“You need to go get the flash drive.”

“No way.”

“Right now, North. They’re going to have a million more questions—you saw them—and they’re not going to let this drop until they’re satisfied about why Matty tied me up and wanted to—” Shaw’s voice caught for a millisecond and he tried to finish smoothly. “—get information out of me.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“Please, North. We need to get that flash drive.”

“We need to turn it over to the cops. I don’t even know why you—”

“Quiet.”

North finished in a hiss. “Why you fucking hid it in the first place.”

“Because I want to know.”

“What? What’s so important that you need to know?”

Shaw bit his lip. He rested his head in his hands for a moment. Then he blew out a breath and met North’s eyes. “Please?”

For a moment, another constellation of emotion shone on North’s face. Then he gave a lousy imitation of a smirk and said, “Because your little soy-boy arms are too weak to pick up the flash drive, is that it?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t spend the first five years of my life crawling around a construction site.”

“Do you need help with the water bottle? Should I pour more kombucha before I go?”

“Yoga builds core strength and important muscle groups—”

North made a vomiting noise and moved to the curtain. Over his shoulder, he said, “If you need to pee, I bet Detective Reck can hold your weiner for you. You know. If those chicken arms can’t do the job.”

“I’m generously endowed. It’s not my fault.”

North gagged again and left.

A moment later, the curtain twitched back, and Jadon Reck stuck his head into the room. “Did I hear that I have a job to do?”

Groaning, Shaw lay back on the examination table and covered his face.

“You just let me know, ok?”

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Shaw said into his hands.

“Was that the sign? Here I come.”

Launching upright, Shaw stabbed a finger in Reck’s direction. “Not a chance. Get out. Get the hell out.”

But he was grinning. And Reck, hands in the air as he backed away, was grinning too.

The grin lasted until Reck was out of sight; then Shaw slid off the examination table. He was wearing a massive pair of cargo shorts that kept sliding down and a blue-and-white rugby shirt that had probably been North’s at some point. He grabbed his jacket, parted the curtain, and looked out. He saw a few nurses, a pair of orderlies standing at a coffee maker, and a very, very old man holding himself upright on an IV pole. But no Reck. And no Barr.

Shaw was out of the hospital in under two minutes, and no one looked twice at him, even with the bandages swathing his arms. He walked two blocks before requesting an Uber, and although the driver seemed curious about Shaw’s injuries, he was courteous enough not to say anything as they drove south on Kingshighway and merged onto Highway 40. Fifteen minutes later, they were slipping along the tree-lined streets of Webster Groves.