She lifted up a counter and I moved past her, then she moved into a back room. She walked and talked, going down a hallway. “They said they met a girl who worked there. Don’t remember how they said the conversation went, but found out you were related to Channing Monroe. Your brother’s big in our world. He’s new but making waves, and people have started to reach out to him.” She paused outside a door, eyeing me, studying me. “Helps with your dad’s connections, too.”

I didn’t blink, or move, or show any reaction, but inside, my lungs wailed. I felt like an invisible bat had been swung and got me smack in the chest. It was a dull hit, though. Not painful, but shocking. But all she saw was me, my mask always in place, and a faint nod back to her. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

I waited, studying her back as she was still observing me.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, and then she chuckled softly to herself. “Right. Heard about his release. Gotta be something to celebrate, right?”

My tone was dry. “Right.” I followed her inside the room.

It was a small office, one that reminded me of Heather’s at Manny’s. There were a few filing cabinets in the corner, but mostly paper everywhere. The entire office was messy, and she grabbed a file off a chair, dusted off a few specks of dirt, and lifted the handcuffs that had been hanging over the back. Both items were dropped on her desk as she sat in a rolling chair. She nodded to the emptied chair. “Have a seat.”

I did, taking everything in.

There were plaques and framed photographs all over the wall, from floor to ceiling. I recognized the two I already met at the hospital, Gramps and Bonnie. They introduced themselves as a married couple, both in their sixties, but both who kept in shape. They’d been tanned and weathered, telling me they spent most of their time outside. Bonnie’s hair had been loose, but there was curl in it that I guessed had been from overnight curlers. A smattering of white hair showed me she needed a new dye job, but it was enough that also told me she didn’t really care about doing the dye job. The white had looked nice on her, made her almost elegant.

Gramps had silver white hair, a hairy mustache, too. Neither was combed through.

Thinking back to our conversation in the ER, both were cracking jokes the entire time Gramps was there to have a stab wound looked at. They had even caused me to break my typical Bren protocol. They caught me smiling at them, an actual genuine smile after one joke where Bonnie laid her hand and head on her man’s arm.