Two hours later Nate’s in bed, intently watching clips of himself running plays during last season. We’ve both been doing the same thing on repeat for the last couple of hours. At first, he was as interested as I was in the three numbers in the incoming and outgoing call log of Taylor’s burner phone. But after two of the numbers turned out to be disconnected and the third just rings incessantly every time I dial it, he tuned out. I’ve made thirty-two calls to the number that actually rings, but it looks like this whole thing is a bust.

I finally drag myself to the bed and slip in on my side. Nate finishes watching the clip he’s in the middle of, then sets his iPad aside and angles his body toward mine.

His eyes drop to the phone still in my hand. “When was the last incoming call for the two that are disconnected?”

“Few days ago.” I sigh. “The day Mei and Jared got arrested.”

“Those are their numbers, then. Got to be. They’re probably not answering because of the arrest.”

“Yeah.” I’ve already thought of that.

“What about the other one? You said there were three numbers, right? And there’s no voice mail set up? It has to be going to another burner.”

Which would make sense except, as far as I know, no one else was helping Taylor out. Mei and Jared are the only ones who were involved.

I dial the third number again to no avail, but mostly just space out, in deep thought, trying to figure out who the third wheel could be.

“Babe, it’s late.”

I blink out of my trance at Nate’s kind but pleading grumble into his pillow and tap the screen of my iPhone. It’s a few minutes past one and Nate has to get up early to train.

“I thought this was a sure bet,” I mumble.

“I got excited, too, but don’t worry. We’ll think of something.” Nate pulls the phone from my hand and sets it on the nightstand next to his iPad.

I blow out a long sigh and follow his lead as he gets comfy on his side. He lets out a small groan of pleasure when I wrap my arm around his ribs, and I can hear his smile when he whispers, “I get to be the little spoon tonight?”

I giggle at that, and tonight it’s so nice, snuggling up with him, simultaneously feeling the firmness of his stomach under my palm and the softness of his bare shoulder against my cheek. Even with the chaos going on in my head, the rhythm of his breathing soothes me as it slows and deepens.

But the peace doesn’t last long.

I almost hurdle over him when the phone rings.

Not my phone. Not Nate’s. It’s the tinny ring of a cheap, disposable phone.