I pour myself a cup from his war-crime coffee pot and sit down across from him.
The kitchen clock says it’s a couple minutes past six-thirty. Outside, the compound is starting to wake up.
Somebody's generator kicking on. A dog barking at nothing.
Shadow rubs his face. "Phantom was tense at church yesterday."
I wait.
"Somebody's been asking around the regional rescue network about our operation. A woman.
Nobody recognizes her. She's not bidding. She's just watching. Cash at the motels. Two vehicles rotating, so nobody clocks a plate."
"Any description?"
"Late twenties. Dark hair, maybe dyed. Nothing else."
I drink my coffee. Fucking hell, man. It's as bad as it looked. "Phantom worried?"
"He didn't like the sound of it. Wants us to keep our eyes open." Shadow's jaw does something. "I haven't seen him look like that since?—"
He stops.
I don't finish it for him.
Neither of us has said it in a year. Neither of us needs to.
We both know the last time Phantom's face went to that specific place in a specific church meeting.
November before last.
A phone call from a county we didn't have reason to know yet. Grace's voice on somebody else's phone.
Shadow drinks his coffee. His knuckles on the mug go white.
I don't ask what else. I don't need to know what else.
If Phantom's worried and Shadow's white-knuckled over breakfast, the thing we need to do is keep our mouths shut until Phantom calls church and tells us what it is.
We sit for a minute. Two. The coffee pot ticks as it cools. Then Shadow does the thing Iknewhe was going to do. "Dakota won regionals."
"I heard."
"She's coming home today."
"I heard that too."
He raises an eyebrow at me. I don't raise one back.
He waits the way a man waits for another man to fold on his own, which is a tactic I invented and he's been using against me since he was my sponsor.
I drink this bullshit Shadow calls coffee.
"You planning to keep being invisible?"
"It's served me well for eight years."
"Man." He shakes his head. "You're a mess."
