Nico does not swear. His jaw changes shape. “You want to sit on them?” he asks.
“I want to know who calls,” I answer. “We do not have time to plant ears. The safest play is to let them think they are alone. We will need some reinforcements.”
I make the call myself. Vincent answers on the second ring, his tone weighing the trouble I have dragged across the map. It iscalm as a current under ice. “Matteo, report.”
“Benedetti watchers at the Pine Crest Motor Lodge on the spur,” I state. “Two in a room, one extra in a far door. They are not moving until they get instructions. They used the wordsthe girlandthe kid. The SUV that watched the square splits time between the gas lot and this lot. Paper tag over a plate.”
“How close are you?” Vincent asks.
“Across the lot,” I answer. “The town is bare of cameras. I have my own inside the bakery.”
“Good.” A pause that weighs the rest. “Bad on the rest. Wrenleigh is too far outside our shield. Nothing close enough to move fast. I’ll see what I can do. Don’t wait on it.”
“I understand.”
“You can move the pieces,” he says. “You can bring the woman and the boy into better walls.”
“She will not move,” I answer. “I will not ask her yet.”
“You can order,” he reminds me.
“I can,” I agree. “I will not. Not until I have proof. If I push her today, she will lock her doors against me. That helps Benedetti.”
“You think the watchers are locals?” he asks.
“They are not,” I answer. “Boots do not match coats. Shoulders sit wrongly for people who belong here. Eyes rest too long on nothing.”
“You know what you are doing,” Vincent decides. “Send me the motel sheets if you can pull them.”
“I will send numbers,” I tell him.
“Matteo.”
“Capo.”
“Do not forget who carries the price if you misjudge,” he warns. “It is not only you.”
“I never forget.” The call ends. I know what I have to do. If reinforcements cannot reach Wrenleigh fast enough, then I haveto stay close—inside her walls, not outside her door. Distance will not guard her. Proximity will.
“We sit,” I tell Nico. “Thirty minutes. If there is no movement, we break off and sweep town. You go to the diner. I go to the square. Petro takes the church hall.”
“Copy,” he answers. He kills the engine, and we become another broken machine.
The gold curtain shifts, and a man steps out, stretches, looks at the sky. His coat is black, cut long, sharp at the shoulders, with polished buttons, the kind of coat that would turn heads here. He drops a cigarette butt into the bucket that already holds too many. From the room comes a burst of laughter, the kind that rides on a canned track.
I watch the room like a cat watches a hole. For rhythm. I count seconds between voices, mark the time a toilet fills, and note how long the water runs. I put the pattern on a shelf in my head so I know what does not fit later. After twenty-five minutes, I decide the rest will be a waste. I tap Nico’s wrist twice.
“Go,” I instruct. “One pass through town. Don’t be seen twice in the same six minutes. If you catch the SUV on the move, note the direction. If it turns left at the square, don’t follow. I’ll take the south.”
Nico looks up. “Why not left?”
“That street’s narrow and all glass,” I say. “Too few cars. He will spot you in ten seconds. I will cut through Pearl and come out on Depot. There is only one way off that strip to the south. He will have to pass me there.”
Nico nods. “And if he goes straight?”
“Stay with him, two cars back,” I answer. “Use your car or tuck behind a parked delivery truck for cover. If he stops short or fakes a phone call, keep rolling. Look like a local. Sit at the diner if it’s open. Otherwise, use a parked work truck.”
“The sheriff?”
