Nita narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”
“I want you to find out why the heir to the Tácunan fortune, the doted-upon son of Alberto Tácunan, Fabricio, is running to INHUP and selling out people who save him for petty cash.” Adair leaned forward. “And why the hell he hasn’t gone back to his father’s mansion in Argentina.”
Nita’s mouth thinned. “I’m going to kill Fabricio.”
“I’m sure.” Adair leaned back and examined his nails, which were turning sharp and black at the end, the tips of claws. Then there was a soft ripple and they were human again. “Just get me some answers first. It might be nothing.” He turned to her. “But I smell a mystery, and answers to mysteries keep me alive.”
He rose and grinned at her. “So before you eviscerate him, I want you to make him sing. If you want to know more about the list, that’s my price.”
Nita jerked her head once. “Fine. I’ll get you your answers.”
Adair clapped his hands together. “Excellent.”
Nita was rising to thank him for the information, when the door to the pawnshop smashed open.
Both of them spun to face the door, Nita already pulling the gun from her hoodie and Adair’s hand reaching for his phone.
“Don’t move! Toronto police!”
Forty
NITA FROZE. Two uniformed officers stood in the door. Neither had their guns drawn, but she could see them at their hips, opposite the tasers.
Beside her, Adair’s face was still, ruthlessly covered by his glamour, but when his gaze flicked to hers, it was enraged.
Do not bring the police to my shop.
Oops.
Adair raised his hands, palms outward, and the smile he turned on the intruders was the epitome of politeness. “Is there something I can help you with, Officers?”
The one in the lead, a tall black man, said, “Don’t worry, sir. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s your customer we’d like to talk to. Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to come with us.”
Nita swallowed, heart jackrabbiting in her chest. She thought of all the news stories she’d seen, people reaching for phones or looking the wrong way at the police officers and ending up shot. That was in the States, she told herself. Quispe said Canada was better.
Nita clung to that, and the fact that one of the officers was black. Maybe it was better.
You can heal bullets, Nita. Let them try and shoot you.
But just because she could heal bullet wounds didn’t mean she wanted to get shot. And just because they might not shoot her didn’t mean they wouldn’t lock her away for the rest of her life if they knew her crimes.
“May I ask what I’ve done?” Nita was careful to keep her voice calm and polite.
“You’re wanted for questioning regarding an incident yesterday.”
Nita hesitated. “Oh. I am?”
“It’s been all over the news.” The officer gave her a look of mild disbelief. “A woman getting off the streetcar recognized you from the bulletin and called you in.”
Of course. Nita had been careless, forgetting her disguise. She’d been so preoccupied with Kovit leaving she hadn’t even thought about it.
“I had no idea. I don’t watch the news,” she finally said.
The officer’s smile was tight. He didn’t believe her. Nita didn’t blame him, it wasn’t a particularly great lie. “All right. But I’m still going to have to ask you to come with us.”
Nita’s mind scrambled, trying to find a way out of this, but she couldn’t come up with anything short of overpowering the police officers and running away. They’d probably shoot her in the back as she ran. Unless she killed them.
The image of the screaming INHUP agent flicked into her mind for a moment, blood running down his face like tears as Kovit hissed in pleasure.
She swallowed. She couldn’t handle more innocent deaths today.
She slipped the gun behind her back into a large wooden bowl and hoped no one saw.
“Okay,” she said, stepping forward, hands in front of her, palms out. “Lead the way.”
The officers led her out of the building, and Adair gave her a murderous look as she passed. She tried to look apologetic, but he clearly didn’t appreciate it.
The police had parked their car on the curb, and Nita was led into the back seat. She sat down on the squishy pleather seat and folded her hands in her lap. She wasn’t cuffed, which was a good thing, but she was also very clearly still a prisoner.
Fuck.
The car drove off, and Nita pulled out her cell phone.
“We’re going to have to ask you to leave that for now.” The officer in the front gave her a sympathetic smile. “Until we get this sorted.”
Nita hesitated. “I need to call my m—aunt.”
“Your aunt?”
“I’m a minor. I don’t think I’m allowed to say or do anything without her there.”
The cop hesitated, then said, “We’ll call her at the station, okay?”
Nita slipped her phone back in her pocket and nodded.
She couldn’t believe she’d been arrested. All her life, she’d been so careful, her parents drilling into her the importance of staying safe. Because if they caught you, if they put you in prison, then you were a sitting duck, trapped and waiting for your enemies to murder you.
Or eat you, as would happen in Nita’s case. She knew it wouldn’t be long before word of what she was got around and she was torn apart and consumed.
She shivered at the thought, imagining the way her limbs would protest as they were ripped from her body, flesh stretching and shredding and clinging, blood spattering the floors and the walls, inmates desperate for immortality licking at the blood, gnawing on her bones.
No. That wouldn’t happen. She was being detained, she wasn’t arrested or in prison yet.
She leaned her head against the glass window. She would call her mother at the station. If anyone could get Nita out of this, her mother could. And oh, how her mother would gloat about it. Her mother would delight that Nita had finally cracked and admitted she needed her. She’d smile, sharkish and cruel.
Nita wished she could call her father instead.
Her heart tightened, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Not now. She couldn’t afford to have a breakdown now, the cops wouldn’t understand that it wasn’t fear of them, that it was grief. She couldn’t look weak.
But she also couldn’t stop imagining how her father would have handled this. How he’d come in, slow and quiet, voice soft and heavy as he gently explained the misunderstanding and brought Nita home. How he’d smile at her when they left the station and ask if she wanted ice cream.
Nita stifled a sob and dug her fingers into the pleather seats. She missed him so much.
Her father had been the only truly good person in her life. Yes, he had been complicit in her mother’s business killing unnaturals and selling their body parts online. But he had a soul.
She wasn’t sure she could say the same thing about her mother.
When she’d been a child, he was the one who did things with her. They went to carnivals, he told her fairy tales before bed, he picked out her birthday presents and held her when she cried.
Nita let her mind drift back as the car continued through the heavy Toronto traffic. On her eighth birthday, it had blizzarded. The snow was so dense it was impossible to go out. They’d planned to go to a movie and have ice cream. Instead, they were housebound, just the two of them. But her father, undeterred, had taken liquid nitrogen from the garage and made ice cream with it. The two of them had geeked out over science, then taken their ice cream and watched Disney movies on repeat.
When Nita had asked her mother why they had liquid nitrogen in the garage, her mother said she used it to assassinate people, as it was odorless and tasteless. If Nita wasn’t a good girl, her mother would release the gas in her room while she was sleeping and she’d never know what killed her.
Later, her father told her that her m
other had just been messing with her. It was actually there to cryopreserve blood, sperm, and other more delicate bodily fluids from dissections. He told her if her mother wanted to kill her, she’d use a more direct, less expensive method.
Nita was surprised at how comforted she’d been by those words. Her father hadn’t said, Your mother would never do that, because even at that age, Nita wouldn’t have believed it. Instead he’d told her she didn’t have to worry about invisible gases as the method. It had saved Nita years of paranoid nights lying awake wondering if she was inhaling gas at that moment.
Her father had always understood. He’d always known exactly what to say to make everything better. Nita always took his advice seriously.
Until he’d told her not to free Fabricio.
And look how that had turned out.
Her heart clenched with regret for not listening to his final request, and she forced herself to wipe her watery eyes. She wondered if the grief would ever subside, or if she’d always be like this, caught in a spiral of pain whenever she was reminded of him.
She felt awful as soon as she thought it. She was supposed to feel bad he died. But she didn’t want it to hurt like this. She wanted to be able to think about him without feeling like her body was breaking from the inside out.
The police car lurched to a stop, and one of the officers opened the door. “We’re here.”
Nita let out a breath. Her father wouldn’t want her to be caught up in grief now. He’d want her to keep a cool head and get out of this situation.
So when Nita exited the car, all trace of pain was gone from her face and she held her head high. “Lead on.”
The station was new, all shiny glass and steel. It looked like a modern art sculptor had been trying to design a building that said we’re watching you, but you can watch us too, because everything was glass and mirrors and giant black security cameras like warts. The artist had failed, because all the building did was say we had a really weird architect, please don’t look, this is embarrassing.
Nita was led into a small room, white walls all around and a big security camera on the front. A metal table sat with four fold-out chairs, two on each side.
The officer who’d caught her at the store gave her some paperwork and left. A different cop, wearing a button-up white shirt and slacks, came in. He frowned, then asked, “Can we see some ID?”
“I don’t have any.”
He looked baffled.
Nita shrugged. “I’m seventeen, what do I need ID for? I don’t drive, I can’t drink.”
“Do you have a school ID?”
“I’m homeschooled.”
The cop rubbed his forehead. “You mentioned an aunt.”
“Yes. Can I call her now?”
The officer nodded and handed her a phone.
Nita took it before remembering she had no idea what her mother’s new cell phone number was. And she couldn’t email. Damn it.
Her mom was an expert at getting out of arrests, and she had Nita’s ID. Nita needed her.
She chewed her lip. There was only one place that would have her mother’s cell number.
INHUP.
Well, Quispe had offered to go to the police with Nita. Hopefully the whole getting drugged and left in the back seat of a car hadn’t changed that. It wasn’t like Quispe knew Nita was responsible. Hopefully.
Nita pulled out Quispe’s card from her pocket and dialed.
It rang a few times, and Nita uneasily wondered if Quispe was still unconscious in the back seat of the car they’d stolen. Or if Fabricio had killed her and dumped her body somewhere after realizing she was in the back of his getaway vehicle.
Quispe finally picked up. “Hello?”
“Agent Quispe!” Nita’s voice pitched a little too high in relief. “I’m at the police station, and they want to question me, and I need you here to help explain things. I also forgot my aunt’s new cell phone number. Can you call her please?”
Quispe let out a heavy breath. “Okay, okay. Hand me over to the officer there.”
Nita dutifully handed the phone over and crossed her arms while the two of them talked. Or rather, while Quispe talked and the officer frowned deeper and deeper. He ran a hand over his short fuzz of brown hair and nodded along at something.
Finally, the officer said, “All right, we’ll see you soon,” and hung up.
He looked at Nita, a slight frown on his face. “So, Nita, is it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Malcolm Levesque. Agent Quispe is on her way, as is your aunt.” He sat down across from her. “Why don’t we get started?”
Nita crossed her arms and set her mouth. “I’m not saying anything until they arrive.”
“Look, kid—”
Nita turned her head away from him, lips pressed together.
He tried a few more times before sighing and giving up.
Nita closed her eyes and ticked off the minutes until Quispe arrived. Between her and Nita’s mother, surely they could sort something out?
She tapped her foot on the ground, fast, matching the nervous rhythm of her heartbeat.
Finally the door opened and Quispe entered.
Her usually pristine suit was a little rumpled, and her eyes had dark circles under them. Clearly, being drugged and shoved in the back seat of a car hadn’t suited her well.
Nita had a terrifying moment where she wondered if Fabricio had told Quispe everything, but then the agent gave Nita a tired smile and sat down beside her. Nita nearly sagged in relief. Fabricio must really want to keep his identity a secret.
Detective Levesque sat across from them and told Nita, “Agent Quispe has apprised me of your situation. We only have a few questions for you.”
Nita hesitated. In the back of her mind, her father’s voice told her to stay silent, to say absolutely nothing. But she didn’t think she’d ever leave if she said nothing. And she was the victim here. Or at least, mostly.
“All right,” she said, after a pause.
Detective Levesque steepled his fingers and leaned forward. “So, can you tell me what happened yesterday at the apartment near Yonge and Eglinton?”
“My aunt was busy.” Nita swallowed, mind searching. “I went shopping. Then a crazy lady started chasing me down the street with a gun.”
“Had you ever seen this woman before?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea who she is?”
“No clue.”
Detective Levesque tapped his pen on his notepad. “So, you say you were wandering shopping, but we have footage of you fleeing an apartment building, with this woman in pursuit. Why were you in the apartment building?”
“I got lost.” Nita blinked. “I was trying to find someone to ask directions, and figured the apartment lobby would have a security guard.”
“Why would the apartment lobby have a security guard?”
Nita frowned. “All my apartments have had security guards in the lobby.”
Levesque didn’t look convinced, but Quispe interrupted. “It’s common in Latin America.”
It was common in many parts of Asia too. It was Canada that was weird in Nita’s opinion.
“That’s right, Quispe mentioned you’d been living in Peru. How long did you live there?”
“A bit. How is this relevant?”
Levesque shrugged. “Well, it’s a country where INHUP has no power—”
“And?” Nita didn’t like where he was going.
“Just musing.” He switched topics, but he didn’t look like he’d let it go. “Did you hear or see anything suspicious before the woman started chasing you?”
“No.”
Detective Levesque sighed and twirled his pen in one hand. Then he took out some papers from his folder. “Do you know what the darknet is?”
Nita hesitated. “It’s where bad people buy illegal things on the internet.”
“Yes, including unnatural body parts.” Levesque looked to Quispe. “I’ve been
informed it’s also where a video of you was leaked by your former captor.”
Nita’s lips thinned. “So I’ve heard.”
Levesque pushed the papers forward. They were printouts of a black market product: Nita’s location.
There, under the top-rated review, was Nita’s threat.
You hunt me and I hunt you, in Peru or Canada. I will burn you down.
“Do you see the top one, from username Scalpel?”
“I see it.” Nita’s voice was steady, and she pressed her hands against the cold table so no one would see them shake.
“The time stamp makes it clear the killer is the poster.” Levesque sucked his teeth. “While one body, found in the hall, appears to be a building inspector in the wrong place at the wrong time, we have identified the three bodies found together as known associates of a black market group based in Buffalo.”
Nita’s jaw clenched tighter. This was bad, very bad. “Is that so?”
“It looks to me like some hunters after you were lured to that location and killed.”
Nita kept her gaze steady on him. “I can’t say I feel sorry for them. They were trying to kill me.”
Levesque’s eyes narrowed. “That’s very true. You have a lot of motive to want them dead.”
Nita raised an eyebrow, playing it cool as a cucumber even as inside she screamed. “Are you insinuating I murdered these men?”
He tapped the paper. “This Scalpel person claims to be you. They claim to have blown up Mercado de la Muerte in Peru and killed these people here in Toronto.”
Nita’s fingers curled into fists. “You’re blaming me based on some anonymous internet user’s comments? That could be anyone.”
“So you’re not Scalpel?”
“Of course not.” Nita swallowed and turned to Quispe. “You can’t just sit here and let him accuse me.”
Quispe pursed her lips. “He has a good argument. We spoke before we came in here.”
“You don’t believe I did it, though, right?”
Quispe sighed. “I don’t know, Nita. I was drugged and kidnapped this morning when someone tried to kidnap Fabricio. Outside of INHUP, only you knew he was coming today.”
Nita’s fists were tight balls in her lap. They had nothing, this was all speculation.
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