Michael (The Airel Saga, Book 2) - By Aaron Patterson Page 0,22

“Okay, Harry, when this is done coming in, you make copies for yourself and get the originals straight to my desk. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, Harry. You’ll do well here. Just keep doing as you’re told.” She looked at him. “It’s not too late for you, is it? You didn’t have plans for tonight, did you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good, because I can replace you; it’s just inconvenient for me right now. I don’t want to have to wake up agent-next-in-line and wait for him to drag himself back to the office.”

“It’s fine, ma’am.”

“Good, Harry. I like the way you think; not bad for a rookie. I want to get on this ASAP, like right now.” Gretchen moved to take her leave, noting that it was after midnight but deducing that the parents of the missing girl would probably be up fretting anyway, so no worries.

“After that—”

“Get to work on whatever they’re giving us via email. Compile. Collate. Fix their screw-ups. Research. And call me if you find any leads,” she waggled her phone at him. “I’m going to interview the parents right now.”

“Victim’s name?”

Gretchen stopped and thought for a moment, looking up and left. “Actually, two. Both Borah High students. Amy? Ariel the mermaid? Something like that. Missing for about 24 hours. Suspect is male, about the same age, driving a late model white 4x4 pickup. I need to talk to the parents; apparently they know about both of these girls.”

Harry nodded and turned back to the fax machine and watched as page after page came in.

There was more than the usual swarming of discordant thoughts in Gretchen Reid’s head as she walked to her plain brown wrapper government Ford sedan. She had been on the phone with Timothy Darden in Portland about a couple of unusual blips that had come up on the wire. That was the reason she and Harry were working late in the first place.

Both incidents were in the region: one in Portland’s Pearl district, a bar fire; the other way out in the sticks somewhere. But that was a fire as well, and both sites were looking like arson; unknown chemical accelerants. And anytime there were ways to link events together, she indulged herself for a while, working like mad to try to prove herself wrong. In the end, if she couldn’t do that, she knew she was onto something.

And she was onto something here. It was more than Detective Vukovic’s exhausted voice over the phone. It was more than what he had told her; that the dad was just about homicidal himself. All of that was possibly understandable, if all was as it seemed. But she had a feeling…a gut reaction… there was something different about this one. She had to find out, dig deeper, see the root cause with her own eyes.

CHAPTER XIII

Sawtooth mountains of Idaho, present day

“LOOKS LIKE KIM’S OUT cold,” I said.

Michael looked over his shoulder. “No kidding,” he replied. “Maybe you should get her a drool cup.” He smiled wickedly in the dark.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s my Kim.”

“You think she’ll ever forgive me?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah. In time. But she’ll fight it, make you think she’s still mad at you. Just how she is.”

“Good to know.” He paused. “What about you?” He cringed as he asked.

“Huh,” I said, “Michael, my forgiveness for you was total before I…before I drowned in the water.”

“What?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“It wasn’t hard to do. I was just looking up at you and saw you for who you are. It’s never hard when you can see things—see people for who they actually are.” I touched his shoulder. “You’re…I mean…” I was stumbling for words. “You’re amazing—but I’m a girl, and sometimes what I really believe and what I feel may not be the same. I know. It sounds crazy even to me, but it is what it is.”

Michael nodded as if he understood what I was saying. “About all this, the fight, the killing, and you…I want to fix it, to make it better.”

I wasn’t sure about any of that. Part of him honestly repulsed me when he acted like that. It was like when he just kept apologizing over and over. I just wanted him to get over it. “All right, dude,” I said, trying to change the mood a little bit. “Tell me something.”

“Uh-oh.”

“When did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I was different; one of the—what do you call them?”

“Them? The Immortals.” He paused for a moment, eyes on the spray of light made by the headlights