“Show me,” Mac said.
Cloe handed him the phone. He read Sandra’s message once. His face did not change but something behind his eyes went very cold, the kind of cold that was not anger yet but was the thing that came before it when a man had run out of patience with someone he had loved his whole life.
He handed the phone back.
“Stay here,” he said.
“Mac—”
“I’m not going far.” He looked at her directly. “I’m going to make a call. Five minutes.”
He moved to the far edge of the courtyard, phone already at his ear, his back to the crowd. She watched him for a moment, the set of his shoulders, the way he stood when something had been decided and he was acting on it, and then she turned back to the children.
Dave and Sophia were sitting cross-legged on the ground near the display boards
