Sasha calls Jean who answers on the first ring.
“Jean here.”
“Hi, you seen Maxy?” Sasha asks.
Jean is quiet on the other side of the line for a moment, then, “Not since he left this morning.” We hear clicking of his keyboard through the car speaker. “No scans into the apartment since you and Mrs. Mary left.”
“Hm,” Sasha says. “Thank you, Jean.”
He calls Samuel next who doesn’t pick up on the first or second try.
We sit quietly in the car, stewing on the radio silence from Maxim.
“Should we check the Brickyard?” Sasha asks, already turning left down the street to take us in that direction.
I chew on the corner of my thumb, but then remember the germs and clench my hands in my lap to stop messing with them. I squint out the windshield and run through the situation instead of panicking. He didn’t go alone, he had Samuel nearby. It’s not unheard of for him to be out late—so much crime happens under the shade of night for a reason—but not messaging either of us isn’t his way.
I gasp, remembering that I have a way of knowing exactly where he is.
“What?”
“The watch,” I say, already pulling out my phone and navigating to the tracking app I’ve yet to use.
“What watch?”
“The wedding watch,” I say like this should be obvious. “I put a tracker in it.”
Sasha looks flabbergasted by this, but whistles a long low tone. “You’re nuts, Mary. Brilliant, but nuts.”
“Please, Maxim would’ve done the same if he thought of it first.”
“He did,” Sasha says, and shoots a quick pointed look at my chest. I scrunch my nose but follow his gaze to the gold necklace Maxim gave me, his own wedding present. “You’re made for each other.”
I hold the warm pendant for a moment in my palm. I should feel betrayed, or hurt, or slighted like he didn’t trust me, but I feel only softness in my chest for the gesture.
“Well?” He nudges when I’ve been sitting sappy for too long.
I drop the pendant and look back at the little map on my phone, scanning until I locate the blue pulsing blue dot. I zoom in, confused by what I’m seeing.
“It says he’s by the East Shipyard. Did he say he was going over there today?”
“No,” Sasha says, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he turns the car in a U-turn to change our route. I sit back in my seat and watch the blue blinking dot, unmoving on the screen.
“Fuck. Is it a building he’s in?” Sasha asks, no shortage of concern evident in his voice. “Zoom in further.”
I plug my phone into the car and turn on the navigation. Seeing where it’s leading us, he curses again.
“That fucking building. Did you call your sister’s guy at the CIA about Tenneson?”
“A woman,” I correct. “Yeah, I sent a note last night. Why?”
“How did you send it?”
“I sent a guy to give her the note on her morning run. Why?” His intensity about this makes me feel like there’s something I really should know but have been left out of.
“And was it actually delivered?”
“Yeah.” I chew on my lower lip. Last I heard, she did get the message, but that’s usually as far as our communication goes. It’s not safe otherwise. It’s up to her now what she does with it. “What is this place anyway?”
