Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,88

His heartbeat up from its resting rate, body temperature also on the rise.

Emotion.

And then it struck him.

Veronica was the only one who’d ever seen him purely, who’d held him in his first vulnerable minutes and looked into the wide-open slate of his face before trauma and loss had been written over it. Before he’d closed up and armored himself, scar tissue growing around a vulnerable core until nothing could pierce it.

He recalled the chill air of the Recoleta Cemetery, Veronica laying her hands on his shoulders, hazel eyes appraising him from beneath the brim of that hat like she was seeing more of him than he knew existed.

His mother’s gaze held the totality of him. It was the only place he’d ever seen it reflected. She was the mirror by which he might be able to know himself.

It sounded so pathetic and small, a childish hope as futile as Andre’s parental quest. That this final mission, set in motion by his long-lost mother, might prove to be the path to himself.

His mother.

He’d used the word now, if only in his mind, the realization sending him further afield.

“X?” Joey said. “You okay?”

Evan came back to the present, mildly surprised to find himself here in Room 15 of the Magnolia South Residential Building. He swayed once more on his feet. Joey’s eyebrows were furled; she was watching him with concern. He shook off his thoughts, seated himself in the present.

“I need an address for Mimeticom,” he said.

“The lab don’t got no address,” Rafael said. “But I can steer you to the founder. Brendan Molleken.”

“A tech guy,” Evan said. “He have a Ph.D.?”

“Handful of them, I’d guess.”

Evan’s eyes snapped to Joey’s as quickly as hers found his. “The doctor?” she said.

Rafael said, “He lives in Atherton.”

Evan firmed his legs, locked in his composure, looked over at Joey.

She shrugged. “I packed for an overnight.”

42

The Stranger

Declan firmed the camera once more to his face. The zoom lens, a Canon EF 70-200, was a workhorse. Depth control, image stabilization, even a Super Spectra Coating to reduce lens flare. Best of all it was great at distance with its telephoto lens, ideal for wildlife portraiture.

Or spying on a high-security Veterans Reintegration Center from a half mile away. They were in a rented sedan, Queenie behind the wheel. The red Corvette was too conspicuous even for the outer parking lot. She’d gone with a Corolla from Avis, a muted maroon to match today’s nail polish.

He adjusted the lens, zeroing in once more on the window of Room 15 of Magnolia South. A smear of transparency cleared the fogged pane where the stranger had mopped off the logo he’d drawn.

A familiar logo.

“You sure?” Queenie asked. She tugged at her Big Red gum, let it snap back against her front teeth. She smelled of cinnamon and hair spray. You can take the girl out of Philly.

“I’m sure,” Declan said.

“Well, I’d say that’s a red flag. Should we call the doc?”

Declan lowered the camera, kept his gaze locked on the chain-link fence and the building’s back side beyond. “We should.”

Two rings to a pickup. That infuriatingly calm voice. “Yes?”

“We’re in position to move on the second target,” Declan said. “Someone intriguing swam into our net.”

“Duran?” Even the doctor couldn’t hide his eagerness.

He’d backed off a bit after Declan had texted him pictures of the co-worker’s fragmented body. Barely a trace of blood, since most of the damage was skeletal. Declan had posed the man flat on his own carpet next to his La-Z-Boy, a chalk outline gone cubist. The doctor wasn’t bloodthirsty, not per se, but he was willing to be in the name of ambition. He had concerns, and they had to be sated.

If Declan and Queenie didn’t deliver Duran soon, they would pay a price. Declan clicked the phone to speaker, set it in the cup holder.

“Not Duran,” Declan said carefully. “A stranger. Who is familiar with Mimeticom.”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Who is this stranger?”

“I don’t know. Couldn’t get a clear view.”

“Is he alone?”

“From our vantage he appears to be.”

“Did you see his face?”

Declan watched the vehicles exiting the base. A Humvee filled with airmen. Fat guy on a motorcycle. Family in a Suburban. “Not clearly. Watched him through a fogged-up window.”

“And your assumption is that he is the one helping Duran?”

“That is indeed my assumption.”

Queenie laced her fingers, reversed them, and stretched like a cat, her arms stiff over the steering wheel.

“Well,” the doctor said, “it’s a good thing I delayed you