Page 89 of High Frequency

“Anyway,” she continues. “Remember the license plate on the video? I found the company it was registered under, and the name of the owner/operator. And guess what? It’s the same last name as on the permit application for that cabin Wolff found up on the trail.”

“Same guy?”

“No. There was a Cornelius on the permit application, but Michael is the listed name for the owner of Cedric Transport.”

“Family, then,” I guess, wondering why that name seems familiar.

“Yes, it turns out Cornelius was Michael’s paternal grandfather. I just found an obituary for him earlier. From what I’ve been able to gather, Michael was the old man’s only remaining relative.”

“So Michael would’ve inherited the cabin?” I suggest.

“That seems the logical conclusion.”

“So now what happens?”

“Well, before Jeff’s call, I’d just fired off an email to the FBI special agent in charge with the information I dug up. It’s up to him what’ll happen with the information, but I assume they’ll be paying Michael Cedric a visit.”

There’s that name again, followed by the same little niggle in the back of my mind, but I can’t place it.

“Anyway,” Sloane continues, tilting her head back to look at me. “I’m no longer in charge of this case, so I’ll be waiting for instructions.”

“That’s gotta suck,” I sympathize.

She shrugs. “Meh, before Aspen I would’ve been royally pissed, but to be honest, the scope of this case is more responsibility than I’d want to have rest on my shoulders.” She rubs my chest with her hand. “But enough about me. How was your day?”

I tighten my arm around her shoulders.

“Good. Productive,” I share. “I finished the framing just in time for the HVAC guys and the plumber to start tomorrow.”

“Good for you. I bet that’s a relief, getting it done before you have to go back to your regular day job.”

“Sure is,” I agree. “And remember I told you last night I’d asked Jackson to come on board?”

I’d brought it up when we were cuddled on this same couch, except with notably fewer clothes on at the time. I was thinking about Jackson because I hadn’t heard anything yet.

“Yeah, did he call?”

“He did, actually. He showed up at the house and we had pizza and beers on the porch before we went to get your aunt’s motorhome. It’s now parked on the far side of the house, next to the river, and Jackson’s already moved in.”

“Wow,” she whispers, and subsequently falls silent.

I wait her out for a bit before asking, “You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not that, it’s that I’m worried about him, out there by himself. He was living alone when he tried to end it.”

I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I hear you, but he’s a grown man. Living under someone else’s roof, under twenty-four seven monitoring, without a reason to get your ass out of bed in the morning doesn’t seem like the better option.”

She twists her body so she’s looking straight at me.

“And living in a trailer at a building site does?”

“Yes, I think so,” I tell her bluntly. “Being responsible for himself, responsible for the trades and security at the house gives him purpose. Being someone else’s responsibility only erodes his self-worth further. He’s a man, he needs to be reminded he still is, and missing a limb makes no damn difference.”

She launches herself at me and lands on my lap, her mouth on mine and her hands tangled in my hair. She’s smiling when she pulls back.

“You’re a smart man, Daniel Blakely.”

I scrunch my nose at the use of my full name, but grin back at her. I don’t particularly want to address the next topic, but in the spirit of transparency…

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