Ian’s steady strength. His laugh. The way he showed up without hesitation. The way he looked at me like I was his future and not just his present.
Mo suddenly rushed ahead of us, wet but no longer swamp-like, and grabbed the door handle with his teeth, opening it as efficiently as any hand could. It was a trick he’d learned when he was young, and it did come in handy at times.
He hurried inside, leaving us standing on the porch.
Ian and I exchanged a look, the same thought hitting us at once.
“Stay off the bed, Mo!”
Later that evening,the house was quiet.
Mo lay sprawled on the rug, finally dry and snoring softly. Roxie occupied the arm of the couch like a queen supervising herkingdom. The faint scent of clean laundry drifted through the room, a pleasant reminder that mud had officially lost the war.
I sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on my knees, fingers moving steadily across the keyboard.
Ian returned from the kitchen carrying two tall glasses of mango iced tea. He set them on the coffee table before dropping down beside me.
“From what you told me,” he said, stretching one arm along the back of the couch, “you didn’t get much from your dad. So, what are you adding to the file?”
I didn’t look up. “It’s what he didn’t say.”
Ian leaned slightly closer. “All right. That sounds ominous.”
“My dad said Todd Smith hired on at the last minute. That he didn’t know much about the other guy.” I paused, tapping a key. “But he never mentioned what Todd said about the other guy.”
Ian picked up his tea. “Meaning?”
“Meaning two men don’t just meet the morning of a bank heist and decide to trust each other with felony charges and prison time.”
Ian nodded slowly.
“They had to have talked beforehand,” I continued. “Even if Todd didn’t know his real name. There had to be something. A description. A voice. A habit. A slip.”
“And your dad didn’t share any of that.”
“No.”
“Which means he can’t or he’s worried what you might do with the information.”
I smiled. “You know me almost as well as my dad does.”
Ian winked playfully at me. “I know you a lot better than your dad does.”
My smile grew, though I shook my head. “Don’t let my dad hear you say that.”
“Never,” he said with a laugh.
Mo shifted in his sleep, one paw twitching as if chasing something in his dreams.
Ian took a slow sip of tea. “He’s protecting you and I don’t blame him for that.”
“But it doesn’t help with the case,” I reminded.
I turned the laptop slightly so he could see the screen. Sherman’s spreadsheet filled the display—timelines, locations, weather patterns, employee rotations.
“I’m adding a column,” I said. “Unknown accomplice profile.”
Ian raised a brow.
