“Fine,” she says. “We wait for Brady.”
It’s a win. Not the one I want, but enough to buy time.
I text him fast—HANDLE CONTACTED HER. SMARTLITTLEBIRD. GET HERE—then plant myself between her and the screen.
She tips her head back, scowling up at me. “You are blocking my light.”
“You’ve had enough computer time for one day.”
“You are so dramatic,” she mutters.
I have a mental image of what Henry would do if she were alone, if there weren’t a six-four wall between his words and her body, and decide she can call me dramatic for the rest of my life if it keeps that from being a reality.
Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at the door—three sharp, two slow.
“That’ll be Jack,” Tallulah says.
I move before she does, checking the peephole even though I know the rhythm. Sheriff Jack Brady glowers back at me through the fish-eye, hat down low against the cold.
I open up.
He steps inside, bringing wind and snow-scent with him, and gives the room a quick once-over. His gaze lands on Tallulah. Lingers.
“You okay, Gentry?” he asks.
Something in my chest doesn’t like how personal that sounds, how familiar. I shut that down fast; he’s known her longer than you have, idiot.
Tally rolls her eyes. “Define ‘okay.’”
“Conscious, upright, not texting back serial killers,” he says.
“Two out of three,” she says.
His stare cuts to the laptop. “You answer him?”
“No,” I say.
“Not yet,” Tallulah corrects.
Brady pins her with a look that probably works on half the town. “Not at all.”
Cotton appears at his elbow with a mug. “Coffee before you two start playing Who Can Glare Harder.”
He takes it, grunts something like thanks, then nods at me. “Walk me through it.”
We crowd around the table, all four of us. I set the laptop down and angle it so everyone can see. Tally ends up standing between my knees because there’s nowhere else for her to go in the cramped space.
She doesn’t seem to notice.
My body does.
I focus on the screen.
“Handle spun up about an hour ago,” I say. “SmartLittleBird. Brand new. No avatar. Opened with this.”
Brady reads the line. His mouth tightens. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s him.”
“It could be anybody,” Tallulah says automatically.
