Chapter 6: The Fixer at the Door
Clover didn’t wait for the fixer to reach Bruno’s house.
She tucked Mara’s letter into the canvas folder, then pressed the folder against her chest as if Gideon’s people could snatch it through the walls. Brucie fussed in her carrier, her face scrunched with indignation. The little blue-and-brown eyes were still closed.
“Mrs. Alvarez has the cottage key,” Bruno said. “She told me to use it if we ever needed a quiet place.”
“Then that’s where we’re going.”
He looked at the folder. “And the fixer?”
“We let him find an empty house.”
For a second, Bruno’s expression softened into the old, proud smile Clover remembered from scraped knees and school plays. Then the look vanished. He picked up the carrier.
They drove separately. Bruno took the folder in his car; Clover followed with Brucie, checking the mirror so often the road behind them seemed to pulse. Every pair of headlights grew teeth. At the neighbor’s property, a narrow lane led past a brick bungalow to a white guest cottage tucked behind it, screened by a leaning hedge.
Mrs. Alvarez opened the door before Clover could knock. Her silver hair was pinned up, and a dish towel hung over one shoulder.
“Bring that baby inside,” she said. “The kettle’s already on.”
The cottage smelled of lemon polish and old books. Bruno set the carrier on a small bed, then hovered over it, hands clasped behind his back. Brucie’s fussing dwindled to a breathy squeak.
Clover checked the lock, the windows, the narrow back door.
“I can stay here,” she said. “You take my phone. If he comes near the cottage, I call the police.”
Bruno’s jaw tightened. “And if he comes to the house?”
“Then you don’t let him inside. You don’t give him anything.”
“I know what he wants.”
“Knowing isn’t the same as being ready.”
The words hit harder than she intended. Bruno glanced down at Brucie. On his face, Clover saw the old instinct to put himself between danger and everyone he loved—and the newer effort to let her choose where to stand.
“You’re right,” he said. “But I need him to hear no from me.”
She could have told him not to go. Instead, she placed her phone in his palm.
“Keep me on the line. Don’t go after him. Don’t let him bait you.”
Bruno nodded once. He was trusting her with the baby and trusting himself to follow her rules. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was a choice.
Clover watched from the cottage window as Bruno walked back toward his house. She called him, kept the line open, and held her phone near the glass. Across the narrow yard, his porch light clicked on.
A dark sedan turned onto the street and stopped at the curb.
The driver got out in a charcoal coat, carrying a leather folio. He glanced up and down the block, then climbed Bruno’s steps as if he’d been invited.
Clover hit record.
“Mr. Bruno,” the man called, tapping the folio against his leg. “I’m here to make this easy.”
Bruno stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame.
“You’ve got the wrong house.”
“I don’t think so. I’m looking for a letter belonging to Mara.”
The man opened his folio and held out a sheet of paper. From the cottage, Clover couldn’t make out the print, but she could see the bold seal near the bottom. A prop made to look official. Bruno didn’t reach for it.
“I can pay for the letter,” the fixer said. “Enough to make this worthwhile.”
“Get off my porch.”
“Think carefully. Your granddaughter has a newborn and no husband. People notice things like that. A report could make her life very difficult.”
Clover’s grip tightened around her phone. Her mouth went dry, but she kept the lens steady.
Bruno stepped onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind him.
“You don’t get to frighten her with a piece of paper.”
“I’m not frightening anyone. I’m explaining what happens when a mother makes herself a problem.”
“Say her name again,” Bruno said, “and I’ll make sure everyone hears exactly what you came here to do.”
The fixer’s eyes flicked past him, searching the house. Then he smiled, small and practiced.
“You’re an old man protecting a secret that won’t save you.”
“It saved nothing,” Bruno said. “That’s why you’re standing here.”
For one breath, the fixer’s smile faltered. Clover caught it on video. She took another shot through the window as he turned toward his car, making sure the plate filled the frame.
He didn’t hurry. That was what made her afraid. He slid behind the wheel and pulled away as though he had all the time in the world.
Bruno came back to the cottage without looking over his shoulder.
“You got it?” he asked.
“The whole exchange.”
“Good.” He sank into a chair beside the bed. Brucie stirred, and he leaned forward at once, but didn’t touch her until Clover nodded.
Then he rested one finger against the edge of her blanket.
“He knew the letter was here,” Clover said. “He wanted us scared enough to hand it over.”
“He didn’t get it.”
“No. But if Gideon’s sending people here, we’re not staying here.”
Her phone vibrated. Miles.
“Clover,” he said, voice clipped. “You need to move. They’ve started clearing West Calder.”
“Clearing what?”
“Equipment. Archive cabinets, maybe. I can’t tell from where I am.”
The words tightened around her ribs. “Can you get us inside?”
“I can get you to a service entrance behind the old loading bay. There’s a road that doesn’t show up on the main maps. I’m sending a pin.”
“We’re coming.”
“Bring the key. And don’t take the front approach.”
A map appeared on her screen, a thin line winding through the industrial outskirts toward West Calder. Bruno rose before she could ask him.
“Let’s go.”
Mrs. Alvarez filled a thermos and insisted Clover take it. Clover strapped Brucie’s carrier into the back seat, then checked the cottage door one last time. The baby slept on, unaware that the adults around her were measuring every second against the things Gideon wanted buried.
They left by the rear lane.
Near the old testing grounds, Miles called again. His voice came through the car speakers, but there was no greeting.
“I’ve got a camera feed,” he said. “It’s live.”
The screen on Clover’s phone went black, then shivered into a grainy image of a garage interior. Dusty light, metal shelving, a half-open cabinet. A man moved through the frame.
He stopped beside a workbench and lifted a dark jacket.
Clover leaned closer. The jacket’s sleeve turned toward the camera. A familiar tear near the cuff. She had seen Luke wear it the last night he was with her.
May you like
Bruno’s hand closed around the dashboard edge.
The man on the screen stood alone beneath the dead fluorescent lights, holding Luke’s jacket.
