Page 168 of Tracked and Taken

“The blue fingers, Petra. The notebook in the side pocket. The reach across the desk that stopped one inch above the cover. The teacup at four o’clock for the entire briefing. The pace at the door cut short by half a step before she had cleared the office.”

The room is, in the seconds I have spent listening, quiet.

“Four days, Flossie.”

Flossie writes my name next to her number. Below hers. Four.

She does not, on any external register, smile. The corner of her mouth twitches.

“All right, lovey.”

I leave the report on the desk. I will finish it tomorrow.

At the door, I stop.

“Flossie.”

“Yes, lovey.”

“Thane’s hands.”

A pause. Flossie’s pen does not move.

“I clocked it, Tael.”

“All right.”

“It is not, lovey, our business.”

“It is not.”

“Yet.”

“Yet.”

“Go and collect your female, Tael. My table. 1830. Do not be late on my account.”

“Going.”

Petra, from her desk, without looking up:

“Tell Natalie we said hi.”

“Petra.”

“And bring her in this week. Maurice has decided he likes her.”

“Maurice is a toy.”

“Maurice has decided. The matter is closed.”

I do not respond. I do not react. I leave.

23

The Quiet Pattern

Natalie