by Rysa Walker
Daniel now has Taylor by the upper arm and is steering her toward the door. “Mom has called home every night this week between six thirty and seven. That gives you maybe half an hour to get to the house and answer the phone. Because if she calls my cell to ask where you are, I can promise that I’ll be mentioning you used her work vehicle to follow me on police business.”
I wonder what sort of job their mother has that requires her to drive a Jeep that looks like it’s been dipped in grape Laffy Taffy.
“She lets me use it as long as I take the sign off,” Taylor says, jerking her arm away. “And you weren’t actually on police business.”
“Do you think she’ll like the fact that you were following me? Or that I saw you pulling out after I did, and yet you beat me here by what? Five minutes? Get home or I will tell her.”
“He’s right, Tay.” Aaron seems reluctant to agree with Daniel. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Taylor gives him an annoyed look, but her eyes really flash when she locks onto Daniel. “Are you sure you want to start threatening to tell secrets, Dan Quinn? Because I can play that game, too.”
They’re both focused on her right now, and I doubt there will be a more opportune moment for me to get the hell out of here.
Wait! You can’t—
I ignore Molly. That’s much easier to do now that my brain is occupied with worrying about Deo. My eyes fall on the Jeep, still running, but it doesn’t seem like a smart idea to head to the police station in a stolen vehicle, especially one that conspicuous. The bus stop is about a block away. I’ll call Kelsey from the bus and—
I don’t even make it off the stoop before Daniel hooks his arm around my waist and yanks me backward. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
He grunts when the heel of my shoe connects with his shin, but doesn’t let go until I’m inside. The last thing I see before the door closes is Taylor, stomping off to her vehicular monstrosity.
Daniel tosses me onto the couch, then sinks into the armchair, rubbing his leg. “You’ve got a wicked kick.”
“Yeah? Touch me again, and you’ll have a lawsuit on your hands in addition to the bruise.”
“Damn right!” Aaron says. “And I’ll back her up.”
Daniel tosses Aaron an annoyed glance, then looks at me again. “I’m sorry, okay? But if what Aaron says is true, you and your friend could be in danger. When I saw Baker outside your group home, I told him I knew where you were. That I’d bring you to the station. If you cooperate, maybe they’ll ignore the fact . . .”
His mouth is still moving, but I don’t hear the words. There’s a strange feeling of pressure just behind my forehead, and my teeth clench so tightly that my vision blurs. I close my eyes and make a conscious effort to relax my jaw. What the hell is Molly doing?
Stay back! I’ve got enough to deal with right now.
Hey, that wasn’t me.
When I tune back in, Aaron is once again yelling at Daniel, but Daniel is staring at me. He seems puzzled.
“. . . even more danger if the leak is from their office,” Aaron shouts.
“Except there’s no leak!” Daniel pulls in a deep breath, then lowers his voice and continues in a softer tone. “I know you’re trying to do the right thing, Aaron. So am I. Porter was talking about this to everybody. Baker said he got someone to post a POI—person of interest—notice on the department website last week, asking if anyone else had been victimized by a couple of teens claiming to be in touch with relatives of murder victims. He even posted something in one of the police-sponsored community discussion groups day before yesterday, asking people to call him if they had any information on her identity.”
“Why? He knew my identity. He had my phone!”
His brow creases, but he looks back at Aaron. “My point is that there was nothing to leak with Porter screaming all over town. You want to see the ads, then follow me when I take Anna to the station and I’ll print you out a copy. We’re on the same side here. We just need to work through the proper channels.”
“Let’s just go,” I tell Aaron, pointedly ignoring Daniel.
But Aaron’s still not convinced. “Porter was shot in Wheaton. The van that nearly sideswiped them last week was over near Glenmont station. Both in Montgomery County. If Baker’s so worried about going through the proper channels, shouldn’t they be questioned by the county police?”
Daniel is quiet for a minute. Then he says, “Montgomery County may be saying Porter’s shooting was a drug deal gone wrong. But Baker seems to agree with you . . . He thinks it could be connected to Molly and Laura’s case. From what Porter told us, it’s pretty clear that Anna knew Molly. Since that case is a double homicide, with possible human trafficking added on, I think we can justify bringing them in for questioning.” He turns and looks at me directly. “I’m sure Anna won’t mind—”
The pressure hits me again right at the temples. It’s not painful, just intense.
Molly says it’s not her before the thought is even fully formed.
“It’s up to you,” Aaron tells me.
Yeah, you’re damned right it is. It might not be fair to be annoyed at both of them, when Aaron has gone out of his way to take my side. But I’m tired of people trying to make decisions that should be mine to make. All I really want right now is to get Deo and get back to Bart House.
“I’ll go. That’s actually where I was heading when . . .” There are several names I want to call Daniel. But since I might actually need the jerk’s help in getting Deo home, I bite them all back. “When your brother yanked me back into the house. If he wants to give me a ride, that’s fine with me. Saves me the bus fare.”
CHAPTER SIX
The blue-white glare of the old-style fluorescent light above us isn’t helping my headache. Neither is the faint buzz the damned thing is emitting, or the annoying thought that it’s probably the ballast, and it wouldn’t cost much at all to fix. Not sure which former tenant left that bit of info behind. Probably Abner, but I’m too nervous to sort it out.
A uniformed policewoman walks in a few minutes after Daniel and I enter the room. Aaron followed us to the station, but he’s apparently not allowed back here in the sanctum sanctorum.
The policewoman parks herself at the small table by the door. “Thought you quit, Quinn.”
“I did. Just doing this as a favor to Baker.”
“Cop life too tough for you?”
“Can’t all be supercops like you, Lupito.”
We sit there for well over an hour. The female officer isn’t paying much attention to either of us, just typing on the small tablet she brought in with her. I’m pretty sure she’s only here because I’m a minor and a female, and they want to cover the department against any possible claims of impropriety.
I called Kelsey on the ride over, and she wanted to come down to the police station. But I told her there really wasn’t anything she could do, at least not yet. She asked if I needed an attorney. I said no, but the longer I sit here the more I’m beginning to wonder if that was true.
But calling her back to change my response isn’t an option. “Coverage sucks in your interrogation cells.”
Daniel shrugs. “Not an interrogation cell, Anna. We’re waiting on Baker, so he can ask you some questions.”
“Why can’t you ask those questions?”
“It’s Baker’s case. And as of yesterday, I’m no longer an active officer.”
“But . . . didn’t you just join?”
He shrugs. “Decided I’m not cut out for civilian life. I’m just here to keep you company. Make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”
My expression must tell him exactly what I think of that, because he laughs and says in a lower voice, “Listen, Baker’s a good guy, but you need to give it to him straight. None of this psycho mumbo jumbo you told Aaron and Porter. He’s not interested in whatever petty scam you guys had going, as long as you give him information on Lucas. Just tell him you met Molly at the shelter, and you were hopin
g Porter would pay for the info.”
“Since you know all of the answers, why don’t I just leave and—” I stop suddenly, as an odd tingly sensation moves across my head. Almost like Pop Rocks are going off just below my scalp.
Whoa. Feels like taking a diet pill and a couple of Sudafed at the same time. Sort of like your skin is a low-level mosquito zapper.
The thought doesn’t come from Molly. It’s just another one of those stray scraps of memory left behind by a mental roommate. I know this one immediately. Arlene Bennett, paralegal, mother of two, and a hypochondriac who had an unfortunate (and fatal) tendency to mix her meds.
“You okay?” Daniel asks.
“No. I have a very weird headache.”
Daniel doesn’t respond. He just looks annoyed, like I’m being difficult.
“I’m terribly sorry if my headache inconveniences you.”
“I’ll get you some Tylenol after you talk to Baker. He should be here any minute, so relax.” He gives me one last look, then slides down in his chair, legs out in front of him, and closes his eyes like he’s going to nap.
“And you can’t let me see Deo while we wait?”
“Deo is fine. You’ll see him later.”
His tone is so very patronizing that I toy with the idea of kicking his feet out from under him, so I can watch him go splat on the floor.
Do it. I’d like to see his face. Daniel always did think he was in charge.
Yeah. I can see that. But there’s a cop in the corner and probably hidden cameras in the room, so no. You’ll just have to rely on your imagination.
Or . . . I can rely on memory.
She sends me a mental flash of a lanky kid about Deo’s age, drenched, furiously shaking partially melted snow from his head and torso.
We rigged it to fall on his head, and boy was he pissed! Taylor said he . . .
Molly doesn’t finish the thought, and I can tell from her little sigh that she’s shifted to thinking about what Taylor said a few hours ago, rather than what she said a few years ago.
I don’t think Taylor meant what she told you, Molly. She was just angry.
Yeah. I know that. But I also know she’s right.
Molly slides back. After a few minutes of listening to the fluorescent light buzz and watching Daniel Quinn take his stupid power nap, I open my phone, and since I can’t access any of my usual networked games, I take out my frustration on Fruit Ninja. It’s kind of liberating to pretend that the pieces flying across the screen are Daniel’s head, Aaron’s, Porter’s. Even Molly’s. Deo and I were doing just fine until I picked her up.
When the door swings open a few minutes later, I mentally run through my earlier conversation with Daniel. Didn’t he say Baker was a guy?
The person who just entered the room has very short dark hair, but that’s about the only thing about her that’s even remotely masculine. A burly man follows her into the room, and I think maybe he’s Baker, but he steps forward to take the coat the woman is shrugging off her shoulders. He folds the coat neatly across his right arm and steps back against the wall without waiting for her to remove her gloves. While I doubt coatrack is the man’s only function, it does seem to be one element in his job description.
Her trim bottle-green suit looks expensive—too expensive for a cop—and more like something you’d wear to a dinner party than to work. And she’s young, midtwenties at most. Below her short skirt is a pair of very long legs, and below that, a pair of matching stilettos that give me vertigo just looking at them. Deo would swipe those shoes out of her closet in a heartbeat. The uniformed policewoman slips outside, and Daniel, who must have actually dozed off, stumbles to his feet, confused. “Where’s . . . What happened to Baker?”
The woman peels the glove from her right hand. “Baker will be along shortly. Dacia Badea.” I’m not sure I’d have recognized the words as a name, but she steps forward to shake his hand as she speaks. Her eyes are almost level with Daniel’s and her voice is smooth, pleasant, with an accent that seems Eastern European. She flashes him a glimpse of something—a badge, maybe. “You look . . . familiar. We have met?”
Daniel’s face goes pale for a moment, but he recovers quickly, giving her a slightly wolfish grin. “No, ma’am. I’m certain I’d have remembered you. I get that a lot, though. I guess I’m kind of generic looking, aside from these green eyes.”
Green? I lean forward to get a better look, because I could have sworn his eyes were brown.
The woman’s forehead creases momentarily, and she rubs her hand across it. Her frown vanishes, almost as if the motion smoothed away her concern. “Yes. The other man, his eyes are dark like . . . like chocolate. And he has no beard. It was the dim light, perhaps.”
I wouldn’t exactly call Daniel’s light scruff a beard. It’s barely even a five o’clock shadow. But whatever interest the woman had in him has vanished.
“You will be so good as to wait outside,” she says, and there’s no question that it’s an order and not a request. “This will not take long.”
“I . . . I was told that Baker would be questioning her.”
“After I finish. I have places to be.”
Daniel nods. As he leaves the room, I feel Molly sliding forward, alert.
What is it?
There’s a brief pause before Molly answers.
Nothing. She reminds me of someone, but . . .
Molly slides back quickly, and I’m glad, because the woman is staring at me now. I rise from the chair as she holds out her hand.
“I am Dacia Badea,” the woman repeats. Her smile is warm, and it lights up her entire face, including her sky-blue eyes. “You must be so frightened. Why did they not put us in a room less . . .” She looks around and shudders as she shakes my hand. “Horrible? And warmer! It is so cold.”
It doesn’t really seem that cold to me, but I nod. She’s clearly trying to put me at ease, and I might as well let her think she’s succeeding, even though she isn’t. For one thing, that Pop Rocks sensation is back, spreading in a narrow band across my forehead. It moves more rapidly this time, and it’s more intense. And I can also feel Molly muttering in the background, like she’s still trying to figure out why this woman seemed familiar.
But I push all of that aside and focus on the Badea woman. I need to figure out why she’s here and what she wants.
“You must wonder why I am here and what I want.”
Okay, that’s creepy. Really, really creepy.
But . . . it’s just coincidence. Right? I mean, obviously, that’s what I’m wondering. It’s what anybody would be wondering in my situation.
Careful, Anna.
Shh.
I don’t get the sense Molly has any information beyond that whispered caution, and having an extended chat with her while this woman is watching seems unwise.
“Yes, I was wondering that.” I return her smile, although I’m pretty sure mine isn’t as convincing. “I was expecting Detective Baker. Or, I guess he’s a detective . . . I don’t really know.”
“The police will have questions to you later. But here is the thing with bureaucracy . . .” She says the word bee-rokratzi, and it takes me a moment to figure it out. “Always there is a pecking order. My employers are high above District police. This can be good news for you if you are wise. He can make all of this disaster go . . .” Ms. Badea makes a little poof gesture with her hand, blowing an imaginary something off the tip of the still-gloved fingers of her left hand.
I find it odd that the employers she mentioned are now a single man—he can make all of this disaster go . . . poof. But maybe it’s just a language thing.
“That’s nice to know, Ms. Badea.”
“Please, I am Dacia.”
Molly stirs again, uneasy.
Dacia takes the seat that Daniel vacated a few moments ago and motions me to the chair on the other side of the table. “You and your friend—his name is Taddeo, right?—are not in trouble. We just want information.”
My stomach tightens when she says Deo’s name, but I nod. “Okay. But I don’t know what I can offer.”
“Anna, Anna. Such modesty!”
Her expression shifts. It’s a subtle change, but in that instant, I have no doubt what’s coming next. It’s what I’ve feared since I was six, sitting in Kelsey’s chair, when she explained why I could never tell other people what I can do. Why I needed to pretend. Why I needed to find a way to keep my secrets safe.
This woman knows.
Her smile barely flickers, but there’s a hint of victory, the barest whiff of gotcha in her eyes, as she takes my hand again. I don’t like people touching me, and I start to pull away, but her grip tightens. “We have reason to believe you are a special young lady with an . . . unusual talent. And we are very interested to develop gifts like yours—”
A tiny frown crosses Dacia’s face. That tingle starts again, directly above my ear, moving right to left.
She’s causing it. I don’t know how she’s doing it or exactly what she’s doing, but it’s definitely her.
I have a vivid memory of Kelsey kneeling in front of me, her eyes level with my own six-year-old face, trying to impress upon me the importance of what she was saying. You can’t keep all of your secrets bottled up inside or they’ll hurt you. They’ll scream to get out and make you miserable. But some secrets aren’t for sharing outside this room. Not if you want to be safe. Not if you want your life to be your own. You need to keep your wall up when you’re around strangers, Anna.