Wilde Child by Jenn Stark

Author:Jenn Stark [Stark, Jenn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elewyn Publishing
Published: 2017-05-17T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

We left an unhappy Ma-Singh behind to manage the mess at the warehouse, and walked back to our car. Since Better Health Services had already been cased by the cops earlier this week and I was driving with two trained police officers, there wasn’t much the general could complain about. Not that he didn’t try.

A crowd of kids and granola-looking adults had gathered on the street opposite the building, clearly here to pay homage to the graffiti decorating the warehouse wall. I ducked into the limo before any of them could recognize my resemblance to the image, but continued to peer through the tinted windows at the group.

They were all sizes and more ages than I would have expected, from school-age kids to twenty-somethings, to even a few older men and women, their faces burned brown by decades in the sun. As Nikki threw the car into gear and pulled away from the curb, however, one of them caught me—for just a moment. A boy who looked…familiar, somehow. I caught just a glimpse of his face, then he was gone and we were accelerating, the ragtag group dwindling behind us.

“Make sure Ma-Singh talks to today’s group of admirers,” I said to Nikki. “Maybe something new will shake out, if it’s not a cop asking the questions.”

“Right, because he’s a lot less imposing,” Brody said dryly. Still, he seemed more energized than he had before, and he put the commute to good use, bringing us up to speed on the latest developments of the case. Which, sadly, turned out to be a short conversation, since not much new had been discovered.

“Okay. No one has seen the Deguanzo mother for two days now, ditto Deguanzo junior, ditto the mom’s first son,” Nikki said. “She’s not with friends, relatives, her job, neighbors, other patients at the clinic.”

“Exactly.” Brody rubbed his hands over his face again, as if he could massage eight hours of sleep back into his eyes. Once again, I wondered about his aura—or whatever the haze of gunk was I’d seen when I’d looked at him with my third eye. As I watched him, I let that same Sight take over once more—but whatever I’d seen was gone now.

No, not quite gone, I realized. The murk still clung to him, not quite out of sight, dim enough that I might miss it if I wasn’t looking closely enough. So—maybe he was simply tired. Or maybe my own vision was suspect when it came to someone I’d known for so long.

Or, maybe there was something more going on with the good detective. Something I’d need to figure out after we discovered what was happening to the local Connecteds.

As if on cue, Brody’s next words refocused me on the crisis at hand. “The facility has been completely cooperative. It doesn’t look like it was an operation that went up to the top—just sideways through the organization. Some midlevel doctor or administrative person who culled the herd. Now that we’ve started looking into

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