Detective Lane Has Questions

By 2:04 AM, we were inside Redwood Police Department looking like four people who had absolutely committed crimes professionally.

Detective Samuel Lane stared at us across his office.

His coffee looked older than civilization.

“Let me summarize,” he said slowly.

He pointed at me.

“You skipped school.”

Fair.

He pointed at Mia.

“You trespassed into a marina warehouse.”

“Allegedly,” Mia replied.

He pointed at Aria.

“You jumped across rooftops.”

“In my defense, he jumped first.”

Lane plugged the flash drive into his computer.

Files filled the screen instantly.

Shipping records.

Payment transfers.

Container numbers.

Photos.

Then Lane froze.

A photograph filled the screen.

Councilman Daniel Mercer stood beside shipping containers at the docks.

Mia blinked twice.

“No way.”

Mercer basically owned half of Redwood.

Rich.

Powerful.

Constantly smiling like a politician manufactured in a laboratory.

And according to the drive?

Possibly connected to trafficking operations.

Lane opened another file.

A schedule appeared onscreen.

FINAL TRANSFER — TONIGHT — PIER 14 — 11:30 PM.

Everybody froze.

Lane looked grim.

“If Mercer’s involved, we don’t know who else is compromised.”

Then he looked directly at me.

Which is never emotionally comforting.

“Jake.

Stay out of this.”

I considered that carefully for approximately one second.

“…counterpoint.”

Lane closed his eyes.

“You remind me why I don’t sleep.”