Chapter 10 #3
I stared down into the tin, the mints tiny little eggs in the brass oval.
I pulled off one glove—because picking up one of the tiny pastilles would be difficult with gloved fingers—and carefully took one of the candies, tucking it in my mouth.
The mint flavor was soft and sweet—although the candy itself was hard, like a tic tac—rather than strong. It was soothing.
“Thanks,” I managed.
He closed the tin and returned it to his pocket. “Want to tell me what you’re thinking?” he asked softly, his voice pitched low, for me, not for the rest of the room.
It made tears push at the backs of my eyes.
I blinked them away. If I cried, I knew Ward would get upset, and then Mason.
And Hart would get flustered, and I didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with any of that.
I swallowed a few times before I felt as though I could keep my voice under control.
“I’m confused,” I murmured, knowing his shifter hearing was far better than anyone else’s in the room.
Except maybe Sylvia, since she wasn’t actually hearing with her ears.
“I’m scared. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want it to still exist at all.
” I swallowed again. “My sister came and found me,” I half-whispered.
“She thought I was there and didn’t know how to find me—didn’t know how to find it.
” I swallowed. “But her lawyers contacted someone who was at least pretending to be running it.” I looked up at him.
“I thought—but Sylvia says there’s no one there. ”
“You thought?” he asked.
Another swallow. A deep breath that tasted slightly of mint. That calmed me a little. “Maybe they’d started it up again.”
“And Sylvia went there?”
I nodded, glancing up to find her empty eyes focused on me.
You know we’d never let them touch you again, right, sunshine?
I know you’d try, I told her.
Never, she promised.
I believed she meant it. But I’ve been around Beyond the Veil long enough to know that things aren’t always in our control. People get hurt when we don’t mean them to. People die.
If it came down to it, I’d rather that than go back.
“And she found nothing?”
I nodded again in response to Raj’s question.
“Hart!” Mason called from down the hall.
Hart, who had been speaking in quick, low tones with Ward, looked up. “What, Doc?”
“Come be useful,” the orc called back.
Hart stood up—he’d been bending to confer with Ward—and strode out of the room. I didn’t miss the slightly confused look he gave Raj, who was obviously ignoring him.
After Hart passed, Raj stood, then looked over at Ward. “Hart has briefed me on what happened four years ago,” he said. “But we don’t have access to the RPD files anymore. I can put in a request if it becomes necessary, but do you have files from that case?”
Ward frowned, then reached over and grabbed Mason’s laptop, sliding it across the table using a cloth that Mason had put under it—probably to protect the gorgeous woodwork.
He flicked his finger across the trackpad, clicking periodically.
“Mason saves everything,” he said. “He’ll have backups of the original website, notes from our conversations with Hart, all of that.
” He clicked a few more times. “Yep, here we go.” He spun the computer, and Raj leaned over the table to look at the files.
“Okay,” Mason’s voice said as he came in. “Hot chocolate.” In one hand he held a stack of cork coasters, and he put one on the table in front of Ward, then put one of the two mugs in his other hand—held by the handles—on it.
“Here, kid.” I turned, finding Hart holding a small tray with three mugs of cocoa and a plate of shortbread cookies.
I wasn’t in any condition to deal with accidental memories, so I pulled my glove back on before taking my mug from the tray.
Mason reached down, putting a coaster in front of me, and another one beside the chair next to me, and one beside Ward, then went back to where he’d been sitting with the last and his own mug.
I could see steam rising from the surface of the cocoa, so I set it down gently on the coaster, wondering if I dared to touch my lips to it without testing it with a finger first. Not because of the beverage, but because of the mug.
I didn’t know for certain if either Mason or Hart had inadvertently handled it, and I also didn’t know if my current state would make me even more susceptible to memories than my new normal—or if it might actually numb me to them.
I wasn’t sure which option I’d prefer right now. To be able to keep working on the case, or to be able to close myself off from everyone and everything, at least until this whole thing got sorted out.
I pulled my gloves off, both of them this time, and carefully touched a fingertip to the handle of my mug. Nothing.
I let out a slow breath, then wrapped my hands around it, nerves having made my fingers cold, even in the thin fabric of the gloves. I was careful not to let my wrists touch the table.
“Do you mind if I use this?” Raj asked Mason, looking up momentarily from the computer.
Mason made a gesture that I assumed must mean assent, since Raj went back to clicking and typing.
“The mailing address is different,” the big shifter said suddenly. “And the phone number. Whoever is maintaining the fiction of Tranquil Brook isn’t trying to use the original location or number as cover. They’ve put a P.O. Box and new number on the website.”
“What area code?” Hart asked, already pulling out his tablet.
“Nine-four-eight,” Raj answered.
“So Hampton Roads.”
“Doesn’t mean a lot,” came Raj’s reply. “Easy enough to put any area code on a cell.”
Mason grunted.
“Problem is,” Hart drawled. “New Kent is in eight-oh-four.”
They all looked up at him.
“Meaning what?” Ward asked.
“Tranquil Brook is in New Kent County,” he replied. “That’s who we had to work with on that case. Hampton Roads is a different county—close, mind you. Real close. But they were thinking distance, not county lines.”
“So what does that tell us?” Ward wanted to know, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
“It tells us someone is sloppy,” Raj replied, passing the laptop back to Mason. “Will you send me those files?”
Mason nodded, taking control of the computer. “Of course.”
“Sloppy is good,” Hart said, his voice serious. “It means that sometime, somehow, they’re gonna fuck up.” He bared his teeth. “And then we’ve got their asses.”
“Not to rain on the parade,” Raj said, breaking the silence that followed Hart’s pronouncement. “But is it possible that they’ve restarted the practice in a different location?”
Hart’s scowl was furious. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked the shifter.
Raj spread his hands. “We have to cover all possibilities, Hart,” he replied, his voice gentle, but firm.
“And, right now, that remains a possibility. One I would very much prefer not be the case, but it is possible that there is a facility or practice in Hampton Roads that has been revived by someone.”
Hard leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “Fine. So how do we find out?”
Raj smiled, slow and predatory. “We try to have someone committed.”
The person we were committing was—fortunately—not me. Raj had managed to convince one of their team to come out of retirement and pretend to be the father over the phone, and then he’d gotten someone else who wasn’t an agent, but did work for the FBI, to be the person they were trying to commit.
His name was Izzy, and I was supposed to talk to him, although I wasn’t really sure what about or why. Hart had picked me up from Beyond the Veil, and we’d just pulled into the FBI building parking lot.
I followed Hart into the building, where he signed me in, then led me to an elevator, then down a hallway and into a conference room, where Raj and Cass were already sitting. I sat stiff-backed in the chair, my gloved hands in my lap, trying very hard not to touch anything.
A few minutes later, a man about my age with extremely bright purple hair and a silver hoop in his nose slid into the room.
His eyes were a light grey, his skin almost as white as mine—although neither of us was as pale as Hart.
He sat in the chair across the table from me, looking slightly nervous, although he flashed me a crooked-toothed grin.
“Hi,” he said softly, leaning forward over the table. “Izzy. Izzy Zizek.”
“Rayn Alverno,” I replied, just as softly.
“Nice to meetcha,” he said, flashing another grin. He didn’t offer me his hand, though, so someone must have told him I didn’t like touching people.
I didn’t know if it was nice to meet him or not, but I offered him a weak smile in return.
“Where the hell’s Kurtz?” Hart asked.
Cass looked down at her phone. “ETA in five,” she replied, then snickered. “Had to park in the civvie lot.” She grinned. “Lucky bastard.”
Drew Shao appeared a few moments later, carrying a tray in one hand of paper cups, tea bags, sugar and creamer packets, and a couple carafes, and a couple six-packs of soda in the other.
“Thanks, Drew,” Raj said without looking up as Drew set the beverages on the table.
People started grabbing cups, pouring coffee, mixing, making tea, or cracking open soda bottle lids.