The part that said:
I do not need anyone.
Sky picked up the brush again.
“I’m going to finish this fender.”
Gregory nodded.
“Then I want to see those documents. Everything you have.”
“I’ll have them by tomorrow morning.”
“Good.”
Sky went back to painting.
Outside, one block from the garage, Harlan Briggs sat inside a gray sedan holding his phone.
He typed a short message.
Found her. Confirmed location. How do you want to proceed?
Three seconds later, his phone buzzed.
He read the reply.
Then looked toward the garage.
He typed one final answer.
Understood. I’ll wait.
Inside, at the second bench from the window, wearing her brother’s jacket, Skyla Hart painted like she had been doing it her entire life.
Because she had.
Briggs returned the next morning.
This time he did not approach the side door.
He parked across the street.
And waited.
Coffee.
Phone.
The practiced stillness private investigators develop after years of sitting inside cars watching things other people pay them to watch.
Rico noticed first.
Rico had an old habit of checking the street every morning when he arrived.
Nobody needed to explain habits like that.
You simply kept them.
He entered Garland’s.
“Gray Accord across the street. Same guy from yesterday.”
Every man in the garage understood immediately.
Jimmy did not look up.
“How long?”
“Car was there when I pulled in.”
Rico checked the wall clock.
“At least since seven.”
It was 7:42.
Sky had already arrived.
She had come in at 7:15, earlier than anyone expected.
She brought coffee for herself.
And without explanation, six extra cups.
She placed them on the center table.
Three men took cups without acknowledging it.
That was its own language.
Sky heard Rico.
Her brush stopped for exactly two seconds.
Then moved again.
“He’s not going to stop.”
“We know,” Jimmy said.
“I’ve moved six times in fourteen months.”
Her voice was factual.
Flat.
The way terrible things start sounding after they have lasted long enough to become background.
“He finds me inside three weeks every time.”
She kept painting.
“Whoever Renata is paying, she’s paying enough for him to be thorough.”
“How does he find you?” Devlin asked.
Sky paused.
“Cards.”
She finally turned.
“If I use a credit card somewhere in a town, he knows within forty-eight hours.”
“I mostly use cash.”
A tiredness became visible in her face.
“But I run out. Then I use the card once and…”
She flicked her hand.
“Gone.”
“That’s how he found you here?” Gregory asked.
“Gas station.”
Sky nodded.
“Two towns over. Three days ago. Gas and food.”
She looked toward the window.
“Twenty-two dollars brought him straight here.”
For the first time, the men saw how tired she really was.
Not one bad night tired.
Fourteen months tired.
The kind of exhaustion that settles around the eyes and jaw and does not disappear with sleep.
“I’m sorry,” Sky said.
“I didn’t want to bring this to your door.”
“Don’t apologize for that,” Jimmy said.
The edge in his voice was not directed at her.
“That isn’t on you.”