Page 35 of Mimic

Gunner remained suspiciously quiet, and when I glanced at him, his stare held me in place. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“You heard me.” I wouldn’t back down. Not from him. Not for her.

“Do you even know what to do with her?” Jack asked. “I haven’t seen you with a woman since you got here.”

I knew what to fucking do. I might not have actually ever done it, but Dakota gave me quite an education while I was locked up.

“Fuck you, Jack.”

Blade and Nav laughed. Fuck them too.

“Enough. Mimic, sit the fuck down.” King rubbed his hands over his face. “We’ll talk about that later. Do we know anything about Indie?”

“No,” Nav answered. “Everything she has is legit. All her identification is real. If she isn’t Indigo Cambridge, then she’s got some powerful fucking friends. I have an entire background here. Parents, grandparents, high school, college. Everything I’ve found points to her being exactly who she says she is. A twenty-six-year-old tattoo artist from Texas.”

“Where in Texas?” Jingles asked.

Nav clicked on his computer keys for a few minutes before his head dropped and a muttered curse fell from his lips.

“Fuck.”

“What did you miss?” Colt asked.

“Tyler, Texas, is thirty-five miles east of Athens, Texas.”

“Fucking Gods of Mayhem,” King growled. “We can’t reach out to them. Not yet. Not with Aspen here. We need to talk to Indie and see what she can tell us.”

I went to stand, and Gunner said, “I’ll get her.”

He opened the door and called out, “Indie. Come in here, please.”

“Why?” I heard her ask, and I grinned. Asshole. She would have come if I’d called her.

You sure about that?

Fuck you!

Gunner crossed his arms over his chest and, a moment later, Indie slinked into the room like a teenager caught sneaking out of the house.

“Indie, please have a seat.”

Indie glanced at King before scanning the room until her eyes settled on me. I kept my face blank, not letting her see my concern. Something she saw on my face at her apartment pissed her off, and I didn’t want her anger at me preventing her from talking to us.

“What do you know about the Death Dogs?”

“Nothing.”

“Nav,” King instructed, and pictures of Skinner, Vulture, Sting, and Pepper, as well as a few other officers, appeared on the screen at the front of the room. I watched as Indie viewed the images. Her eyes widened barely a fraction, but she’d recognized someone. I didn’t believe for a minute it was Sting, though he was the one she pointed out.

“That guy is the one who hit me,” she said, pointing out Sting.

“What about the rest?” Cash asked.

She shook her head, letting her eyes drift down to her lap. She was lying. She knew someone on that screen. Maybe even more than one.

“Did you know Daniel Scott?” I asked.

Her head snapped up, and panic showed on her face. It was so quick I almost missed it.