"I need food," I say. "And sleep. In whatever order doesn't require me to move first."
"I'll get food. You sleep."
"You're not tired?"
"I'm running on something that isn't going to let me sleep for a while." He stands, and the way he moves tells me that something is rage and grief and the combustible energy Coltgenerates when he's processing things he can't hit. "What do you want to eat?"
"Anything that isn't from a vending machine."
"High standards."
"The highest. That's why I'm with you."
His mouth does the thing it does when I've caught him off guard with something that sounds like a compliment. The near smile that he can't quite commit to.
"Go to sleep, Kenna."
I go to sleep, and the next few days crawl by in the limbo of waiting. We rejoin the circuit. I drop the rental at an agency in Tucson, and we drive to Las Vegas together. Colt gets the rear window replaced at a shop outside Kingman while I sit in the waiting room and pretend to read a magazine instead of refreshing my phone for a call from Torres that doesn't come.
We share a motel room and a truck cab and too many miles of desert highway with nothing to do but run scenarios I can't stop and Torres can't confirm. On Saturday night, Colt is behind the chutes at the South Point Arena wrapping his bull rope. I'm in the stands watching him work when my phone vibrates.
Torres.
"Ms. Corbin. We're moving tonight."
The words land like a punch thrown from a blind spot. "What do you need from us?"
"Stay in the arena. Don't leave. Don't contact anyone. We have arrest warrants for Merrick on charges of financial fraud, wire fraud, money laundering, obstruction of justice, and conspiracy to commit murder. My team is en route to the venue."
"You're arresting him here?"
"He's in the VIP section. We have eyes on him." A pause. "Thornton's death accelerated everything. A witness killed to prevent testimony is the kind of evidence that getswarrants signed fast. Combined with Rainey's evidence, Quinn's testimony, your financial analysis, and Holloway's statement, the case is airtight."
"What about the smuggling operation?"
"That investigation is ongoing and separate. Tonight is about Merrick."
I press my thumbnail into my index finger. "Understood. We'll stay put."
"Ms. Corbin. Your brother would be proud of what you've done."
The words crack something behind a wall I didn't know I'd built. I hold the phone tighter and breathe through it.
"Thank you, Agent Torres."
I find Colt behind the chutes. He sees my face and excuses himself from a conversation mid-sentence, crossing to me in three strides.
His hand finds my elbow and steers me into the gap between two equipment trailers where the arena noise dulls to a muffled roar. The grip is firm enough that my feet barely make the decision to move before his hand has already made it for them.
"Talk to me."
"Torres is moving. Tonight. Arrest warrants. Her team is on the way."
His whole body goes still. Every muscle locked, every nerve calibrated. The focus of a man who has been waiting for this since the night Grant called from Las Cruces.
"Where?"
"Here. VIP section. Merrick is in the building."
