I make a face. “I don’t think so, Nate.”
“You base that on what?” Nate asks. “How well you know Adam and McKay?”
“Well, maybe he does want to kill you, Nathan”—I glare at him—“but not Indie.” I know this isn’t true based on our conversation this morning, but it’s a very bad idea to let this accusation fester in Indie’s mind. I know that much.
Still, fester it does. Because Indie says, “I’m not so sure, Nick. Adam doesn’t love me. He feels responsible for me. He’s the one who bought me. He’s the one who took me out of that cage. He’s the one who brought me here and made sure I was trained, and sent me out on jobs. As long as I’m around, it’s his fault if I mess up. So the easy way out is this—get rid of Indie. And if you get rid of Indie, you gotta get rid of Nathan too. Because he’s on my side.”
I kinda see her point. But again, I’m not going to encourage this line of thinking.
“It’s Maggie,” Nate adds. “Maggie’s the one he loves. And McKay. The rest of us?” He shrugs. “If it all goes wrong, we’re just collateral damage, Nick. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been.”
“And yet,” I say, “he’s put a lot of effort into saving Donovan. And that mostly contradicts your claims. He brought Merc out of retirement, for fuck’s sake. He hasn’t given up on anyone.”
“Yet,” Indie says.
I glance at Wendy to see what she thinks. But she has stepped away from us at some point during the conversation and is now staring out a window that overlooks Main Street.
I walk over to her and step into the sunshine. It feels good on my face and for a moment, all I wanna do is close my eyes and be with her. In bed. Our bed, wherever that may end up being.
But this is the whole reason I’m here.
I need secrets like this. So I’m actually really thankful that Indie and Nate are so paranoid.
“What are you thinking about, Wen?”
Her head turns just enough for her to side-eye me with a slight grin. “It’s a nice town, I think. Quiet. I like it.”
“Hello?” Indie calls. “Are you gonna look at these files, or what?”
I turn to her. “Haven’t you looked at them?”
“Fresh eyes?”
I don’t think we’re gonna find anything in this place, but I go through the motions for Indie’s sake. She wants me to look, I look.
The files are weird. They do give the impression that Donovan was doing some kind of self-hypnosis on himself. But there’s no smokin’ gun or anything. Not even a clue that leads to a next step.
I leave the box and go looking through each room. Most of the rooms are empty, and I don’t find anything of interest in the ones that are not.
Finally, after about thirty minutes, I say, “I don’t see anything. Unless you’ve got something else for me to look at, I think we’re done.”
Nate looks disappointed, but Indie… Indie looks devastated.
“Hey,” I say, directing this to her. “You guys are overreacting. Adam brought Merc here to save Donovan. He’s not giving up on you.”
“Yet,” Indie says.
I’m just about to have a repeat of this same earlier conversation when Wendy says, “What did you say was downstairs?”
“A print shop,” Indie replies.
“Do you have a picture of Donovan?” Wendy asks.
“I’m sure I have one on my phone,” Indie says. “Why?”
“We should show them the picture and ask them if they’ve seen him around.”
“What good will that do?” Nate asks. “It’s not gonna tell us much. We already know this is his place and they won’t know the difference between Donovan and Carter.”
Wendy smiles. It’s a bright smile. Not a happy smile, because there’s always that underlying layer of sadness when she wears that one. But the bright smile is almost as nice. It’s one she doesn’t flash often, but when she does, she is typically working. Which means right now she’s working. And Wendy Gale is a professional procurer of information. It’s what she does. It’s her lifeblood, so to speak.
So I take her side. “Wendy’s right. Let’s go ask downstairs.”
Indie throws up her arms. “Might as well, since we’re already here.”
We go back down the way we came and we’re already at the front door before we remember that the place is closed.
“Well, shit,” Indie says. “That sucks. And look.” She points to the sign on the door that has the hours listed. “They’re supposed to be open. Says nine to four-thirty.”
“Didn’t you say earlier that they were always closed?” Wendy asks Indie.
“Yeah. I’ve never seen this place open. Have you, Nate?”
“I can’t say I’ve paid much attention to this place over the years. I haven’t spent a lot of time in Pearl Springs since I left for college. But I’m pretty sure the cheerleaders used to get banners made here for the football games. So it wasn’t always closed.”