her eyes sparkle with memories. "He used to call me ‘Ariana Blondie.' You know, like the singer?" With a snort, she tweaks a strand of her wispy blonde hair and glances at me. "Anyway, yeah, I might have a few you can try. I'll write them down to make it easier, okay? And you can call me if none of them work and I'll try to think of something else."

I nod. "Thanks, Miss Lewis. That would help a lot."

She just stands there for a moment, though, staring at the camera like it's this talisman of grief.

"Any chance I can have it? When you're done with it, I mean," she asks.

"After we're done with the reports, absolutely," I say. "Once it's no longer considered evidence, I'll see if we can have the camera and any other belongings released to you, or to his next of kin. No doubt his family would want you to have it."

"Thank you, Officer Ainsley," she murmurs. "You've been great. And I'm really grateful for how kind you've been."

Kind?

You've got the wrong guy, I want to say.

Then again, it's not my place to deny the feelings of a grieving woman.

She jerks away then, moving on halting steps to rummage around in the kitchen drawer until she comes up with a notepad and pen and starts scribbling things down.

It's silent in the suite except for the scratch of her pen on paper.

Talia glances up at me, but I can't read what she's saying.

I feel like I'm goddamned Pinocchio turning back into a wooden boy, forgetting all the things I thought I'd learned about being human in situations like this.

It's the expectation of it, these two women looking at me like I'm something more than I am.

All I want them to see is the monster.

The man who's only here to kill Xavier Arrendell, and they're just a means to an end.

You don't mean that , idiot.

It's like I'm fighting with something inside myself. Like the monster has taken on a different face, a different will, and it wants to take me over and make me cruel, cold, remind me of my purpose.

Jet's face flashes in my mind, accusing and wagging a finger.

What's the matter, little Mikey? So busy chasing pussy you forgot I'm dead?

That's right, my dude.

I'm dead 'cause you couldn't stand up against Dad, so I had to do it for you.

I'm fucking dead, and you're over here getting your freak on with some girl who only likes you 'cause you're her kinky little albino doughnut.

Her pet freak.

And it looks like you let yourself be tamed.

No, goddammit.

That's not Jet's voice, even if it's Jet's corpse leering at me in my imagination. He has the same black button eyes as the crow in the closet.

That voice, that's our father's.

That ugly slurring voice I hated so much, constantly mocking and cruel.

I close my eyes, shaking my head sharply and pressing the heel of my palm against my temple, like I can force that voice out.

Shut it.

Shut the fuck up.

"Micah?" Talia's voice breaks the stillness. It's insidious how her softness gets into me, how she somehow wears down my barriers. Not with force, no, but more like the slow way a river carves a canyon a mile deep. "Are you okay?"

Yes.

Keep it the fuck together.

I open my eyes and pin on my Officer Friendly smile, even though I never use that smile with her.

"Yeah. Slight headache. Just a long day."

Hurt flashes in her eyes. She looks at me like I'm a stranger.

Damn.

I don't know how to tell her that the stranger is the real me.

Fortunately, Ariana saves me from having to say anything else.

She rips the top sheet off the notepad and offers it to me with a trembling smile. "Here. I tried a lot of different combinations, but hopefully one of these will work."

"Thank you, Miss Lewis," I say, taking the note and standing quickly. I hold my smile like it's the only thing keeping me sane. "I'll be in touch if we need anything else or have any additional information to share. Have a good day." I nod to Talia, who's still watching me like she's trying to figure out what changed. "Miss Grey, let's head out."

"Ah, right. Sure." Talia stands with a confused smile for Ariana. "Thank you so much for talking to us. I'm sorry for your loss, again."

"Thank you." Ariana's eyes gleam briefly.

I turn and walk out.

I tell myself I'm giving Ariana space. No more people barging in and expecting shit from her or asking her to pretend she's okay, running from her feelings.

Really, I feel like I'm the one running now.

Running from this expectation to be human with the harsh gravity of Talia's hurt and confusion hot on my heels.

We barely make it to the parking lot before she stops me—reaching out for my hand, touching the back of my palm before I unlock my patrol car.

"Micah?" Talia asks. Her voice sounds so wounded it makes me want to drop everything and hold her until that wound stops bleeding. "What's wrong?"

I don't know.

Nothing and everything.

I shrug, glancing at her casually. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"That was not fine," she says with a firmness that surprises me. Her mouth tightens and her hand remains on mine. "Please tell me the truth. What happened to you in there?"

"I felt a little awkward, given the situation. That's all."

"Because you called me your girlfriend?"

There it is—the fucking can of worms I opened when she asked me what we really are, and I couldn't stop thinking about how much I'm going to hurt her.

When she finds out that's all I can do and realizes she deserves better.

So here I am, deflecting again.

"No. I'm not good with people. Especially people in a fragile state." I catch her hand, squeezing tight, but also free my keys so I can unlock my car and pull the door open. "I promise you I'm fine. I'm going to clock my time early and head home to see if I can get into his account. I'll drop you at the shop on the way."

Her fingers tangle with mine.

She's holding on desperately now. I wish like hell she could see it.

I'm already corrupting her.

I'm no fucking good.

Why can't she figure it out?

"Can I come with you?" she asks. "I guess I just need to see it with my own eyes. So I know."

I hesitate, but if I say no, she'll feel like I'm avoiding her.

"Sure," I say.

Guess that's not convincing enough. Her face falls and she pulls her hand away. "Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"I mean it," I promise, reaching for her hand again, pulling her in close and kissing her forehead. "C'mon. You went through all this trouble to steal that camera. Let's go find out what was on it."

For a moment, she leans into me, but the silence remains. It's just as troubled when she pulls away and walks to the passenger side of the car. I feel like I should say something, but I don't know where to begin.

Talia's finally figuring out I'm not her perfect dirty fantasy.

Not this wise fairy-tale beast who always knows what to say, how to thrill her, how to guard her heart.

I'm a broken man—a fucking imposter—and there's only one way this ends for anyone who gets too close.

It's silent as a grave on the drive back to my house. In the past, we enjoyed our easy silences that we didn't need to fill with mindless chatter, but now the quiet feels tense.

Empty.

It feels like the silence that falls over a forest when there's an apex predator moving through, everything small and frightened, waiting for the threat to pass by.

I hate it.

I also don't know what to do about it, so I hold my tongue.

When we pull up at my place, a loud bark echoes from inside. A second later, the curtains in the front windows bunch up as Rolf's head pops up under them.

He stares eagerly out the window, his big tongue rolling.

Talia laughs, some of her tension easing. "That dog really loves you."

"He's just hoping I brought some treats," I mutter.

It's just an offhand comment, but it makes her go still anyway.

She looks at me strangely. What did I say now?

"You really do see love as transactional, don't you?"

"I…" I freeze.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck .

I mean. Fucking maybe?

I had a brother once. I thought I loved him.

It's not like my father ever loved me, though there were times when if I was good enough, obedient enough, he'd give me little scraps of affection. Just enough to reel me in so I wouldn't be on my guard when he turned dark and violent again.

So maybe she's right.

Maybe I do think love involves keeping score, whatever people think they can take from each other. I think love is earned.

Even with Jet, it was always counting who took the most bruises, whose turn it was to hurt. Just as toxic and fucked up as it sounds.

Right on cue, I look up at the branch overhanging the corner of my roof. They're back again, three overstuffed crows staring down.

One of them throws back its head and lets out an angry squawk.

Goddamn you, enough.

Focus on the mission .

Focus on Jet.

I'm so close.

That's why I stuff those dark thoughts down, ignore the birds, and eye Talia.

"I just know my dog and what he'll do for a good chew." Keep it cool. I open the car door and step out. "Let's go."

She follows me quietly.

She's probably rethinking this, and I don't blame her.

It'll be easier if she starts pulling away from me now so it won't hurt so much later.

Maybe this is how it ends, like a flower wilting without water.

Why does my chest hurt like hell, then?

Cursing in my head, I unlock the door to the house.

We barely make it inside before Rolf comes barreling over, jumping up to lick my face.

"Hey, old man." I give him a quick squeeze—I'd never admit it's comforting, giving me an anchor right now—before letting go so he can pounce on Talia next.

She catches him with a squeal, bursting into laughter as she buries her face in his thick ruff and scratches him all over. The two of them are practically in a wrestling contest.

And it makes that cramp in my chest worse, seeing them like that. My goddamned prickly, possessive dog fucking loves this woman.

I hate that I'm starting to wonder if I do, too.

I firmly push those thoughts away and pivot, leaving them in the entryway to enjoy their lovefest while I take a detour to the kitchen.

My laptop's on the breakfast island. I settle down on a chair and flip it open so I can pull up the cloud hosting service where Brian Newcomb kept his accounts, then I fish out the paper with the passwords Ariana gave me. I type in his email address from memory and try the first potential password.

No luck.

I'm on the third try by the time I hear Rolf's nails clicking and the soft clack of Talia's shoes against the kitchen tile.

She comes up behind me, peering over my shoulder, her soft vanilla-spice scent drifting over me. Rolf props his head on my thigh, looking up at me beseechingly. I let one hand fall, rubbing his head while I try number four.

"Anything yet?" Talia asks.

"No, still got three more…"

The next one comes up dead.

And the next, and the next, and the next after that.

I flop back, raking a frustrated hand through my hair.

"Fuck. Guess I'd better call Ariana Lewis."

"Maybe not." Talia leans over me. The soft curves of her breasts press against my arm, warm through the sheer layers of her breezy floral top.

She points at one of the passwords— ArianaBlondieBabyI .

I nod back.

"That one. That's a play on a song title about being in love," Talia whispers. Just like how Ariana said it was with Brian. "If they were really so gooey over each other, that might be the one. Try replacing the I with a one."

"You think that's all it takes?" I quirk a brow.

"I think it's the quickest way people change up their passwords to make them secure without forgetting," she says with a shrug. "It's what I do all the time."

"And if it doesn't work?"

She blinks at me innocently. "Then you use your big shot police resources to run a password cracker with these passwords as seeds to try every variant."

I stare at her.

"How the hell do you know about brute forcing passwords?"

"I spent my childhood as a shut-in." She shrugs. "I read a lot of dorky books."

"Apparently so." But it's worth a shot. I turn back to my laptop and try to log in again with ArianaBlondieBaby1 .

No dice.

"Damn it," Talia hisses, and I hold a hand up.

"You gave me an idea. One number, one uppercase, one special character. That's how it goes these days, right?"

"On most sites, yes."

"Then…" I type in ArianaB1ondieBaby!

Bingo .

"What did you do ?" Talia squeals with delight as the login screen pops up.

"I figured since one and the exclamation point are the most common substitutions, he'd swap the L or the uppercase I with one or the other, but not the lowercase I since it'd be harder to remember which one it was. So I made the L a one, and the uppercase I an exclamation." I smirk with satisfaction. "If that hadn't worked, I bet the other way would have."

"Okay, Mr. Smarty-pants, let's just see what he saved."

That's sobering. I'm almost hesitant to click.

The page opens up on dozens of thumbnail slides, all of them so dark it's hard to make out what's in the photos without expanding them to full size. My heart thumps hard.

If there's enough evidence in these pictures, I'm finally going to do what I came here for.

Swallowing hard to wet my dry mouth, I start the slideshow, clicking through quickly.

Nature shots. What else?

Pictures of the hills, the trees, the sky. Another shot with the sunset blazing past Redhaven seen from on high.

A fox coming out of its burrow to sniff leaves as the darkness settles.

The glade below the cliff.

The place where Brian Newcomb's body was found.

I'm clicking so fast now it's like I'm trying to keep up with my pulse.

A few shots clicked away, then back as headlights glow through the trees. Every shot after shows those headlights coming closer, so dim they're ghostly, so many successive shots it's almost like a moving film.

Then I see it.

The trucks.

That town car .

The usual swarm of people moving around, a thing I've seen so many times, but never anything incriminating enough for a search and seizure, except—

There .

Xavier fucking Arrendell.

Joseph Peters is behind the wheel and Xavier's stepping out of the back, dressed to the nines like he's heading into a business meeting.

Only, the only person he's meeting is Eustace Jacobin.

I don't realize I've stopped breathing until my head goes light.

I suck in a mad breath while Talia exhales next to me. A quick glance shows her eyes wide, transfixed, while I click away.

There it is again.

Money changing hands.

A tight green roll passing from him to her, just distinct enough to be sure that's what it is, and then she passes a white-wrapped brick to him. Probably a product sample.

Oh, fuck.

It's perfect.

It's enough and even if there's no proof that brick is pure cocaine, it'll be plenty to convince a judge I have grounds for a full fucking raid on the Jacobins and the Arrendells. The smoking gun has arrived, all thanks to this dead hiker.

Finally.

I'm fucking finally going to put these bastards in handcuffs.

So many times I've wanted to go rogue, to get vengeance, damn the consequences. I'm still not sure I won't, but for now, there's a certain satisfaction in knowing that my patience paid off and I did this the right way.

All I need is a warrant and a SWAT team to make sure the pricks responsible for the deaths of my brother and so many others are finally arrested.

Justice at last.

The sheer excitement chokes me so hard I almost miss the significance of the next few photos.

Eustace, leaning to whisper to Xavier. A subtle turn of their heads, not quite toward the camera.

Then Eustace slipping off into the trees.

Brian clearly never figured out that he was spotted because he kept taking photos up until the point where the next photo goes blurry.

He's falling.

A few more shots auto-clicking, showing the night whizzing by.

Just pure sky.

And then the last shot.

An ominous, dark silhouette with a long skirt, standing at the edge of the cliff and looking down.

Talia's low gasp breaks my trance.

"Shit," I mutter, inhaling roughly and looking at her. She's staring at the screen, her blue eyes liquid with fear, one hand pressed over her mouth.

Rolf whines and noses at her thigh.

"Oh my God," Talia whispers. "She… she really pushed him."

"I'm afraid so. Not one word of what you saw here, Talia. I have a lot of legal channels to go through to put this to work. If they get wind that we know, even the slightest hint, they could just up and disappear. And I'll lose everything."

"What? I'd never do that to you!" She sounds a little hurt, but mostly just insistent. "I know how much you need this."

"I had to make sure." I look back at the screen and start downloading the files just in case they vanish from the cloud. "You should go home. I'm going to be wrapped up in this for a while. No reason for you to get tangled up deeper."

No reason for you to get hurt, I mean.

I've used her enough.

I never should have to start with, though without her I wouldn't have any of this.

I'm grateful.

More grateful than I know how to express.

Which is why I need to let her go before she gets in so deep she can't find her way out.

I turn slowly, swiveling the barstool—but my knee hits her bag and it slips off her shoulder. It tumbles to the floor, spilling folders and papers.

We both lunge for it, me cursing.

We almost bang heads as we hit the kitchen floor on our knees.

She grabs her portfolio while I sweep up the scattered papers and stop, frowning at what looks like a top sheet of legal jargon beneath the Arrendell letterhead.

"What's this?"

Talia blinks, then tugs it out of my hand and looks at it.

There's a guilty flush to her cheeks, but she's also smiling.

"Oh, the contract!" She fans the pages to the last one, where a monogrammed check is paper-clipped to the final signed page. "The first check." Her smile nearly breaks her face. I realize just what I'm about to do as she says, "Grandpa's going to be okay."

Fucking hell.

I'm about to rugpull every last hope she ever had from under her.

All so I can have my justice.

I've known.

I've always known.

Still, as long as it wasn't concrete, as long as it was this slow game of cat and mouse, I could pretend this day wouldn't come.

But it's here like a shooting star.

Come morning, this place might be swarming with Feds, if I make the right phone calls.

Then the money Talia needs to save Gerald Grey goes up in smoke as everything Xavier owns becomes either a seized federal asset or hot evidence.

I stare into her smile, missing my soul.

"Cash your check fast. Today, Talia."

It's like blotting out the sun.

Her lips go slack with confusion. Her eyes darken with worry, and she draws the papers with the check tucked inside close, as if she's worried someone might snatch them away.

"Why?"

"Because if— when —I move on Xavier, his assets will end up frozen and that check won't be worth the paper it's written on."

I stand, turning my back on her and pacing to my laptop.

I can't stand the stricken look on her face.

I also can't help pausing, glancing back, while Rolf dances around on his front paws between us, his confusion clear. He's always been sensitive to changes in the air, and the tension feels thick enough to choke me.

"I'll make sure you're labeled as an innocent bystander so the funds might not be seized when they chase the paper trail," I tell her. "I just can't guarantee anything. Also, I hope that check is enough. Go home. Get your affairs in order. I don't know how fast this is all going to go down."

I look away again, waiting for her to break the silence.

She's just standing there, so loud I can hear her.

A person makes noises that come with being alive. Quiet is never quiet as long as someone's breathing.

Everyone has their own special quiet made of restless motions and breathing rhythm, their pattern of sighs or subvocal murmurs, the way their clothing whispers with movement.

I hadn't realized I'd learned Talia's quiet by heart.

Not until it changes in the smallest ways.

Because her hurt and confusion change how she moves.

"Why, Micah? Why are you talking like this?" she asks. "Like… like we're strangers."

That's all we ever should've been.

I can't answer that, though.

So all I say is, "I said go, Talia."

Fuck, I'm itching for a cold shaker cup in my hand, biting my skin with the distraction of mixing a drink. My father turned to drinking to block out the world. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, even if for me it's the ritual rather than the booze clouding my mind.

Talia and I aren't the right mix.

"Get the check in your account. Look after your grandfather," I finish, fixing my gaze on my computer and not on her, watching the progress bar fill up as the files download rapidly.

It feels like once that bar hits one hundred, something ends forever.

"You've done incredible work, and I'm grateful. It's just that this case doesn't involve you anymore."

Talia's soft, choked sound hits my back like a bullet.

"You're dismissing me," she says. "Just like that, you're… you're…"

"I'm telling you to stay out of a very dangerous situation that doesn't need to worry you anymore. Thank you for your help, but I'll take it from here."

"Of course it concerns me! You concern me, you dick!"

"I shouldn't."

The silence after I say that rings like a death knell.

I don't know what I'm doing besides busting apart.

I don't know how to take it back.

Now that I started this, I have to finish it, instead of hurting her with weak deflections and weaker words.

I am a huge fucking dick.

That's why I have zero business with a girl like her.

Her quiet turns into a storm as my ears sting and she sweeps toward me.

"How can you not concern me?" she asks. There's so much emotion in her voice, it's like she's going to shatter when it overflows.

My heart shakes.

I don't have an answer. No combination of words will ever be good enough.

I close my eyes, gripping the edge of the breakfast bar.

Just before my eyelids turn everything dark, that progress bar hits 100%, just a little final marker that tells me this is over and I have to stop this now.

Fucking now, while I'm back in my dark closet, safe from her tiny hand reaching inside me and tearing my heart out.

I know that isn't it. I know she has more to say.

"You what, Talia?" I ask softly, and I know I'm going to crush her if she tells me, if she bares her heart to me that way. "What are you about to say?"