The Lost (Celestial Blues, Book 2) - By Vicki Pettersson Page 0,30

odds, was one of the things he loved about her. And she lived in emotional sunlight. A shadow cast over her? By Evie?

Hardly.

But he didn’t need to understand it to see she was truly upset, and the conversation wasn’t over, though he’d have to wait to ask her more. Detective Carlisle was already waiting.

They crossed the room to the far corner, where Carlisle hovered over a man who wobbled in his seat. There was nothing wrong with the chair, but the man was disheveled, unwashed, and sour-smelling, and currently picking at a wound on his forearm with unswerving fascination. With thin, brittle hair and a pocked face, the man was lean but not fit, long-limbed but lacking strength.

The most telling thing about him, though, was the solid ring of plasma outlining his body, a bright strip that only Grif could see. Not long, Grif thought, refocusing on the man. Not if he kept up this way.

The man’s expression didn’t alter when he spotted Kit and Grif standing there, his gaze sliding away after a mere moment, his hands renewing their restless fidgeting.

“This is Trey Brunk,” Dennis said in a normal tone, though Brunk appeared not to hear. “He’s a heroin user, as he’ll readily tell you, and he has his rages, which is how we had the great fortune to meet. But he’s not so bad.”

Clearly accustomed to Brunk’s lack of focus, Dennis leaned close, startling the man by putting a hand on his bony shoulder. “Hey, Trey. These are the people I was telling you about. The ones who are trying to help me find out what happened to Jeap.”

Thin lips pursed tight, Brunk shook his head. “Hell, I know what happened to him. He went floatin’ on a pile of shit. Once you stop caring about the crop, man, you step on the dime.”

“He means Jeap’s drugs were bad,” Dennis translated. “And that’s what killed him.”

Grif huffed as the plasma outlining Brunk’s frail body pulsed. This man’s “good” drugs weren’t exactly being kind.

“So where were you when Jeap took his final trip?” he asked Brunk.

Brunk held up his hands like he was fending off charges. “Hey, man, I was asleep for most of last week.”

“Including yesterday?” Kit asked.

His head bobbed once. “Asleep,” he said definitively.

“You sleep a lot, Mr. Brunk?” asked Grif.

Brunk’s rolling gaze circled back up and almost stuck on Grif’s. His eyes were watery, though. Like the life inside him could pour right out of his sockets. “That’s how I break the cycle,” Brunk said. “I got this theory. Down the dozers and I can sleep through the super flu. Then I don’t got to face the evening. Get it?”

Grif and Kit both looked to Dennis for translation.

“He means if he takes enough sleeping pills he won’t have to feel the heroin withdrawals.”

Which could last a week, Grif thought, remembering Dr. Ott’s words. From the looks of things, Brunk spent every other week sleeping.

“Why did they call him Jeap?” Kit asked.

“Called himself that. Short for J.P., but I don’t know what that was short for.” Brunk snorted as he looked up at them. “I called him Chevy sometimes. Or Ford. And I’d add it to the other half of that Chinese sign, just to fuck with him, you know?”

“You mean ‘yin’?” Kit said, following along admirably. Grif was already half-lost. “Like Chevy Yin?”

“Yeah, he hated that.” Brunk laughed nostalgically, picking at his arm before moving his fingers, worrying his face. His hands were moving faster now that he was more alert. “He said he was the light side of the yin-yang circle thingy. You know, ’cause he was so light-skinned and all.”

Kit and Grif looked at each other. Death pallor aside, Jeap was dark-skinned. At least compared to them. Brunk read their confusion. “I know! But he said he was white where he came from, so . . .”

Grif looked up at Dennis, but the officer just shrugged as well. “Jeap Yang was his legal name. I’ll dig for more.”

Kit nodded, then returned her attention to Brunk. “What about a girl? Someone new who he was hanging out with recently?”

“Oh, sure.” He blinked rapidly, then jolted when he remembered. “Brandy. Or Britney.” He blinked again. “Bianca?”

“Think, Trey,” Kit said, then softened her voice and her face with a smile. “It’s important.”

But Brunk shook his head. “I really don’t know, man. She liked those wigs, you know? Different colors. Pinks and blues and yellows. She was very bright actually.” He squinted like even the thought hurt his