Something’s come up. Any chance you might get back here right away? It’s important.

Something’s come up? Did Reed know about the detectives? He played the second message.

I need your input on some stuff. Call me.

Reed seemed so calm, but the words told a different story. Reed had made it clear that they weren’t to leave messages unless it was an emergency. And not to say anything in the messages that could be used against them. He played the third:

It looks like there’s some really bad weather on the way. Give me a call.

Bad weather? Something was terribly wrong. Had things fallen apart that badly? They must have. He dialed Reed’s burner phone.

“Where the hell are you?” Reed yelled as an answer to the call.

“St. Paul.”

“I need you to get back here, right now.”

“Some detectives came here.”

There was a long pause from Reed, then, “What detectives?”

Spud walked down the hallway to a bedroom that faced the street. “Three of them. One was from Grand Rapids.”

“What did they want?”

“They asked me about November sixth and I—”

“Shut up!” The phone went silent and for a moment, Spud thought that Reed had hung up on him. When Reed finally spoke, he seemed much calmer, returning to a voice that Spud remembered from those days when Reed explained his plans, an almost fatherly tone. “Remember the protocol we talked about? If you think someone might be watching you?”

“Yeah.”

“Do that now and don’t forget to flush the sims.”

“I won’t.”

The protocol. First, check your surroundings. Look for any sign of someone parked close enough to watch you through binoculars. Spud scurried down the steps and onto the front porch. He scanned the street in each direction; the cops had gone. Then he ran to the kitchen and looked out back. Again it looked empty.

Next, he checked for tracking devices on the car. A good tracking device needed to be wired to the battery. But not all devices were that sophisticated. He had tracked Sandy with a phone. He looked under the hood, examining the battery and fuse box. Neither had extra wires attached. He searched the undercarriage of the car and the bumpers and found them clean.

He then removed the sim cards from both his personal phone and the burner, flushing them down the toilet. He pulled the batteries and tossed them in a wastebasket, cutting the tether that connected him to Reed.

Spud went upstairs and packed the few belongings he had brought. He picked up the file with the paperwork that he had signed that morning. Should he bring it? What good would it do him up north? If the plan really had fallen apart, he might never see St. Paul again, and as that thought formed, his panic turned to anger—then to rage.

Reed had fucked up. For all his big talk, Reed had to have been the one who made the mistake. How did the detectives know to find him at his mother’s house? He had been careful. He had been the one stuck in the woods at that godforsaken shack for a week. It was Reed’s fault—it had to be—and now Spud might never get to spend his inheritance.