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“That is not a category,” she said, and her voice had gone unsteady in a way he hadn’t heard before, and he looked at her face and found her undone, and he thought that he could stand here bleeding for considerably longer if it meant she kept looking at him like that.

“Come here,” he said.

She stepped in, and he got his good arm around her, and she put her face against his neck, and he stood in the lights of the festival with his shoulder burning and the blanket-wrapped woman in his arms and Les watching them from across the entrance with his torch in his hand and his hands-in-pockets patience, and the night was cold and very clear.

Somewhere in the northeast quadrant, Darius Cole was in handcuffs.

They waited for Tate to bring the car around.

Chapter 13

Tentative Plans

He knew where to find her.

He didn’t think about it—just turned off Moss Street and came down Aspen and there she was, at the Morrison fence with a coffee cup in each hand, looking up at the house the way she always looked at it. Like she could see it lit up with life and happiness.

He kept his pace even and came up alongside her. She turned, and her face went bright and unguarded for a second before she recovered. Knowing he’d put that brightness there settled somewhere low in his chest.

“I bought two,” she said. “I don’t know why I bought two.”

“Some part of you had an idea.”

“Some part of me is optimistic.”

He took the cup she held out. The reach pulled at his shoulder—not sharp, just a low complaint, skin stretching over what was still healing—and he shifted his grip before it showed. She’d already seen it. He could tell by the way she didn’t say anything, which was worse, in a way that would sort itself out later.

“Thanks,” he said.

He got a sound that wasn’t quite words. He understood it fine.

“McGraw and Cole landed in Austin an hour ago,” he said. “It’s done.”

She exhaled, slow and quiet, like she hadn’t realized she’d been holding that breath at all. “Good.”

A beat.

“Cole,” she said. Almost to herself.

He waited.

“He was McGraw’s partner.” She was still looking at the house. “Did the same thing, just—easier about it. More agreeable. The women barely mentioned him. He just held the door.” She paused. “That’s how he got away with it.”

Keith said nothing. He’d read between those lines the moment Cole’s name came up in the investigation. The one nobody was scared enough of to put in a sentence was still the one who’d been in every sentence.

“He’s in Austin now, too,” he said. It deserved repeating.

She nodded. That was enough.

“Sloane came by before they left,” she said, after a moment. “Apologized for everything.” A faint, dry note in her voice. “Better late than never.”

“And Brynn?”

“Called. I didn’t pick up.” A beat. “She texted an apology.”

“Are you all right?”

She considered it—actually considered it, which he’d come to understand was how she operated. She didn’t hand out answers she hadn’t meant. “I think so. I will be. Not sure about how things will be with Brynn, though.”