"Already did. Three copies. One in a storage locker under a fake name, one in a safety deposit box that does not legally exist, and one in a waterproof case at the bottom of the harbor tied to an anchor I stole from Marco's uncle's fishing boat."
I looked at him.
He shrugged. "Felony number six. Who's counting."
The sound of footsteps on the stairs made us both turn. Skylar came down in sweatpants and a tank top with her hair still wet from a shower. She looked at the coffee, looked at us, looked at the tablet, and walked to the fridge without saying a word.
She poured orange juice. Drank half the glass. Stared at the map on Jacob's screen.
"Three thousand."
"Three thousand six hundred and ninety seven," Jacob said.
"Jesus Christ."
"Probably not involved, but I'll check."
She laughed. It came out sharp and ugly and died fast. Then she turned to me with eyes that had gone from tired to something worse.
"Your dad's a mass murderer."
"I know."
