Page 80 of Keller

He left a note.

I cross to the counter and pick up the bag. Keller's handwriting is clean. Deliberate. Each letter formed with intention.

Quinn— Had to catch an early flight. Didn't want to wake you. Last night was worth the wait. I'll make up for the early exit.

—K

I read it once, my hands shaking slightly and my heart pounding so hard I'm worried I probably shouldn't add caffeine to my bloodstream.

I read it again. Slower this time. My thumb traces the letters of my name. A smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.

An early flight. Not a meeting. Not the tables. A flight. He went somewhere but didn't mention it last night. And he calls me the mysterious one.

The questions surface, but I push them aside. He does not owe me an itinerary. We are not there yet. We might never be there.

But this small gesture, the care he took to leave something behind instead of just disappearing, means more to me than I care to admit. I didn't realize how disappointed I was to wake up to find him gone.

The warmth spreads through my chest and settles there.

I look at the bag in my hands. The practical thing would be to throw it away. It's trash, paper that held takeout containers.

Instead, I fold the corner down carefully and set it on the counter near the wall, away from the coffee maker and the crumbs and the everyday mess.

The choice happens without thought. Without strategy. I am not pulling back or finding reasons to retreat.

The coffee maker beeps, so I pour myself a cup, black, and carry it to the kitchen table. The chair scrapes against the floor as I pull it out and sit.

Morning light warms my face. I add creamer and a single spoonful of sugar, my mouth watering in anticipation.

I take a breath, let it out, and take my first sip of coffee. My tastebuds jolt awake and savor that first, precious taste of my favorite morning ritual on my tongue.

Then I pull my laptop toward me and open the lid.

The screen glows brightly in the morning light. I take another sip of coffee and scroll through my phone while the system boots up.

Three news alerts. Two about the city council budget negotiations. One about a warehouse fire in the Ninth Ward. Nothing relevant to my cases.

I swipe to my email. Fourteen new messages since last night, before Keller got here. Most are automated reports from the monitoring systems I set up last week. One is from Martin, flagging a meeting tomorrow afternoon about resource allocation. One is a reminder I set for myself.

Revisit override logs. October 10-13.

The reminder sits in my inbox, bold and unread. I starred it three days ago and wanted to remind myself to follow up.

I lean back in my chair and wrap both hands around my coffee mug.

A thought hits me. I wonder what Keller would think if he knew who and what I'm looking into. A pang of guilt gets stuck at the top of my throat.

Last night was personal. This morning is professional. The two exist in separate spaces inside my head. They have to.

My latest indication shows that Stone Intermodal didn't do anything wrong, at least as far as the manual changes are concerned. It doesn't fully absolve them, but it's looking better. And, I remind myself, Keller has no part in the logistics business.

Not that it means he wouldn't be furious if he knew I was the only thing between a federal investigation and his family. He would hate me.

Before, I worried about the work ethics of sleeping with Keller Stone if I'm looking into Stone Intermodal. Now, I'm worrying about how Keller might view my role, the fact that I'm digging into his family, and never shared it with him.