Chapter 10 · Marco's Locked Drawer

Marco wouldn't look at me.

That was how I knew he was hiding something. He stood behind the counter with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the register like it owed him money. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The store smelled like stale coffee and cleaning product. Outside, the desert stretched into nothing.

"You knew my mom," I said. Not a question.

He didn't move. Just kept staring at that register.

"Marco."

"Drop it, Layla."

"No." I stepped closer. My hands were shaking. I shoved them in my pockets. "The voicemail. The freezer. Now coordinates written on glass by something that looks like her. You're going to tell me what's going on, or I'm walking out of here and never coming back."

That got him. His jaw tightened. He finally looked at me, and God, he looked old. Tired. Like he hadn't slept in years.

"You don't want to know," he said quietly.

"Try me."

For a long moment, he just stood there. Then he sighed, ran a hand over his face, and walked to the back office. I followed.

The office was small. Cramped. Boxes stacked against one wall, a metal desk shoved against the other.