The Complete Colony Series. Lisa Jackson

“Looks like you’re wanted,” she whispered. “I’ll be back later.”

      While the detectives entered the room, she headed down the stairs. Her cell phone jangled and she picked up to hear Tamara’s worried voice on the other end of the wireless connection.

      “Are you all right? What about Hudson? O-my-gawd, I just heard about your accident on the news. That you were forced off the road. Just like Renee!”

      “We’re okay,” Becca assured her and lingered in the hallway near a side door. “I mean, I am. Hudson’s going to be out of commission for a bit.” She sketched out the details of the last twenty-four hours, but she omitted the part about Siren Song; no need to go into that. She didn’t even know what it meant yet herself.

      Her one-sided conversation was interjected with Tamara’s remarks. “Are you kidding me…But who’s after you…Do you think it has anything to do with Jessie…You know, she was right, there does seem to be a damned curse…Don’t you need, like, police protection or something?”

      “I just need to figure out what’s going on,” Rebecca said and thought about Siren Song. Her earlier fear and aversion to the place had been replaced by an overriding anger. Like Hudson, she wanted to nail the son of a bitch.

      “Don’t you think you should come back home?”

      “Not without Hudson,” she said and left it at that. She couldn’t confide in Tamara, couldn’t confide in anyone. Not until she had more answers.

      She stepped through a side door where the wind tugged at her new hooded sweatshirt and the air was heavy with moisture. She was just wondering what was holding up McNally when she saw the detective heading toward the front door of the hospital. He veered toward her and they met on a cement path that led to an adjoining building that housed other clinics.

      “Glad you showed up last night,” she said seriously.

      His hands were in his pockets and he looked as if he’d aged ten years in as many hours. Unshaven and rumpled, a bit of gray showing in his hair, dark smudges under his eyes—clearly he hadn’t slept much. But then, neither had she. She wasn’t too interested in holding a mirror up to her face.

      “Look,” he said, “is there somewhere we could go and talk privately?”

      “There’s a coffee kiosk in the lobby and some tables. I don’t know how private it is…”

      “It’ll do.”

      They walked through a set of automatic glass doors behind a couple of nurses, heads bent against the wind, their uniforms visible beneath their coats, who were deep in conversation. “I’ll buy,” McNally said, and Becca asked for decaf black coffee.

      A few minutes later he joined Becca at a table she’d chosen because it sat away from the rest a little bit. He handed her one of the paper cups and gazed at her soberly.

      “What do you want to tell me?” she asked, suddenly scared. “Oh, God, did someone die? Another wreck?”

      “Nothing like that, trust me, and your dog is fine. Getting excellent care.” He paused, then said, “Tell me about your parents.”

      “My parents,” she said blankly. “What do you want to know?”

      He frowned. Hesitated, then looked her squarely in the eye. “Your blood type doesn’t match to either Barbara Metzger Ryan or James Ryan. It would be impossible for you to be their biological child.”

      Rebecca just stared at him. “Where is this going?”

      But she knew. She knew. She belonged with those people, as did Jessie. They were connected. Both of them. Connected to him!

      Her mind spun backward to the night before. “Sister,” the beast had called her. Sister. Had he meant it—literally?

      She was trembling.

      “You look like one of them,” the old lady had said as she’d placed her gnarled fingers over Becca’s flat abdomen. “Siren Song.”