Chapter 29 · Severed Lines

The landline screamed, and Owen’s hand went dead on my hip.

Not a flinch. Not a startle. Every muscle in his chest just locked under my cheek, his heartbeat slamming once against my ear before flatlining into dead, stone silence.

I knew the number before he even moved. He’d penciled it into the raw wood edge of the blueprints upstairs. Small, hard numbers, the way a man marks thin ice he never plans to cross twice.

Third ring. He reached across me, snatched the receiver, and brought it to his ear.

"Hale."

Four seconds of static. Then his thumb hit speaker and he dropped the plastic onto the nightstand.

The voice that came out filled our bedroom like dirty water.

"Owen. Owen, Owen, Owen." Wet. Sloppy. Like he was chewing on something thick. "Hard man to reach. Took three calls. Two of your boys don't work the docks anymore, by the way. Or anywhere else."

Owen didn't blink at the phone. His eyes stayed nailed to mine.

"Say what you called to say, Coyle."

"See, that’s what I missed about you. No foreplay." The creak of cheap leather groaned through the line. "Little sailboat nightlight. Spins on the ceiling.