48
“That’s heavy. Let me help you with that,” Standish said as Cash lugged the enormous box of files into the conference room.
Ignoring him, she brushed past and set it down with a thump. She fixed a baleful eye on him. “Don’t patronize me.”
Standish was thrown into confusion. “Just offering to help; no offense intended—”
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” Cash said, “that in an arm-wrestling contest, I could lay you down flat in five seconds.”
Standish gave an awkward laugh, his face red, as Cash set herself down and began pulling out files. “Most of this stuff’s been digitized,” she went on, “but there are some things in here you’ll need in hard copy.”
She laid out the files, one at a time, and briefed Standish on the contents of each, showing him the important things, and then loading them back in the box. She tried to maintain a professional demeanor, but it was hard. She was exhausted, grieving, and angry: at Holmes, at Reno’s murder, and especially at herself.
Going behind Holmes’s back with that DNA testing had been a terrible idea. And here she was, doing it all over again. At the same time, she needed the relic to be important—Khachatryan had been so insistent—and Reno was gone because of it. She couldn’t accept that Holmes was just going to let the bone go without a test, placing it beyond reach forever. That would mean Reno had died for nothing.
Now the case was essentially Standish’s.… She tried to tell herself she was lucky to be rid of it. The press was hysterical, she and Colcordwere in increasing conflict, and they’d lost one of their own. On top of that, there was a leak somewhere—and Holmes had the nerve to suspect her.
As they went through the files, Standish asked some rather incisive questions, which surprised and encouraged her to think the case wasn’t going into altogether poor hands. When she was finally done and the files were repacked, she turned to Standish with a sigh. “And there it is, Standish. All yours.”
“Thanks, Cash,” he said. “Look, I’m really sorry how this turned out.”
She shook her head. “My own damn fault. I really screwed the pooch with this one. But I’ll tell you what really frosts me is that Holmes seems to thinkImight be the leak.”
Standish colored, busying himself with the files and avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Going forward,” Cash said, “would it be too much to ask for you to keep me informed on the Shrouder case?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. So, can I ask—you got any info on Devotio?”
“None. Whatever it is, it has no digital or financial profile whatsoever.”
“And Paradox? Anything more on that?”
Standish shook his head. “On the surface, they seem to be a harmless nonprofit that collects and analyzes UFO sightings, abductions, encounters, and whatnot. But there’re quite a few UFO organizations and researchers out there, and nobody’s trying to kill them. There has to be more to it. Something that threatens Devotio and maybe even the church.”
“That’s good work,” said Cash. “Let me know what you find out.”
“I will.”
“I’ll leave you to it. The case seems to be in good hands.” Cash planned to go home and sleep for twenty-four hours—if only she could stop seeing Reno in that dressing gown every time she closed her eyes.
“Um, Cash?” Standish said as she got up.
“Yes?” He was red in the face and looked upset.
“I think I may have, ah, messed up too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think… I might be the leak.”
Cash stared. “Youthinkyou might be the leak? What’s that mean?”
“I borrowed some files to take home overnight, just to read up on the case. I… Well, I stopped for a burger at Murray’s. I forgot my briefcase under the table when I left, then halfway home remembered and came back. As soon as I walked in, the bartender said he had kept it safe for me and pulled it out from behind the bar. But that reporter, Twen, was there.”
“You think they opened it?”
