“Sounds vaguely familiar.”
“I know you set up my cloud account, but to be honest with you, I’ve totally forgotten how to access it via the computer. Although the interview wasn’t great, I did take a few photos that I think people will be interested in seeing. Believe it or not, the kid looks just like Tai Simmons. The interview sucked, but I figured I’d post a picture or two and get some good laughs.”
“T-Si?” Carter scoffed. “You looking to expand your readership into the teen-girl segment of the population?”
“I know,” she said, laughing. “But it’s the only hook I can think of, since we didn’t go out to the disappearance site. It’s not like I’ve got any appropriately ominous photos to share.”
Carter laughed and started scribbling instructions. “So, did you find out any additional information on what happened?”
She cast a quick glance at the door to make sure it was closed tightly. Even though she had been the one to bring up the subject, it still made her nervous talking about Paranormalish at work. And especially after this morning’s announcement.
“I didn’t learn much more than what I knew before.” She rehashed a few of the details with him. “The thing that nags at me, though, is that the boy disappeared on the same night that Krystal went AWOL. I know it sounds far-fetched, but I can’t help wondering if there’s a connection somehow.”
“Krystal?”
Hadn’t she told him her cousin was living with her and what had happened? She could’ve sworn she had. “You know the girl I’ve written about on the blog, the one who went missing for a few days then mysteriously showed up back home with no recollection of her whereabouts while she was gone?”
“That’s Krystal?” He handed her the paper.
“Yep. My cousin. I just couldn’t tell readers that. She’d only been staying with me for about a week when she suddenly didn’t return home one day. I, like, freaked out. I’m surprised you don’t remember. I was a basket case.”
“It’s not like I haven’t had problems of my own,” he said tersely.
Although taken aback by his tone, she decided to just ignore it. “I was worried about her, but I didn’t know if she was being a wild, irresponsible teenager or if something really bad had happened to her.”
“What about her parents?”
Arianna shrugged. “She doesn’t know her father, and her mom has some serious substance-abuse problems. That’s why she came to live with me in the first place. My aunt was going into rehab and Krystal had nowhere to live for a while. I got a call from the State saying she’d be put into a foster home unless I could take her. She’s doing a home study–type high-school program, so she didn’t have to quit school to move over here.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Yeah, but they figured she was a runaway and would turn up at some point. Still makes me mad thinking about it. I searched everywhere, checked her phone records and computer to see where she last was headed, but everything was a dead end. I had just about given up hope when several days later, she turns up as if nothing had happened.” Not exactly. Krystal arrived home, gaunt and exhausted, but at least she was alive. After eating like a horse, she slept for almost a full day.
Carter looked confused. “She doesn’t remember anything?”
“Nope. Even now she doesn’t. It’s like an alien abduction or something, where all this stuff is done to you, then they return you home with no memory of anything ever happening.”
Carter was writing on the scratch paper. In addition to various geometric designs and the number ninety-two—the year he graduated from high school, maybe?—he had written Krystal’s name in block letters, though he spelled it with a C. As he continued to listen, he added rows and rows of stripes to each letter. Who knew he was such a doodler?
“And when I realized that the high-school boy at the Devil’s Backbone disappeared on the same night as Krystal, I couldn’t help but wonder if the two events were connected somehow.”
He stopped writing and let his pen rest on the paper. A large, red ink spot formed under the tip like a spreading bloodstain before he lifted the pen and looked at her. There was something in his expression that she couldn’t quite read. “But there’s a big difference. She came back. He didn’t. If they were connected events, that doesn’t make sense. Either they’d both return home or they’d both stay missing.”
He could go ahead and think the two events weren’t related. It wouldn’t do anything to change her opinion that they were. Two kids roughly the same age didn’t just go missing on the same night. There had to be something more.
“Yeah, but I still can’t shake that feeling. Over the years, I’ve come to trust my instincts and my instincts tell me there’s more to this story than we know. Which leads me back to those pictures.”
“Oh, the pictures. I’d offer to pull up the account from here, but—”
“Yeah, I know. Big Brother is watching.” She tucked the scrap of paper into a pocket and turned to go. “Thanks, Carter. You’re the best.”
THE UNMISTAKABLE ODOR of rotten meat wafted through the crowd and Jackson felt a rush of I-told-you-so. Before they got here, Mitch had protested going to the Pink Salon a second night in a row, but Jackson had needed energy on the sly and this was as good a place as any to get it.
He whipped his head in the direction of the smell and held up his fist, signaling silence.
“Darkblood pair. Eleven o’clock.” The words, barely audible, hissed out of his throat.
On the far side of the dance floor, past the elevated cages with stripper poles, two figures dressed in matching trench coats rounded the corner in unison and stopped in front of a booth where several youthling couples sat with two obviously clueless human males. Clueless, because if they had any idea about the true nature of their party buddies or the goal of the new arrivals, they’d hoof it out of here.
“Looks like the cockroaches have come out of hiding, after all.” Then, slipping into the West Texas accent of his youth, he added, “Let’s go have us some fun.”
Loosening his coat to make his weapons more accessible, he elbowed his way through the long line of scantily clad drunk people waiting to dance on one of the elevated platforms. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. Even those who had their backs to him stepped out of his way. A dozen steps later, he hesitated.
He should probably let Mitch do this. Although the guy had spent years teaching at Council headquarters, he hadn’t been in the field much. A club takedown would be a good, real-world experience for him.
He turned to his partner. “Wanna handle this one? I’ll ride shotgun.”
The guy’s baby blues lit up with excitement. “Hell, yeah.”
“Know what to do?”
“I’ll shove a silvie into their—”
“Whoa. Hold on there, Slick. First of all, do you have a second knife?”
Mitch extended his hand, exposing the tip of a barely used, Agency-issue blade strapped to the inside of his wrist under his sleeve. “Got a couple of bullet dispensers though, including—” he patted his pocket “—my baby Beretta and a bad boy I’m dying to use in the field.”
“Nope. No heat, only silvies. Here, take one of mine.” Jackson slipped him a silver alloy stiletto—one of his backup blades, not his good one. No one touched his dragon blade. “And don’t use it inside the club. One wrong slip under a rib and they’ll charcoal in front of all these witnesses.”
Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you scrub them if that happens? Do a mind wipe?”
“I’m