Chapter 6: He Already Knew
I called Patricia from the upstairs bathroom with the tap running.
"The document is gone," I said.
"He moved it.
He knows someone was looking."
A pause.
"Are you certain it was there this morning?"
"Toby photographed it last night.
I saw the jacket myself when I came in an hour ago.
Now the pocket is empty."
"Where is Christopher now?"
"Downstairs.
Ordering food."
"All right." Her voice was steady.
"This is not a disaster.
The photograph Toby took is still evidence of what was there.
Warren's contact at the field office has already been briefed.
The jacket itself — even without the paper — may still carry trace evidence." Another pause.
"But Gwen, this tells us something important."
"He's watching," I said.
"Yes.
Either he noticed Toby near the jacket, or someone told him."
I sat down on the edge of the tub.
"Renata," I said.
"Possibly.
Or he's simply more careful than we assumed." Patricia's voice dropped slightly.
"I need you to listen to me.
Do not let him know you've noticed the paper is gone.
Do not look at the jacket again.
Go downstairs, eat dinner, be exactly who you have been."
"And tomorrow?"
"Warren is moving up the timeline.
He'll be at the field office first thing.
I'll call you by nine."
I turned off the tap and looked at my reflection.
Fourteen years.
I had cooked meals for this man.
Sat beside him at my father's funeral.
Held his hand in hospital waiting rooms.
Laughed at things he said.
I went downstairs.
Christopher had ordered Thai food.
He'd remembered my order — green curry, no bamboo shoots — and set the table with actual plates instead of the containers.
He poured sparkling water into both glasses and looked up when I came in.
"Better?" he said.
"You looked tired earlier."
"Much better," I said.
"Thank you for remembering the curry."
"Of course." He smiled.
"Fourteen years, Gwen.
I know your order."
We ate.
He talked about a project at work, a colleague who'd made a mistake that would cost the firm a client.
He was funny about it — the way he could be when he wanted to be charming.
I laughed at the right moments.
After dinner, he brought up the trip again.
"I was thinking Vermont," he said.
"There's a place in Stowe I've been looking at.
Very private.
No phone signal to speak of." He watched me over his glass.
"Just us."
"When were you thinking?" I said.
"End of the week?" He tilted his head.
"I know it's short notice.
But I feel like we need it.
Don't you?"
End of the week.
Four days.
"I'd like that," I said.
He reached across the table and covered my hand with his.
His hand was warm.
Dry.
Completely still.
"Good," he said.
"I'll make the reservation tomorrow."
I smiled and didn't pull away.
After he went to bed, I sat in the kitchen for a long time with the lights off.
Then I texted Toby two words: *He knows.*
Toby's reply came back in under a minute.
*So do we.
Patricia called.
Warren's contact confirmed — Renata Solís filed a change of address last week.
She moved to a street four blocks from our house, Mom.*
I read the message twice.
Four blocks.
She hadn't just been in contact with him.
She had moved here.
She was close enough to watch.
Close enough to warn him.
Close enough to be part of whatever was supposed to happen at the end of the week in Vermont.
May you like
I turned my phone face-down on the table.
Four days.
