“He was in my building,” Mac said. “Standing twenty feet from where you work every day. And Sandra let him in.”
He was on the phone when Cloe arrived at the office the next morning. She could hear him through the closed door, not the words, just the tone. Low and final, the way his voice got when something had already been decided and the conversation was just the formality of delivering it.
She sat at her desk and waited.
Three minutes later the door opened.
He looked at her. His jaw was set. His eyes were tired in a way she had not seen before, the tiredness of a man who had been up most of the night sitting with something he could not fix quickly.
“I called Sandra last night,” he said.
“What did she say?”
“She said Marshall needed to collect some personal documents he had stored
