She should have asked the taxi driver to take her home after the interrogation. She should have turned her attention to finding Zephyr. The hacker would be searching for her now, and she had nothing on the snoop except that he was male.
But the last place she wanted to be was at the great house. Alex loved Patrick just as much as she adored Simon.
What was Lila supposed to tell her? That Patrick would be hanged soon? That there would be no appeals, given the evidence and his taped confession?
Lila rounded the corner onto Shippers Lane and slipped on her mesh hood, trying to put her friend out of her mind. Samantha sat outside the shop, purple feather waving as she followed the movements of those walking up and down the street. A loud racket came from the garage, and dust flew from the open shop door. Most pedestrians crossed Shippers Lane to avoid it.
Lila’s head throbbed harder at the noise. Her pain medication was wearing off.
“Hey, Hood,” Samantha said, lifting her chin. “You here to see the boss?”
“I suppose.”
Samantha led her inside. Several figures wearing breathing tanks and thick hoods with plastic cutouts across their faces stood around a truck, sandblasters passing over the metal. This was the source of the dust, the fine layer of sand that clogged the air and choked Lila’s throat. They were so intent on their work that none of them even looked up as she passed through the shop.
They met Dixon on the third-floor staircase. He cocked his head, pointed to Lila and himself, and then waved goodbye to Samantha.
“See you around, Hood,” Samantha said as she trundled downstairs.
Lila watched her go. “You saved my life yesterday.”
Dixon shrugged.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do with that. Saying thanks seems worse somehow than saying nothing. It seems dismissive. Inadequate.”
Dixon put his arms around her, giving her a big squeeze.
Lila hugged him back. “This is all you want?”
He snuck a kiss on her cheek and took up her hand, attempting to tug her downstairs.
Lila didn’t budge. “Dixon, did you know Tristan pinned that flyer on me?”
Dixon nodded sheepishly.
“You shouldn’t have let him do that. It was wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” Dixon mouthed. “Really sorry.”
It was a rare occurrence for him, using his mouth to communicate. He shifted his weight back and forth on the step. When she didn’t say anything more, he tugged at her hand again.
“Where are we going?”
Dixon did not explain. He just pulled at her hand until she trudged after him.
The second-floor landing opened out to a short hallway. A man stood in front of a door in a black t-shirt and cargo pants, Colt holstered at his hip. He nodded to Dixon and stood aside as the pair entered. “Doc and our other guest are having a late lunch in his quarters. They’ll be back soon,” he said, closing the door behind them.
Lila found herself in an apartment, much like Tristan and Dixon’s, except the little kitchen had not been redone with wine barrels. Looking at the cracked countertops and holes in the cabinets, Lila could see why the pair had altered theirs.
She had to wonder how shabby the building had been before Tristan had moved in.
“Who stays here?”
Dixon led her through the living room, opening the door to one of the two bedrooms. It held nothing inside but a bed and table, with a wine barrel stool pulled up next to the bed. A little bedroll lay on the floor beside it. In the middle of the room, a heater chugged, struggling to keep the space warm. The air smelled stuffy somehow, warm and thick and tinged with blood.
An unconscious lump dozed in the bed, curled on its side, head hidden in the blankets. Lila didn’t need to pull them back to know who it was. His breaths came deep, as though he’d been drugged.
Dixon crouched, withdrew a knife from a hidden sheath in his boot, and extended it to