“What’s in the bag, Eleanor?” he asked.

“You brought that down from the upstairs storage closet at three in the morning.”

“It’s Department of Defense property,” I said.

Julian laughed once, a short sound that died fast when I didn’t laugh with him.

“David was an intelligence officer, Eleanor, not a general,” Julian said, taking another step toward me.

“He checked supply invoices for desks down in North Carolina.

Don’t turn a few simple inventory files into some big production.”