“No—I don’t—” Michael shook his head. The adrenaline was fading, letting exhaustion settle in again. “I have no idea who did it.”

“No wonder you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

Tammy reappeared beside their table and unloaded two frosted bottles of Natty Boh, and then a platter of nachos. Tyler thanked her, and Michael smashed another peanut.

“Hungry?” said Tyler.

He hadn’t eaten all day, but he couldn’t think of putting food in his mouth right now. “No.”

Tyler shrugged and took a chip. “You still haven’t said what you’re doing here.”

“I got a text this morning that I should meet someone here about the fires.”

“From who?”

“I don’t know who. I thought it was you.”

“Show me.”

Michael hesitated—then unlocked his phone, clicked on the texts, and handed it over. It felt weird to trust Tyler with something he hadn’t shared with his brothers, but this felt safer, too. His brothers had a big stake in this game. Tyler didn’t.

Tyler scrolled. For a while.

Michael fidgeted. It was seven-fifteen now, and no one had come through the door.

“This guy said you could bring your brothers.” Tyler handed back the phone, and Michael slid it into his pocket. “And the police.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t think maybe that was important?”

“I’m not leading my brothers into a trap.”

“Do they know you’re here?”

The question hit Michael hard. His brothers had no idea—but admitting it out loud seemed dangerous. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

Tyler picked up another chip. “Jesus, Merrick. Maybe you could tone down the paranoia. Why didn’t you bring the cops, then?”

“The cops think I’m involved in whatever happened to my neighborhood.”

“So you’re holding on to proof that you’re not?”

“A bunch of pictures from a random phone number? That’s not proof of anything. Hell, it’s proof that I am involved. It’s proof that more people are in danger.”

Some of the aggression leaked out of Tyler’s expression. “The blonde in those pictures. Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Her father is the county fire marshal.” Tyler gave a low whistle. “So where is this guy you’re supposed to meet?” He looked around. “You’ll know him when you see him? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.” Michael sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel like I should be able to figure this out.” He looked around again. The more time that went by, the more he felt certain this was an effort to separate him from his brothers. He twisted his hands together and fished his phone out of his pocket to send a text to Gabriel.

All OK?

His heart beat double time as he waited for a response, but he didn’t have to wait long.

Yeah. What’s up?

Nothing, just checking. Waiting for other guy to get here.

Michael blew air through his teeth and set down his phone again. “Why here? Why now? And why is he late?”

“Text him and ask.”

Michael felt like an idiot for not thinking of it himself. He typed out a quick message.

Either I don’t see you or I don’t know you.

Then he hesitated before pressing send.

What was the worst that could happen? The guy could stand up and shoot him? And how was that any different from just sitting here waiting?

Fuck it. Michael pressed the button. The progress bar at the top of his phone showed the text going through.

And then the restaurant exploded.

Hannah pushed food around her plate and tried to ignore the way Irish kept kissing her father’s ass. James had long ago abandoned the dinner table for his Legos, and Hannah was tempted to join him.

But no, when they had a guest, her father insisted that she remain at the table.

Like she was a teenager who needed a lesson in etiquette.

If her father were the only one at the table, Hannah would have walked out without question. But she wouldn’t disrespect her mother that way.

Irish’s alert pager went off with the chimes promising an urgent message. Out of habit, everyone went silent. No one in this house was a stranger to emergency alerts.

Commercial Box 13-3. Engines 131, 112, 104, 201 Truck 30, Truck 13, Medic Unit 11, Battalion Chief 2 respond for a commercial building fire, reported explosion, at 8503 Magothy Beach Road. Cross streets of Clover Hill Road and Riviera Drive. Respond hot on Echo—

There was more, but Hannah didn’t hear the rest.

Commercial building fire. Reported explosion.

Magothy Beach Road.

She knew almost every road in this part of the county, right down to where each fire hydrant was located. She knew Magothy Beach Road like the back of her hand, and there weren’t a lot of commercial buildings.

Except the Roadhouse.

Right where Michael was meeting someone about a job.

Her phone was pressed against her ear before she realized she had dialed.

Answer. Please. Answer.

It didn’t even ring. Straight to voice mail.

She looked at his last text.

Meeting someone at the Roadhouse at 7.

It was now seven-twenty.

She tried to call him again.

“Pick up,” she whispered. “Pick up.”