If it was Aaron driving, I’d have given Deo a direct answer. But from everything Aaron has told me, his brother is Mr. Skeptic.
“I don’t know. Her name was Dacia Badea. She didn’t flash her badge at me like she did at Daniel, so he’ll have to fill in the bit about what agency she’s with. All she said was that the people she worked for could make all of our problems go away, if I’d cooperate.”
“It wasn’t a badge,” Daniel says. “Just a card. What exactly did you tell her?”
“Well, I left out all of the psycho mumbo jumbo as you called it, if that’s what you’re worried about. Lied to her. Told her I met Molly at the shelter before she died and that Deo and I were trying to con Porter to get some cash. But she wasn’t buying it. And while I doubt you’ll believe this, she was . . . doing something to my head. Trying to get information. I blocked her before she could confirm that I’m in contact with Molly . . . but I’m guessing she got that information from Deo anyway.”
“How?” Deo asks. “I didn’t tell her anything.”
“I don’t think you had to, D. If I hadn’t spent so much time building up my walls with Kelsey, I wouldn’t have been able to block her, either. And she must have been nearby when I was at the townhouse with Aaron. Either that, or she can do it long distance, because I had a similar sensation before she ever showed up.”
They’re both silent, so I ask Daniel again. “Who is she with? She recognized you. And if she’s high up enough that she can make the police turn off the cameras in that room, why are we in the car with you, headed to your grandfather’s office, rather than with Officer Lupito, headed back to Bart House? I thought you were all about following the rules.”
“It’s complicated.”
And judging from the set of Daniel’s mouth in the rearview mirror, that’s all we’re going to get for now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
About twenty minutes later, we pull into a small office complex near White Oak, wedged between an Exxon station and a self-storage facility. The second I step outside, my stomach growls.
Deo gives me a humorless laugh as we follow Daniel into the building. “Yeah, smells good to me, too. It’s coming from the Popeyes on the other side of that gas station. When did you last eat?”
“I had a bagel after my shift, which was breakfast and lunch since I was running late when I left this morning. Hopefully this won’t take long and then we can . . .”
He gives me a questioning look, waiting for me to finish, but the truth is, I don’t have a clue how to end that sentence. Going back to Bart House doesn’t seem nearly as appealing now. I keep hearing Dacia saying we’ll be in touch, her accent almost but not quite turning the we’ll into ve’ll.
Daniel is already a few steps ahead, punching a code into the building’s keypad.
I take advantage of his momentary distraction to pull Deo back so we’re out of earshot. “Did you get the money out of my old sneakers?”
“Yeah. Three hundred sixteen bucks, and change. Plus the pennies in the sock if you can get it back from Officer Friendly.”
“Hurry up!” Daniel holds the door open, clearly annoyed that we’re making him wait. At first I think it’s just him being his usual pissy self. But a worried frown settles onto his forehead as his eyes scan the parking lot behind us. Is he looking for Aaron? Or does he think someone followed us?
The foyer is dim, lit only by pale-yellow sconces near the doorways. We take the stairs up to the second floor. Quinn Investigative Services is the only office with any sign of life. The other two, which belong to a podiatrist and a dermatologist, are dark. Given that it’s creeping up on ten o’clock, they’ve probably been closed for hours.
Daniel raps once on the door and then opens it to reveal a small reception area. An older man is hunched over a corner workstation, typing something on one of those touchscreen keyboards. He uses only two fingers, hunt-and-peck style. The back of his head sports a bald spot roughly the size of a soup bowl, framed by hair that’s mostly salt with only a dash of pepper.
“Aaron’s not here yet?” Daniel asks.
The old man doesn’t say anything, just holds up a hand in Daniel’s direction, indicating for us to wait until he finishes the word or sentence or whatever.
Even with my mental wall in place, I can still pick up a hint of Molly’s emotions. This is Sam, who she’s known forever. She’s happy to see him. She trusts him.
Her reaction makes me relax a bit. Admittedly, it probably shouldn’t, but it is what it is.
The desk is too small for Sam’s large frame, and when he turns to face us, he bangs his knee against one of the metal supports. He curses under his breath as he rubs his knee. “Don’t know why I let your mom talk me into this furniture. They make these things for damn midgets. And your brother will be here in a few minutes. Had to make a stop.”