The Lost of New Bristol (Lila Randolph Book 2)

by Wren Weston

  The couple led them upstairs into Rebecca’s room. Since the girl had only been there a few days, there was little of hers inside. A blue bedspread lay atop the bed, with little yellow ducks quacking in wavy lines. A second bed sat nearby, stripped and empty, lonelier in the empty room. Someone had piled a few tattered books on the bedside table between them, the pages crinkled at the edges due to too many small hands turning them. A box of broken colors sat beside it. The Thomases had placed a few wooden toys on a shelf in the back, toys that might have been antiques, if only they hadn’t been so roughly bashed against one another. An electronic train track ran under the beds and along the walls.

  “We set up the track yesterday. She liked connecting the pieces.” Mr. Thomas stood at the door awkwardly, his arm around his wife. “Her bag is in the closet. We didn’t make her unpack. She cried when we asked her to. She said she shouldn’t have to, that she’d return to her mother’s compound soon.”

  A hovering guard took the couple downstairs so the group could work.

  “Have you dusted?” Lila asked after she’d peeked into the girl’s bag and found nothing but clothes, a few stuffed animals, books, and pictures.

  “We’ve dusted everything, even the window,” Vance said. “We only found Rebecca’s prints and the Thomases’. The couple said that they cleaned the room as a family when they first got her home. They did a good job of it, too. It saved us an awful lot of time comparing fingerprints from past children and guests.”

  Lila opened the window and ducked underneath the sill. A maple shade tree had grown near the window, and Lila could reach out and shake its branches. “They didn’t go through the window, not that it wouldn’t be an easy move.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The whole family had been knocked unconscious. Why risk breaking your neck or dropping the girl when you don’t have to? A six-year-old is still heavy, especially when she’s dead weight.”

  “There are security cameras—”

  “Yeah, I saw the security cameras on the way in. You didn’t see anything on the footage, I take it?”

  “Exactly. That points to an inside—”

  “It points to anyone with half a brain. They’re hardly hidden, and they’ve been spaced so far apart that an army could slip inside undetected. The company that designed this security system should be shut down for negligence, and your men should all be retrained.”

  Vance cut his eyes to Shaw.

  “If that’s her take, then you should listen,” Shaw said. “If you asked her to slip inside this house right now with every man watching the security monitors, even doubling your patrols, she’d find twenty different routes inside. She’s slipperier than an eel. Unfortunately, I don’t think any of us have the time or the energy for a demonstration.” Shaw turned to Lila. “And whatever sarcastic little comment is knocking around in that brain of yours? Don’t.”

  Lila closed her mouth.

  “Okay, Chief Randolph,” Vance said. “The kidnapper broke into the house and drugged the chocolate so that the family would be asleep when they broke in a second time and actually took the girl? Is that your theory?”

  “We don’t know if the chocolate is drugged, but it wouldn’t be the worst plan in the world. Could be that drugging their food or drink was just a dress rehearsal. This is a workborn dwelling. It’s a joke to break into. Why my father decided to stash a future oracle here is beyond me.”

  “Where else would we put her? Only six highborn families live in Sioux Falls, and all are minor families at best. None of them have seats on the La Verde High Council, and only one has more than three compounds in the region. None of them wanted to take responsibility for the daughter of an oracle. They claimed not to have a large enough militia to protect her. They said there’s too much risk involved without a reward.”

  “Except for bragging rights, excellent PR, and the eternal gratitude of the workborn faithful who have to buy their products from somewhere? No wonder the idiots haven’t grown beyond Sioux Falls.”

  “Well, your father didn’t want to place her in Norrington,” Shaw said. “He didn’t think it would sit well with the oracle.”

  “Yeah, because stealing her daughter didn’t bother her at all.”

  Lila studied the scene for the next hour, walking throughout the structure with Chief Shaw. They poked a little more in the house and yard, then spoke to the Thomases once more.

  The group had a quiet ride back to the airport. Chief Vance sat across from her, messaging his acquaintance at FPS.

  The chief bowed respectfully to Lila before she trundled onto the plane. Though Lila spent the flight home clearing her inbox of messages and reports, her fingers stalled more often than they worked. She needed to get the samples to her lab quickly. She knew they’d find drugs in one of the samples, she just wasn’t sure which one.

  She wasn’t sure that it would lead to the kidnappers, though.

  After she forwarded her last report to Sergeant Jenkins, she let her mind drift. If tracers showed up in one of the samples, then Tristan’s idle, impulsive guess was right. And if German mercs had taken Rebecca, Lila wasn’t sure how they’d find her. It was bad enough that she couldn’t find Oskar, but adding a few more children into the mix gave her pause.

  She drummed her fingers on her armrest, staring at Teresa Bailey’s ID.

  She would fail the missing children in the end. This time, no matter how hard she tried, she just didn’t have the answers, and she didn’t have them quickly enough. Usually, she snuck into compounds, most of the time with permission. She downloaded whole databases or stole jewels with the intention of returning them. Other times, she sniffed out illegal sales of drugs and booze and found blackmailers among the highborn.

  She’d never had to save someone before, not like this. Not racing against a clock to find victims who might have a gun to their heads, a gun loaded with bullets rather than tranqs. She’d only ever had to dart forward, brandishing her Colt, popping off a tranq to clear a path for her own escape.

  She had no adrenaline to aid her this time, only exhaustion and dread. Dread that the girls might be in a dog’s cage, just as Oskar had been with Natalie.

  Or—

  Gods, what if they’d been taken as fodder for Natalie’s brothels? Two of the girls had been kidnapped near New Bristol. What if Natalie had taken Rebecca as a last fuck-you to the prime minister and the same government that wished to try her for treason?

  Lila stole so many looks at Chief Shaw that his mustache twitched. Should she tell him now? She had a good list of possible locations for Natalie’s brothels, but was it good enough?

  If Rebecca had been taken by Natalie, was she there yet?

  Lila rubbed her eyes and looked away, feeling stupid. She couldn’t send Bullstow to the brothels until she knew every location, else boys like Phillip might disappear forever. She couldn’t risk losing so many children, not even for the daughter of an oracle.

  Besides, what possible use would Natalie have for oracles? By that same token, why would the Germans target the girls? Most Germans who had enough money to hire mercs believed that the oracles had no abilities, except to con people out of their money.

  Tristan was grasping at straws.

  But if Natalie and the Germans hadn’t taken Rebecca, who did? Anyone could meet with an oracle for free. Sure, they might have to wait awhile to be seen—they might even have to wait days if the oracle kept ignoring them—but they’d be seen eventually.

  Who couldn’t be bothered to wait?

  People generally committed crimes for only a few reasons, revenge and punishment among them. Could that be the reason why Rebecca was taken? Revenge because the oracles had not bothered to speak with a pilgrim, taking too long to see an impatient, broken soul? Or perhaps revenge from within the oracles’ compounds, perhaps a girl who wished that she had been given a chance to d
isappear or to shine?

  Pulling out her palm, Lila made a call to the oracle for a list of suspects. Her mind was running too wild with too much guessing.

  She had too few leads, and she was too damn tired to come up with more.

  Chapter 22

  Lila set her laptop down on Tristan’s wine barrel coffee table and reclined into the couch, smacking her worn servant’s boots beside the computer with two heavy thumps. She crossed her arms over her plain gray t-shirt and let her head sink into the cushions.

  A nap sounded like a really good idea.

  After Lila sped home and popped into the security office to handle the commanders’ meeting, Sutton had gently reminded her that Wednesday was her day off. She’d spent a few hours in her office anyway, dealing with a few pieces of neglected Randolph business. Then she’d dug further into Teresa Bailey. But if the Germans had contacted the woman, it hadn’t been through any channel Lila could hack or poke at, which meant that she was stuck. The Germans had either met Teresa in person or the contact had come to her some other way.

  To find out, Lila would have to use truth serum. Teresa would squeal about everything then: her chop shop, Natalie, the people behind Oskar’s kidnapping. But only the government militia could use the truth serum, and that would only happen if Bullstow put two and two together or if Shaw got the information from Lila.

  Unfortunately, Bullstow wouldn’t work quickly enough, and Shaw wouldn’t ask for her assistance. The chief believed Lila too busy with the oracle kidnappings, especially now that a fresh case had been dumped into her lap. She didn’t have time to pull his strings and shove him in the right direction, either. Sending him another anonymous tip so soon would only put herself at risk, for few in Saxony could have hacked Natalie’s star drive so quickly, and no one else would use Bullstow to get information they could get themselves through other means.

  Chief Shaw wasn’t an idiot. He’d figure out that Lila had tipped him off, and he’d have proof that she’d stolen evidence from a crime scene. Shaw would never let that go, regardless of who her father was, regardless of her motivations. Not even if she helped him solve his case and let him take credit for returning the boy.

  Besides, the last thing she wanted was to return Oskar.

  Breathing out in frustration, she sank deeper into Tristan’s couch. She couldn’t even track Teresa down herself, because when Shaw finally questioned her, Teresa would likely tell him that they’d spoken.

  Lila would still be screwed.

  Since she’d had no other leads to dig into and her mother had begun sending her messages about returning to the great house, Lila had fled the compound. She’d known touching her mother’s Blanc would bite her in the ass later.

  Her eyes flitted to the side of the room.

  Dixon had curled himself up in an oversized chair, his eyes half-lidded as though he might fall asleep, his stare fixed on a knot on the floor. When she’d arrived at the apartment fifteen minutes before, he’d barely looked up. He just scribbled a line halfway down the page in his notepad, then shoved it in pocket, returning to his brooding.

  Apparently, Tristan had returned to Natalie’s for another look.

  Before Dixon had closed the notepad, Lila scanned the first entry. He’d written it several days ago. He usually went through an entire notepad in a week.

  Lila worried the hem of her t-shirt, unsure how to talk to him, unsure if she should talk to him at all. He’d done nothing but avoid or her brood whenever he had to endure her presence.

  Perhaps he’d been doing that with everyone. He seemed so alone, curled up in the oversized chair. He used to sprawl over it like a nonchalant king or a highborn. Even a criminal.

  Never a brooding child.

  Pax had done the same thing once, looking far younger than his years because something heavy lay on his shoulders, weighing down his mind and his heart. Lila hadn’t let Pax fumble with it for long. Two days after Trevor’s death, she’d barged into his room without knocking and plopped down on his couch, tuning her palm to a public playlist filled with random music. She’d spent nearly half a bowl of popcorn on him, tossing kernel after kernel onto his back before he got pissed enough to jump up and scream at her.

  After he was done hollering, she’d just hugged him. What could you say to a boy who’d lost his best friend and his first love? Nothing anyone had ever said made losing Holly easier.

  So Lila didn’t even try.

  On the second day of music and militia reports and breakfast and lunch and dinner, Pax finally spoke. He didn’t talk much, but he talked. Every day he talked a little more until he finally channeled his energy into his schoolwork.

  As she watched Dixon’s face, she was reminded of Pax lying on the bed, kernels tossed around him. Perhaps Dixon was fumbling too. Perhaps it was harder for him to write something, instead of mumbling it.

  Here she was without her popcorn.

  “Dixon, come here.” She patted the couch next to her.

  Dixon’s eyes shot up. He looked around the room a little lost, then cocked his head.

  “Come here,” she said a little more forcefully.

  He sighed as if the distance seemed too great. Still he shuffled over, curling himself on the end of the couch as far away as possible.

  The knot once again held his attention.

  “Not there. Here.” Lila patted the spot next to her once more.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to bust your balls.”

  Dixon arranged himself beside her, crossing his legs on the seat cushion. It seemed he expected a lecture of some sort.

  Lila didn’t give him one. She wouldn’t have known what to say. Instead, she just put her arms around his neck and pulled him close, running her hand down his neck and back, over and over and again, her gloved fingertips grazing his scars.

  He didn’t pull away.

  After a time, he buried his face into her shoulder. Her neck grew wet, and his breaths grew ragged, sounding like he had been infected with another round of poison. He moaned, noise unlocked by sadness, startling her because she sometimes forgot that the tongueless man could make noise at all.

  She held him all the tighter for it.

  “I’m here,” she said, because she had absolutely nothing intelligent to say.

  She’d hoped he would talk to her; she hadn’t expected him to cry.

  Eventually the tears slowed. He pulled his face away, and she wiped a few drops from his cheek. She pulled his notepad from his back pocket and put it in his lap. “I know you’re mad at me and Tristan, but—”

  Dixon shook his head.

  “It’s okay. We know. Tristan’s been feeling guilty for what happened. That probably doesn’t help, but—”

  “Idiot,” Dixon mouthed over a little hiss of air. He touched his pen to paper, scribbling out a sentence, the text loose and ragged, so unlike his usual tidy blocks. I’m not mad. He had to shoot Reaper. I would have done the same thing.

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  He shrugged and tried to stand, but Lila grabbed his hand and tugged him back down. “Oh no, you don’t. I’ll always be a shoulder for you if you need it, but I’d be the shittiest friend ever if I just let you walk away now. Whatever is bugging you isn’t getting any better. You’ve brooded for long enough. Talk to me.”

  His pen hovered over his notepad. You handle it so well. You walk around like nothing happened. It pisses me off.

  “What am I handling?”

  Peter nearly killed you.

  “Yes, he did.”

  You don’t seem bothered by it at all. He stared as though some answer had been locked inside her mind, an answer he desperately wanted to get at, an answer he needed.

  “That wasn’t the first time someone tried to kill me, Dixon. I’ve lived with that crap my whole lif
e.”

  I know. And you’re fine. You’re really fine with it, aren’t you?

  Lila thought back to how she’d handled the last week of her life. Right after she’d woken up from nearly been killed, she’d almost slept with Tristan in a hospital bed. Less than a week after that, she had slept with him. She was still sleeping with him.

  Oh gods, was that why they’d begun?

  “I’m coming along.”

  You had regrets?

  “Of course I had regrets, Dixon. I suppose most people do. There were things that I had wanted to do, would never get to do, odd little things I’d never know. I didn’t want to die. No one does.”

  Yours?

  It clicked suddenly. When Reaper injected Dixon with that drug, when he fell over onto the ground and had gotten so ill, he’d thought his life was over. He wasn’t pissed off about Tristan saving Lila at his expense. His dark moods had been triggered by the thoughts that had come to him while poisoned, while lying on the ground thinking he’d die. He was having trouble coming to terms with it.

  In his mind, she wasn’t.

  Dixon saw it on her face as she figured it out. I’ve been hurt, beaten, but I never thought they’d kill me. This time I saw Tristan stab Reaper. I heard Tristan threaten to kill him if I didn’t make it. I was scared for us both. I calm him. You do too. If something happens to us, bad things will happen. I don’t like that.

  “There are a lot of things I don’t like, Dixon, but they are what they are.”

  Almost dying makes you think, doesn’t it?

  “About what?”

  Regrets. He started to write more, then crossed it out.

  “I had them too, Dixon. It’s normal. I had regrets about big things and little things all at once. I’d never learned Zoe’s name. I’d never found out how you’d gotten all those scars on your back. Tristan and I had never…” She waved her hand, fumbling.

  And now?

  “Now what?”

  Tristan.

  “He’s trying too hard. He sends me all these messages, wants me to come over constantly, tells me that he misses me all the time. It’s too much.”