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lower her weapon makes me cringe.
    â€œOh, don’t give me that look. I bounced right back. Even have a nice battle scar as a result.”
    She’s speaking of the thin mark above her left eye, a paleecho of where stitches once held together split skin. I reach out, my thumb eager to trace it, and she pivots away from me. It’s quiet for a moment, the air heavy with how things once were between us.
    â€œWe should go,” Bree says. “They’re probably waiting.”
    She attempts to squeeze by me and I grab her elbow before she can escape into the hall. “I’m not going to stop trying, Bree.”
    â€œThen you’re an insensitive jerk who doesn’t respect me,” she snaps. “Or what I want.”
    â€œYou really don’t want us to talk? Ever?”
    â€œThat’s not what I said.” She’s scowling, looking at her feet, the doorframe—anything but me. “It’s complicated,” she says finally.
    â€œExplain it, then.”
    Bree stares down the hallway. Licks her lips. Finally, she glances back at me. “I still trust you on missions like this, I do. I still want us watching out for each other. I just don’t want to be anything more.”
    I don’t believe her. Not for a second. But then I wonder if that’s because I’m doing exactly what she said: not respecting her decision, choosing my own feelings as a greater, more worthy truth. I let go of her arm and the tension in her body dissipates. Her shoulders relax. She peers at me, as if she’s trying to read my thoughts.
    â€œCome on,” she says, but I feel like I’ve managed to pull her closer by letting her go and the concept is so bizarre that I stand there smiling, my feet fused with the floor.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with you?” she asks.
    â€œYou,” I say. “You make me a mess.”
    She rolls her eyes and hmph s. But she also gives my chest a light shove before walking away. Contact. That she initiated. The first since Burg.

FOUR
    UNLIKE BONE HARBOR, PINE RIDGE sits along a narrow inlet instead of a cove. We fly over a long stretch of dry earth and rust-colored rock to get there, and when we arrive the tide is out, making the town look impressively dreary. From the sky, the community is a horseshoe around the empty trench, pockets of water still pooled in the deeper areas, with bridges spanning it at various intervals.
    We touch down well inland, where the inlet is fed by a small river butting against a narrow ridge of pines—the landform that likely gave the town its name. The smell of salt hits me when we climb out of the craft. We haul the gear from the helicopter and Heidi disappears almost immediately. She must have her own orders to attend to.
    The outer edge of town is marked by a failing wood fence, and it is here that a young man reclines, hip against a post and ankles crossed. When he sees us approaching, he pushes off the fence and tosses his rolled smoke in the dirt.
    â€œAdam?” He gives a hesitant wave, then presses a fist to his heart, three fingers splayed out so they almost look like a capital E given the angle he’s holding them. “You’re here for Nick?”
    â€œIt’s that obvious?” Adam says, mimicking the Expat salute.
    A smile flickers across the guy’s face. “Chopper kind of gives it away. So, what were the plans again?”
    â€œWe never said. Can’t be too careful in gulfside towns these days. I’m sure you understand . . .”
    â€œGage,” he finishes. “Man, I’m sorry, rattling on and not introducing myself. I’ve been working the waters with Nick for about a year now.” He pulls out a new smoke and lights it. “We were competitors before that, but Nick bought me out, which was a blessing, really. It was only a matter of time before he’d have run me under. He’s a hardnose, Bageretti. But that’s why he’s the