one brush with hunters today.
Patchaya crossed the street and approached the entrance to the subway. Nita stood just inside, out of view of the man following.
When Patchaya approached, Nita reached up and plucked her cell phone from her hand.
Patchaya spun to Nita, and Nita tossed the phone over her shoulder into the construction site. “You can come back for it later.”
Then she grabbed the INHUP agent’s hand and tugged her into the subway station.
“That wasn’t necessary,” Patchaya protested as Nita led the way down the dirty concrete stairs and into the depths of underground. The smell of industrial cleaner and urine mixed together with the occasional whiff of overperfumed commuter.
Nita shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”
On the platform, Nita pulled them onto a train as the doors opened. A few people got off, but it was mostly empty. She turned back to the stairs as the doors rattled closed, and nudged Kovit’s sister.
“Do you know that man?” she asked.
The man from the Pickle Barrel descended the stairs, and Nita watched Patchaya for her response. Kovit’s sister shook her head. “No. Should I?”
As the train pulled away, the man sat on one of the metal benches and opened a book and began to read, seeming totally unconcerned with the world.
Nita sighed. She really was getting paranoid.
Patchaya smiled slightly, an ironic twist to her lips. “Did you think we were being followed?”
“Can’t be too careful.” Nita gestured to an empty pair of seats, faded red fabric worn to nothing in several places. “Especially given the conversation topic.”
“I can understand that,” Patchaya said as they sat down. “I’m sure a lot of people in my office would be very angry if they found out about this meeting.”
Her English had a faint accent, one very different from Kovit’s. Kovit had learned English in the States from a young age, so he sounded like he was from somewhere on the East Coast. But his sister’s accent wasn’t like anything Nita had heard before, like each syllable was being emphasized a little more than it should.
“But INHUP doesn’t have the manpower to follow me right now, even if they suspected something,” Patchaya continued. “All available agents are working on another case right now. No one’s going to be monitoring me.”
Nita tilted her head, curious. “What are they working on?”
“Two agents were kidnapped yesterday, but only one escaped. We’re trying to find the missing one.”
Nita looked away, part of her mind reeling that it was really only yesterday she’d orchestrated that kidnapping. The arrest, confrontation with Henry, then with Adair, catching Fabricio—so much had happened in between that it felt like a lifetime ago.
She stared at her hands on her lap. The agent Patchaya was looking for was dead. He’d been tortured, mutilated, and murdered by Kovit in one of Nita’s plans for capturing Fabricio that had gone terribly wrong. Not that she could ever admit it.
“Did—Do you know the agent?” Nita asked.
“Yeah. I know him.” Patchaya gave Nita a strained smile. “I’m supposed to be working on this unicorn murder case in Montreal, but I was secretly glad you gave me an excuse to come back to Toronto and see how the search for Bran was coming.”
“Oh.” Nita looked at her fingers on her lap, trying not to imagine how terrible Kovit would feel if he discovered he’d tortured and murdered his sister’s friend.
Nita decided it was best to change the topic before it got dangerous. She cleared her throat. “So, Agent Vidthuvitsai—”
“Patchaya. Or Pat.”
“Patchaya.” Nita corrected herself.
“And you are?”
Nita considered how much to say, and then settled on “I’m a friend of Kovit’s.”
Patchaya let out a shaky half laugh. She brushed a hair from her face with a trembling hand.
Nita blinked slowly. “Are you okay?”
Patchaya nodded sharply. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long time since I heard his name. Not since . . .”
Not since their mother was killed and Kovit was left alone, ten years old and frightened, on the streets of Bangkok to fend for himself.
“How is he?” Patchaya asked, finally looking up.
Nita smiled softly. “He’s all right.”
“Is he . . .” She choked, as if she couldn’t get the words out.
“Is he what?”
“He was always such a thoughtful child, you know. He’d do anything for his friends. He always tried to comfort me when I was scared, even though he didn’t understand what was happening.” Patchaya swallowed heavily. “I hoped the world wouldn’t change him, that what he was wouldn’t warp him. That he wouldn’t turn out like other zannies. That he