Page 57 of Dozer

"What?"

"That." I tap the stamp with one gloved finger. "This contract number ties oversight back to a government agency. The same agency that was supposed to be protecting the people in these files."

Dozer studies the page. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure the stamp is real. I'm not yet sure what the contract authorized." I flip to another document. "But I'm going to find out." The number looks oddly familiar. Is it the number I saw at the morgue with our dead body? The statistical possibility that this abandoned file cabinet is connected to our evidence is extremely low, if not impossible. Unless, one of Hunter’s contacts is our leak and they sent us to this building because they knew it would be abandoned and an easy place to… No, I won’t think about that.

Dozer goes quiet. Not his normal quiet, the operational one, the one where I can practically see the calculations moving behind his eyes. Has he come to the same conclusion that I have? Us being here is not an accident? I start thinking things through again starting with an ambush. The motel. The fake FBI agents. The contaminated evidence. The compromised labs that shouldn’t have been compromised. The people who keep finding us no matter how many times we change direction. It all rearranges itself in my head. This isn't somebody trying to bury one witness. They're trying to bury a history. A system. Years of people signing paperwork and deciding certain lives were acceptable losses. This could be the reason everything has been happening.

Someone powerful needs to hide something that could keep them from being re-elected or cost their company billions in lawsuits. It would all track. They wouldn’t have counted on us finding this old filing cabinet, because I doubt they even know it exists. This building is more than an abandoned facility, it’s where crimes were committed.

"How many years?" Dozer asks.

I scan the dates. "At least eight."

He swears quietly.

"That's the professional version," I say.

His eyes come to mine. "Do you have an unprofessional one?"

"Several."

That almost-smile again. Then it disappears.

I keep reading. Names. Dates. Trial numbers. Patient histories. Death certificates that don't match the medical records attached to them. Families, notified weeks after the official date of death. I know we should probably get out of here before the bad guys come and at this point, I have no doubt that they will be coming. I scan quicker.

One file contains a handwritten note clipped behind a falsified consent form. I read it twice. My hands slow.

"What's wrong?"

I stare at the page. "Nothing."

"Kenzi." I hate how quickly he can hear the lie now.

I swallow. "This is somebody's person." The words come out quieter than I intend. I look down at the folder. "Every name in here, they are someone’s family.”

Dozer doesn't move or demand I hurry. He just stands beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine when I shift the folder. That tiny contact steadies me more than it should.

I breathe in. "This is what people forget," I say. "They see a file number. And they forget there was a person attached to it. Someone who had a favorite song or a terrible habit or somebody waiting for them to come home." My throat tightens. I force myself to keep going. "That's why I do this. Somebody has to remember that they mattered. These people have been buried deep in some casefile, and no one even knows what really happened to them."

The room goes quiet. Then Dozer says, "It does matter." I look up. His eyes are on me, not the file. "You're proving it right now."

I glance back at the evidence. "You're supposed to say something emotionally unavailable right now."

"I could."

"Four words or less?"

"Probably."

I smile.

He reaches for the next folder at the same time I do. Our hands touch. Neither of us moves. His fingers are warm against mine, rougher than mine, the calluses a reminder that those hands have done very different things than mine have. For one second, the hospital disappears. No dead records. No hunters. No government conspiracy. Just his hand against mine.

He looks at me. I look at him.

"Dozer."