Work boots two sizes too large with the soles separated at the front, flapping open, packed with ice.
For 6 miles in 27°, carrying a seven-year-old girl.
"Get him warm," Specter said. "Blankets, not heat. Slow rewarming. I'll call."
"Wait."
That was Sandstone. 43. Former middle school counselor.
Left education after reporting a suspected abuse case that the school board had declined to act on.
He'd been standing near the back of the room. Now he was moving forward, eyes on the girl in Specter's arms.
"Let me see her."
Specter turned.
Sandstone leaned in, studying the girl's face. Then the vest.
Then he reached into the vest's breast pocket, carefully, slowly, like he was handling evidence, and pulled out a small rectangle of cardboard.
It was a birthday card. Cheap drugstore kind.
Wet, nearly destroyed, ink bleeding across the surface in blue rivers.
But two things were still readable.
The words Daddy's angels in the center, shaky child's handwriting, and the name in the return address corner.
Burnham.
Sandstone looked up. His face had gone very still.
"This is Lily Burnham."
The room changed. Not loud, just sharper.
Every man in that space straightened without moving. Diesel's hands paused for half a second over Emmett's chest before resuming.
Specter's jaw tightened.
"Luther's Lily?"
Nobody spoke for 3 seconds.
The refrigerator hummed in the corner. Sleet hit the windows in waves.
Then Specter said very quietly, "Where the hell is Luther?"
"Hospital. Collapsed at the ER entrance tonight around 9:50. They're holding him for observation. Low blood pressure. Possible cardiac event. He texted an hour ago, said he's fine. They're just being cautious."
"Call him," Specter said. "Now."
Sandstone already had his phone out.
Diesel was wrapping Emmett's left hand, the frostbitten one, in a thermal blanket, elevating it slightly, keeping the fingers visible.
The boy's breathing was shallow but steady. His lips were moving again.
No sound. Just the shape of words forming and reforming.
Specter looked down at Lily.
She was still watching Emmett. Still hadn't made a sound.
Her small hand reached out once toward the boy on the floor, then pulled back and curled into Specter's vest.
"You're okay, sweetheart," Specter said.
Soft voice. The kind you use when you don't want to scare a child.
"You're safe now. Your dad's on his way."
She looked at him. Blinked once.
Then back to Emmett.
The phone was ringing. Sandstone had it on speaker.
Two rings. Three.
Then a click.
"Yeah?"
Luther's voice. Rough. Tired.
Background hospital noise. Beeping monitors. Someone's shoes squeaking on linoleum.
"Luther, it's Sandstone. Don't panic, but where's Lily?"
The question came fast. Too fast.
The kind of speed that meant he'd been waiting for bad news.
"She's here. At the clubhouse. She's safe."
Silence.
5 seconds of it.