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"I wasn't frightened."

"You forgot how to speak."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

I point toward her. "You're enjoying this."

"A little."

"Okay. A lot." Normally mornings aren't my thing, and normally after a night like yesterday I'd be gone before anyone woke — easier that way, cleaner, less complicated. Yet standing here while Juniper laughs at me, I realize I don't want to be anywhere else. The thought stays with me long after breakfast.

Juniper finds the lead. At this point I'm beginning to suspect the universe enjoys making a point. She appears beside me holding a folder. "I found something."

"What?"

"Another warehouse." She slides a document across the table. "The address keeps appearing beside several transportation records." I study the paperwork, and the address catches my attention immediately. Interesting. Very interesting.

An hour later we're driving across town with Juniper beside me reviewing notes. "You're frowning again."

"I'm concentrating."

"That's your excuse every time."

"It's true every time." She laughs softly and the sound settles somewhere warm in my chest.

The warehouse comes into view shortly afterward — unlike the last one, this building isn't abandoned, just old and worn and neglected. Occupied. Rows of aging vehicles sit behind a chain-link fence and a man emerges from the main office as we approach. Mid-fifties, broad shoulders, sharp eyes. He notices our badges immediately. "Can I help you?"

I offer my hand. "Brock Winn."

He shakes it. "Miguel Santos."

Juniper steps forward. "We have a few questions."

Miguel studies us briefly, then nods. "Come inside."

The office smells faintly of engine oil and old paperwork. Miguel settles behind his desk while I place several documents on the table. "We're investigating a transportation company." His gaze moves to the address and recognition flashes immediately.

"That old place."

"You know it?"

"Everybody in shipping knew it." Juniper leans forward and Miguel folds his arms. "It started as a transportation storefront — goods came in, went out, temporary storage before export."

"Export?" I ask, attention sharpening.

"One of the larger export lines in the district." Juniper and I exchange a look, because that detail appeared in none of the surviving records. "What happened to it?"

Miguel shrugs. "They moved."

"Where?"

"No idea." The answer sounds genuine. He studies the paperwork again. "Whatever you're looking into, that company changed hands more than once. Ownership shifted constantly." Interesting. The conversation continues for nearly an hour — Juniper asks questions I hadn't considered and I follow up on details she notices, and several times we build on each other's observations without discussing it first. Miguel notices too, the amusement in his eyes growing steadily. By the time the interview ends we've gathered more than expected and a growing list of additional names.

Theo is waiting when we arrive. Of course he is. The moment we step through the door a grin appears, then a chuckle. Juniper narrows her eyes. "What are you laughing at?"

He becomes immediately innocent, which is a terrible performance. "I'm not laughing."