That’s the part you keep tiptoeing around.”

Wyatt climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine.

Then he lowered the window four inches.

“He had a list,” he said.

“And you were on it.”

The car pulled away and left me standing in a parking space with the smell of exhaust still hanging in the air.

At nine, the envelope from Sterling’s office was lying on the doormat, hand-delivered, with no stamp.

One page.