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Briggs spreads his hands. "Context matters."

"Does it?"

"Immensely," he insists.

"What was in the dumpster?"

"A long story."

"How did it catch fire exactly?" she asks.

Ashby folds his arms. "The shorter story involves fireworks."

Laurel laughs so hard she nearly spills her drink.

Briggs points at her. "Thank you. Finally, someone appreciates the complexities of the situation."

"I don't appreciate them," she says between laughs. "I just can't believe you thought it was a good idea to let off fireworks near a dumpster."

“In a dumpster to be precise,” Ashby corrects.

Briggs holds up his palms. "I was nineteen. Believing bad ideas were good ideas was basically my hobby."

Even Ashby chuckles at that.

My attention keeps getting pulled back to Laurel again.

She's smiling without reservation now, head tipped back slightly, eyes bright with amusement. There’s none of the self-controlled caution I saw when we first met.

This smile comes easily and rapidly becomes my favorite view, which explains why I can’t look away.

By this time, we’re mellow. We’ve all gravitated to same bed, with Laurel at the center. I’m stretched out along the bottom, close to Laurel’s feet. Briggs is next to her, his big frame propped up against the bed head to her left. Ashby’s reclining to her right, the map now neatly folded away on the nightstand.

I notice when she reaches for one of Ashby's notes and her sleeve brushes Briggs's arm. The contact is fleeting but feels significant somehow.

Neither of them reacts obviously. Briggs glances down at the point of contact, while Laurel seems intent on reading the note more times than necessary.

I exchange a look with Ashby and know from his eyes that he noticed it too.

It’s irritating how fucking observant the man is.

A few moments later, it becomes clear that we’re not the only ones who noticed. Laurel lowers the paper, looks at all three of us, and asks, "Okay, what's going on?"

Briggs shrugs "Several things. You'll need to narrow it down."

"That look."

"What look?"

"The one where you three have a little secret information party and I'm the last one invited."

Ashby studies the bedspread with exaggerated concentration. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You'd make a terrible criminal," she accuses him.

He huffs. "I'd make an excellent criminal."

Briggs nods thoughtfully. "He's got a point. He’d make a regular Moriarty. He’s a genius at organization. He has multiple filing systems. It’s terrifying."