Chapter 2A cup of coffee appears in front of his face, accompanied by a shove of palm to his shoulder. Beto tosses the pen he’s been filling in these never-ending checklists with and gratefully takes the cup.
“Thanks,” he says, wincing when the chair beside him scrapes across the floor as Henry drags it back to make room to sit. This tiny room in the firehouse where they cram in for seminars is quieter than elsewhere, so is perfect for work like this. But its acoustics mean every small noise is that much louder.
“You were frowning so hard when I walked by, I thought you needed a caffeine boost.”
“Thank you. I really do.”
Henry takes a sip of his coffee, and even without looking Beto can feel him watching him. “You ever going to talk about that guy you ran into?”
He could play dumb. Wh
