Page 62 of The Silent Note

“Makes sense,” Dutch grunts.

Zane’s gaze sweeps over the others before landing on me. “Slavno’s family seemed like they’d been expecting the drop. Their bags were packed and everything.”

“He probably told them to get out of town,” Cadence says.

I swipe a curl away from my eyes. “That means they have a way to communicate with him.”

“Dowe?” Finn asks.

“Maybe. I’ll send Slavno a message through my contact.” Zane walks away with his phone.

Cadey nods weakly and leans against her husband. Dutch wraps an arm around her shoulders and kisses her forehead.

Finn rubs his eyes as if he has a headache.

An exhausted silence falls on the room.

“These guys really went all out for you,”Sloane observes solemnly.

I know.

A wave of gratitude swells in me. Although he wasn’t present for the extraction, Finn played the biggest part in making sure Grandma Slavno could slip out undetected.

Dutch and Cadence ran point on our escape route.

Of course, Sol did his thing with the fire—although a part of me will always feel guilty for forcing him to let that beast inside loose rather than teaching him to restrain it.

“What about Zane? You can’t forget Zane.”Sloane points to where Zane is walking back into the foyer, the cell phone loose in his grip.

I clear my throat. “Did you get through to your contact?”

“Not yet. I left a message asking him to call me back.”

Dutch and Cadence nod.

Finn walks over to the grand, winding staircase and sits on the bottom step. He leans his head on one of the posts. It looks like an uncomfortable pillow.

Zane continues, “I keep feeling uneasy.”

“Probably because we both know Slavno can’t be trusted.”

“We kept our end of the deal. Slavno backing out at this stage of the game would set us back by a long shot.”

“Even so…” I clasp my hands together and look each of The Kings and Cadence in the eyes. “Thank you. For tonight. For everything.”

A muscle in Dutch’s jaw bunches. “Don’t. It’s not that big a deal.”

“He’s right. There’s no need for that amongst family.” Cadence waves her hand as if blowing my gratitude out the window.

Another silence falls, but this one is less uncomfortable.

Or maybe I’m the one who’s starting to become more comfortable.

“You tired, Brahms?” Dutch asks, looking down at Cadence with a tender look.

It’s strange to see. At school, Dutch’s rugged face seemed capable of only two settings—the angry scowl and the disgusted scowl. With Cadence, he’s like a little puppy, eager to please her.

She covers her mouth with a yawn and nods. To us, she announces, “We’re heading upstairs now to check on Vi and get some rest.”

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