Rain streaked the windows slow at first and then faster, with the drops catching the light from the bar and holding it before they ran down the glass.
Arianne's glass was empty. She had been turning it in her fingers without noticing. The timeline lay rolled beside the glass, and Layla's photographs still spread in two neat rows across the table. Twelve locations. Twelve proofs that also in the car had been a lie.
Nate had not spoken in a while.
He was not brooding because Nate did not brood. He waited the way he waited for a pour to settle or for a regular to leave before asking what was really wrong or for the shape of something to surface in his head before he opened his mouth.
Now he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. He set the phone on the table between the glasses.
"I went back through some old files after Julian's timeline," he said. "Something was nagging at me."
He tapped the screen.
