Chapter 16 · He Takes the Counting-Room Sink

"Marco? God, it's been years." The voice hit the doorway before the woman did, and Marco went stone-still next to me, one hand still flat on the cold-room panel where the new green light kept blinking under a number neither of us recognized. She had a federal badge clipped to her coat and a smile that said she used to know him better than office hours allow. Customs. I could smell the authority on her before she opened her mouth again.

"Agent Renata Kade." She didn't look at me. She put her hand on his forearm like it belonged there.

"Marco, walk me through the fourteen switch. Off the record. For old times." Old times. My stomach did something ugly and fast.

"There's no old times, Renata." His voice was flat, but he didn't move his arm. I watched her fingers stay on his sleeve two seconds too long.

"There's a tape," she said.

"Shows a hand on that switch at 2:14 a.m. One hand. We're running prints by dawn. If it's her—" she flicked her eyes at me, finally, like I was furniture that had started talking "—the ice house gets seized on schedule.