“You want me to email him?”I asked.
Spade leaned back in his chair.“Eventually.From a burner.Through three VPNs.With data he can verify independently.No names.No club.Only evidence.Let him pursue Diaz for his own reasons.He’s been listening,” Spade said.“He just didn’t have enough to make a dent.Jason’s notes plus what we pull from Roth’s mess might tip his scales.”
My throat felt thick.“Okay, tell me what you need me to do.”
We spent the next couple of hours digging.Spade pulled up copies of Jason’s files.I pointed out which ones had context I understood and which were just noise.We sorted them into piles: “Safe to send,” “Use later,” “Never see the light of day.”
At one point, we hit a page where Jason had scribbled,Mom’s rent paid,Jade’s birthday, and then an address under it.Tears pricked suddenly.
“You okay?”Spade asked, glancing over.
“He remembered my birthday,” I said stupidly.
“Of course he did,” Spade said.“He was a dumbass, not a monster.”
I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand and kept going.
By the time Kane knocked on the doorframe and stuck his head in, my brain buzzed and my shoulders ached.
“Food,” he said.“Marci said if I let you two sit in here any longer without feeding you, she’s putting both of you on dish duty for a week.”
Spade looked at the clock and blinked.“Shit.Didn’t realize…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kane said.“Come on, cyborgs.Lunch.”
Spade grabbed his tablet like a security blanket.
I pushed back from the desk and nearly swayed.
Kane slid a hand around my waist without thinking about it, steadying me.“You okay?”
“Fine,” I lied.“Just… brain-dead.”
“We’ve got enough for a starter package and a pretty damn solid map of Diaz’s local shell game.I’ll clean it up after lunch.She’s done for now.”
Kane looked at me like he wanted to scoop me up and carry me instead of letting me walk.
“I can make it to the kitchen under my own power,” I said.
“Pretty sure you can,” he agreed.“Still not letting go yet.”
I leaned into him a little as we walked down the hall.
The common room hummed with voices.The kids sat at the table near the end, faces smeared with ketchup, eating chicken nuggets and grapes.Casey cut someone’s food into smaller pieces.Marci moved between stove and sink.A couple of the guys argued about which team would make the playoffs this year.
Normal.Almost.
We grabbed plates and sat.
At some point between bites, Atilla stood, fork in hand.
Conversation dipped.
“We got word this morning,” he said.“Gas station up near the county line had some visitors in shiny suits.Badge types.Asking questions about who fuels up there and when.Not about us.About Diaz’s routes.”
My pulse jumped.
“Word is Hanley’s been quietly chasing some leads.It’s unclear if he got them from Jason or elsewhere.Might be coincidence the timing lines up.Might not.Either way, the feds sniffing near Diaz’s backyard is good for us.”
