of those insects that buzzed and sang in the trees, filling the forest with their noise, but only every seventeen years. They’d only come out once but Jak remembered them—the whole forest had vibrated from their mating.
Jak turned from Nigel, walking toward the library, glancing up now and again, trying to spot the cameras.
He was being watched. Again.
He closed the large door behind him, standing against it for a minute as he fought to catch his breath. He felt . . . he didn’t know the word. There were still so many words he didn’t know. He walked to the table, picking up the dictionary and leafing through it like he might stumble upon the right word to tell him how he was feeling.
The door clicked. He smelled her before he saw her. The bird woman. She smiled at him and closed the door behind her.
“Jak,” she purred. She was always purring, like a cat. But cats hated birds. Maybe that’s why she liked to hear them cry. She came toward him, and he wanted to back away but held his ground, that slight cicada buzzing growing louder in his ears again.
She ran her bird talons down his chest, licking her lips and looking up at him. “Oh, the things I could teach you, Jak.” She unbuttoned the top button of her shirt, then the second.
He understood what she wanted. She was going to get naked like the redheaded woman and offer her body to Jak, though he’d done nothing to try to earn it. He stepped away and her hand dropped from his chest. “I have a woman.”
She laughed, but it wasn’t like a laugh. More like the sound a coyote made right before it attacked something. Her tongue clicked and she moved closer again. “Big man like you?” She looked down, her eyes stopping between his legs and then raising to his face. “One woman can’t be enough.”
“You’re wrong.”
“So sweet,” she purred. “But I wouldn’t stop you like she did. I’d let you do whatever you wanted. Would you like that? Hmm?” She reached down, rubbing her hand over his manhood, grasping him. He hissed with surprise.
I wouldn’t stop you like she did.
She’d watched them? Him and Harper. Right there. He looked up, searching for the camera and spotting it in the far corner of the ceiling. His blood boiled and a groan came up his throat. He’d felt safe there.
“Oh yess,” she purred, rubbing him harder.
He took her by her arms and pushed her away. She stumbled backward, catching herself. “Don’t ever touch me again,” he growled.
Her eyes filled with anger, her cheeks getting red. She stepped toward him, her mouth opening to speak when a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” Jak called, trying to cool the hot anger in his blood, the feeling of . . . betrayal. He took a deep breath, letting it flow through his body.
The door opened and Nigel entered. “Agent Gallagher is here to see you, sir.”
Jak didn’t look at the cat-pretend-bird lady as he said, “Tell him I’m in here.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lift her shoulders and then her back was to him as she walked out. The room still held her smell. It made him feel . . . disgust.
Agent Gallagher entered and Jak sunk onto the edge of the table, letting it hold his weight for a moment. “Jak,” he said, a strange look on his face. A mixture of sadness and . . . something else.
He straightened up, offering the agent his hand. They shook.
“Can we sit down?” the agent asked. Jak nodded, his heart beating faster.
“Is Harper okay?”
“Harper’s fine. She was with me this morning. I just dropped her at home. This isn’t about her.”
Jak frowned. Why had she gone with the agent instead of picking him up like she said she would? Something was wrong.
They sat in two chairs near the stone fireplace and Agent Gallagher leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “We did another search of Isaac Driscoll’s land, Jak.”
“Okay,” he said slowly.
“We found two bodies, both children, though of different ages.”
Jak’s blood turned icy. He didn’t move.
The agent sat back, letting out a deep sigh. “We also found an old mine shaft that Isaac Driscoll used to store his . . . work.”
The buzzing again. Louder. In his head. Under his skin. Everywhere.
“We found the pictures, Jak. And video recordings . . . of you. They begin when you’re very young and continue until Driscoll