It was quiet and hot. Three bodies were crumpled at the feet of a helicopter — and they saw, then, that there had beentwohelicopters that came to land on the roof. At least thatexplained the seemingly endless flow of men into the penthouse.
There was no one else on the roof. Carrow called for the others to join them.
An odd thing happened, then.
There was the sound of an explosion — distant but still audible. A quick rumble registered through the roof beneath their feet, and Carrow could feel it through the soles of his shoes. It sounded distinctly likeone of theirs.
“Dust?” Vashvi asked, trotting up.
“I don’t know,” Carrow said.
“There were still charges left over in the van from last night,” Wayles said. “I meant to bring them up, but we were all so distracted with the gold... Maybe he stopped them — maybe hebloody made it.”
The smile across Wayles’ face shocked Carrow. Would the man really be pleased to see Dust emerge from the rubble? Even after Short?
But of course, it was a stupid impulse to think that any of them wanted Dust dead. They’d lived with the man for a year — and whatever struggle Carrow was feeling wouldn’t be unique to him.
“Stranger things have happened,” Carrow admitted, feeling grim nonetheless. There simply wasn’t a way Dust would’ve made it out of that situation alive.
They piled into one of the helicopters and Leta strapped in. It went without saying that she would fly them to the eastern safehouse. It was the only one secluded enough to land a goddamn helicopter without drawing attention.
An unpleasant waveof deja vu washed over Carrow at the safehouse.
It was the same place, he realized, that they retreated after the job that had cost Nick Short his life.
McBride met them there to stitch Vashvi up.
He saw the question on her face the minute she walked through the door and surveyed the crew — but the doctor was tactful. She waited until she had Carrow to herself before she said anything. Maybe she was afraid of the answer he would give her.
“You lost Dust,” she said when she caught him on the back porch.
He was smoking, not sure what else to do. Vashvi was full of painkillers, sleeping heavily in one of the bedrooms while the rest of The Company played cards in the living room. Carrow wasn’t ready to talk business with them, and he wasn’t prepared to pick up a handful of cards and pretend like everything was ok. So he’d excused himself, and she’d found him anyway.
“He was with Abe,” Carrow said. “Did you know that? — Of course you didn’t —”
He was falling over his own statements, a jumbled mess.
“Of course I didn’t. I would’ve warned you,” she said. “Ansel. That’s terrible.”
She’d known what they were to each other — everyone had. She laid a hand over his where it rested on his knee.
“I know you loved him.”
“I didn’t kill him,” he said quickly, not sure why he was getting defensive.
She nodded, maybe unsure of what to say. She wasn’t asking for details — didn’t want to pry. He respected her for that.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” she said.
“We left him there — at the penthouse. He died trying to slow them down for us.”
McBride looked confused.
“But if he was Abe…?”
“I know.I know,” he said, withdrawing his hand from hers and using it to prop his forehead instead. He had never been so exhausted in all his life — not even after the end of The Kettle Syndicate. “It doesn’t make any sense to me either, McBride.”
“It makes sense,” she said quickly. “He loved you. It makes sense.”