“We need the money. It’s fine. I promise.”

“Please don’t make me promises, Gib. Okay?”

It came out evenly and without any malice, but it stung, and he looked away from her. They stood silently, as if any sudden moves would be interpreted as a hostile act. These were the worst moments of his life. Standing beside the only person he’d ever been able to talk to openly, reduced to guarded, delicately worded conversations or guarded, stumbling silences.

“I’ll bring the money by your place on Monday.”

“Nicole.”

“Gibson,” she said, not giving an inch.

“Suzanne. The job. The money. It’s about Suzanne.”

Nicole’s entire demeanor shifted at the mention of Suzanne’s name. Her practiced mask of indifference split apart, and for the first time in a year, Gibson saw concern and worry in her eyes—the clouds parting for an instant.

“Suzanne.” She searched his eyes for the truth. “Are you trying to find her?”

He nodded.

“Jesus.”

“I wish I could tell you the whole thing. But they have me on kind of a short leash. I promise, though, the money’s legit.”

“No, it’s all right. I don’t need to know.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you all right, Gib? I mean . . . Suzanne.”

“I think so.”

“Ellie’s got a friend’s birthday party after the game. Parents are invited. Pizza and punch. I think they even hired a clown. You should come.”

“I’d like that.”

He turned to see what Nicole was looking at over his shoulder. Jenn Charles, in suit and heels, was walking toward him. Even from behind her sunglasses, the look on Jenn’s face gave him butterflies.

“What? What happened?” he asked as she reached them.

“We got him,” Jenn said.

“When? Where?”

Jenn glanced at Nicole and didn’t answer.

“Am I going, at least?” he asked.

“Boss needs to talk to you. He’s in the parking lot.”

Gibson looked over to the cars, then back to Jenn and finally to Nicole.

“I have to go.”

“Go,” Nicole said.

“But Ellie—”

“She’ll understand. Just make sure you call. She gets funny if she doesn’t talk to you.”

“I will.”

He started to follow Jenn back to the parking lot, but Nicole stopped him.

“Gib.”

“Yeah?”

“Good hunting.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

George was waiting for him in a black M-Class Mercedes. A long rectangular box wrapped in bright-red paper with little white unicorns on it lay in the passenger seat.

“What’s with the box?” Gibson asked.

“It’s not for you.”

“Well, now you’re just hurting my feelings.”

George chuckled and put the gift in the backseat and handed Gibson a sports jacket.

“Put that on. We’ve got an appointment.”

“Good luck,” Jenn said.

“Aren’t you coming?”

She shook her head. “See you back at the office.”