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"Because yesterday he called during dinner."

"He had information."

"He had a license plate."

"It was relevant."

"It belonged to a florist."

"It could have been a criminal florist."

She stares at me. I pick up the phone before she can explain why that's ridiculous. The message isn't from Evander. It's from Declan.

I haven't heard from him directly since the Crown meeting. Lorenzo has spoken to him, but whatever dragged Declan out of that room has kept him occupied. He hasn't volunteered an explanation, and none of us has pushed hard enough to force one.

Yet.

There is no text at first. Only a photograph of airport surveillance. I enlarge it. It’s a woman walking through arrivals with a suitcase dragging behind her. Dark hair. Composed expression. Nothing in the image explains why Declan sent it to me.

"Who is that?" Elena asks.

“I'm not sure; her face isn't clear in the photo because it's grainy.”

I scroll down. There are two words beneath the photograph.

Maeve Gallagher.

The name pulls something loose from memory.

Gallagher.

Then I remember his face at the Crown meeting. The way every trace of control disappeared when he read that message.

Ghosts should stay buried.

Elena leans closer. "You recognize the name."

"Yes."

"Friend?"

"No."

"Enemy?"

"I'm not sure."

She takes the phone from me and studies the photograph. "That's an alarmingly vague answer from a man who usually classifies people within thirty seconds."

I take the phone back.

"Maeve Gallagher disappeared seven years ago."

"Disappeared how?"

"I don't know the entire story."

Her eyebrows rise.