Page 46 of Keller

Seven in the morning for a goddamned jog.

I should probably say no since I'm not a runner. I've never enjoyed it. But the idea of watching Quinn move through the park at sunrise, focused and athletic, makes it worth suffering through.

"I'll be there with running shoes on."

"Alrighty, then."

She steps back, creating the same kind of distance when she walked away from me at the foundation ceremony.

"Goodnight, Keller. I'm really glad you came to the ribbon cutting this afternoon."

"Me, too. Goodnight, Quinn."

She turns and walks down the sidewalk. I watch until she reaches her car, and I make sure she gets in safely. Once the headlights come on, I cross the street to mine.

TWELVE

Keller

Float Building:Many krewes partner with professional float builders months in advance of Carnival, designing elaborate, themed floats that reflect the year’s chosen motif. The process is highly coordinated and costly, blending artistry, engineering, and secrecy to preserve the spectacle until parade night.

As I walk,I pull out my phone and check it for the first time since we walked down to Masquerade. There are several calls and a text from Marcus.

Got some things to show you. I'll be at the office for a few hours if you want to drop by.

I respond immediately.

Sorry, just seeing this. Are you still there?

I unlock my vehicle and hop in, starting the engine. His response comes back about thirty seconds later.

Office. You still coming? I hadn't heard back so I wasn't sure.

Be there in 20 minutes.

Marcus Devlin's office sits above a pawn shop in the Marigny. There's no sign on the door, no name on the button to ring him. Just a street number.

I climb the narrow staircase and knock once. The door opens immediately.

Marcus steps aside to let me in. The space is small. Two monitors glow on a desk cluttered with hard drives and cables. A single lamp lights the room.

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything," Marcus says.

I ignore the nicety. "What did you find?"

He moves to the desk and pulls up a file on the left monitor. "Guest logs from the Asbury. Backend access. Goes back to 2015, so we're in business."

"Where are you with it? Any way to track down people once you have a list?"

"I'm working through the cross-reference now. The system archives every six months and stores them separately. It's going to take time to pull the right batch without triggering a security flag."

I lean against the edge of the desk. The monitor shows rows of names, dates, and room numbers. Nothing stands out yet.

"How much time?"

"Three days. Maybe four."

Longer than I want, but faster than most people could manage.