“It would. But thus far, nothing.” And the more he read, the more he didn’t think he would find anything. All intelligence they’d intercepted pointed only to infecting animals with the anthrax and glanders. Not people. Surely if an order had been sent out with such instructions, it would have garnered a response, a reply to that, and so on. “It would be outside their usual instructions, that much has become clear.”

“Mm. Well, I put nothing past the huns, in general. But my instinct says Margot’s suspicions are unfounded in this case.” A pause, and the sound of something tapping. “Finish going through what I’ve already sent, but after that, if we’ve nothing to warrant further attention, I’m going to call that investigation complete. Your attention ought to be focused on Jaeger.”

Drake didn’t dare contradict the admiral. And didn’t really want to . . . for his own sake. For logic’s sake. But for Margot’s? “Sir . . . Margot . . .” He didn’t even know what to say. How could he, when he knew her so little?

But Hall obviously knew her quite well, given his long sigh. “Leave her to me, Elton. You just focus on what I’ve given you—and on recuperating. We need you back in the field, and we need Jaeger out of it.”

“Yes, sir.” What else could he say?

But when he hung up, he just stared at the stack of work for a long moment. He didn’t think he’d find anything in there to tell him that someone had killed her mother with anthrax. But how could he stop until he had answers for her?

On the other hand, if there were no answers to be found, how long could he really keep searching for them?

He passed a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock. He had hours yet before Dot would be home. Time aplenty to finish his work for Hall for the day. For now, while he was alone, he’d put a bit of effort into his other mission.

For a change of scenery, he set himself up at Aunt Millie’s small desk in the bedroom he’d taken over. By the time he pulled out scrap paper, some of his good stationery, and Les Heures Claires, the entire surface was filled. With only a moment’s longing for his desk at Abuelo’s, he set to work.

He may not be able to give Margot answers on her mother. But maybe, just maybe, he could find the equation for her heart.

“Margot. What in the world are you doing?”

Margot glanced up only briefly from the newspaper she had spread over her desk. And only then because it was Barclay who spoke, and she hadn’t seen him in nearly a week. “Taking my lunch break.”