Page 58 of The Company We Keep

He sounded panicked, at the end of his rope.

Of course Dust had been ignoring reality. His time with The Company had been a complicated game of extreme cognitive dissonance. But after his message to Emerson, he figured AIIB would have… just given up on him. Considered him a lost cause. Moved on maybe and…

Well. He hadn’t gotten that deep into it.

They’d executed Short. He hadn’t gotten a trial or the chance to defend himself, no attorney, no judge or jury of his peers.

The Company hadn’t even made a calculated killing like that since Dust had joined. They’d pulled a job every two or three weeks since he’d moved into Carrow’s penthouse, into his arms and his bed, and never once had they taken a life because it made the jobeasier.

But the bureau wouldn’t see it like that — clearlyhadn’tseen it like that when the only thing between standing on the sidelines and infiltrating The Company was Nick Short’s life.

The meeting felt like a trap.

He camefor Emerson the next day, before he could leave his row house to head towards Dust’s old apartment.

It wasn’t hard to intercept him.

He’d been completely off his guard, and Dust had taken a page from the Leta Wright playbook, stepping in silently behind him on his own front doorstep as he turned to fumble with the lock and pressing the muzzle of a gun against his lower back.

Just like Leta on that first night they’d met, the thought of actually shooting never entered his mind. He just needed Emerson’s full attention and cooperation — and there was no bargaining chip quite like the thought of a bullet in your back.

Emerson went stiff and still.

“Charlie.”

“You want to talk,” Dust said. “Let’s talk. I want to go for a ride.”

He’d taken one of The Crew’s beat up decoy cars, knowing that there was no chance it had a tracking device on it, no bugs or any technology to speak of. Hell, the thing didn’t even have power windows.

Dust walked him to the passenger door in a strange mimic of chivalry.

“Put on your seatbelt and don’t fucking move. Iwillshoot you,” he lied.

“Chill, chill,” he said, drawing even breaths. “We’re good. We’re fine. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Dust circled in front of the car, watching him through the windshield before taking his place behind the wheel.

“There’s a coffee shop five minutes east of here. I’m going to drive us there. You’ll go inside, buy something, then come back out. Then I’m going to bring you back here. So you have ten minutes to elaborate on that little call, Emerson.”

He sighed hard as Dust pulled away from the curb.

“We seriously could’ve done this at your place,” he said. “I wasn’t lying when I said I just needed to talk to you alone.”

“You can spend your ten minutes complaining about me wanting this meeting on my own terms, or you can start talking. It’s your chunk of time.”

“Right, fine. The voicemail. Abe.”

“Abe,” he said, as if needing to prove to himself that he could still say the nickname without fear of invoking some return to Charlie Judge.

“They want something solid or they’re pulling you out,” Emerson said. Dust barked a laugh. That was actually a better scenario than what he’d spent the previous night imagining. “I’m serious, Charlie. They’re not going to make it pretty if they do it.”

“They’ll take me out like Nick Short, then?”

“I don’t know,” he said quickly. “But I know theywillextract you and you won’t see it coming.”

“If they could get to me that easily then they’d have gotten to Carrow the same wayyearsago,” Dust said.

Emerson fixed him with a stare and for a moment, he took his eyes off the road to return the look.

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