Forty-Seven
Escalation
“Should we tell someone where we’re going? In case something happens?”
Finan drained and potted the cooked crabs on an ice bed and stuffed them in my empty fridge while I changed into warm, all-black clothing. He pauses, thinking. “No. We don’t know who did this. Probably best we don’t tell anyone anything.”
“Even Rupert? I could text him on the burner—”
Finan shakes his head no. “Write a note. Leave it on the counter. If we go missing, they can start there.”
“This is really freaking me out.”
He dries his hands on a kitchen towel and then pours Humboldt’s dinner. “We need to leave him here.”
Once we have my cabin secured—and Rupert’s military-grade laptop hidden in my armoire—we jog over to Finan’s and I wait for him to change. When he emerges from his room,
