Page 28

Quaid

I called in an APB on Imogen’s car, and with the help of district police, we searched every possible place we could think of for Imogen.

We checked in with her parents, sister, colleagues, and friends.

We informed hospitals in case she ended up in labor and explored the list Nixon had provided us of her favorite stores in case she’d simply decided to go shopping.

I messaged Aslan and asked him to pick up Jude and Clementine and bring them to headquarters because I had a hunch one or both of them might be responsible. Nixon and Sparrow remained at the house with Zoey, whom I’d called when the crisis presented and asked her to return.

Where had Imogen gone? And why?

She knew something we didn’t. Was she going to get her son back on her own? Confront the person responsible? If so, who was it? Was she in danger?

Was she responsible for Crowley’s absence ?

I slammed a fist against the dash as Jordyn drove. “What are we missing?”

“I wish I knew.”

It was midafternoon when we decided to stop running in circles. Jordyn dropped me off at headquarters, informing me she was heading out again to get food and coffee since we hadn’t stopped all day. “I can’t keep going unless I eat. Maybe you can subsist on coffee, but I can’t. I’m starving.”

“No, you’re right. Get extra. Aslan and Costa will need food, too, I’m sure.” I offered her some cash, but she waved it off. “Meet me in the basement. Jude and Clementine can wait until I see what Costa’s discovered.”

She drove off, and although I intended to head directly into the bowels of headquarters in search of my favorite IT guy and husband, I detoured to a pair of closed interview room doors in the hallway of no-man’s-land. One contained Jude Marigold. The other Clementine Prescott.

I poked my head in the door on my left and found who I was looking for. A terrified-looking redhead strangled a plastic bottle of water. Her wide green eyes met mine, and she stammered, “Am I in some kind of trouble?”

“Clementine Prescott?”

“Yes.” She glanced over my shoulder as I entered alone and shut the door.

I debated the correct course of action, knowing I should wait for Jordyn before chatting with her, but after the conversation with Nixon, I had to satiate my curiosity.

Calm and collected, I crossed to the table and placed my phone in the center, a recording app open. “Do you mind?” I motioned to the device. “For legal purposes. It covers your ass and mine. ”

She swallowed and nodded, wringing her hands.

I hit record and covered the preliminaries of an interview, having her state her name and ensuring she understood she wasn’t under arrest.

Remaining standing, ensuring I held a position of power, I stared down at the young woman. “You worked as a nanny for the Davis family, correct?”

“For five weeks.”

“But you were recently dismissed.”

“Yes.”

“Who dismissed you?”

“Imogen… um, Mrs. Davis.”

“How come?”

Clementine stared at my phone with an expression I couldn’t read. She wet her lips, wrung her hands, then reached for the water bottle, taking a drink. “I… I don’t know. She… didn’t like me much.”

I struggled to assess her honesty, but when she refused to look at me, it was hard to say if she spoke the truth. “Why is that?”

She shook her head, more confident that time. “I really don’t know. I worked hard. The kids seemed to like me.”

“Did Imogen give you the impression you weren’t doing a good enough job?”

“No. She never complained.”

I stared at the top of the girl’s head, but her focus was steadfast on the table. “Nixon hired you, correct?”

“Yes.”

“How would you describe your relationship with him?”

That question caught her attention. She glanced up, a look of confusion on her face. “What do you mean?”

“Did you get along? Did he treat you well? ”

“Yes. He was always nice to me.”

“Did he pay you well?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever see him away from the house during your time off?”

Her neck turned blotchy with guilt, and she lowered her gaze, mumbling something I couldn’t decipher.

“I can’t hear you. Please repeat yourself.”

“Once or twice.”

“And what was the purpose of those meetings?”

“To discuss my job. The first time was an interview. The second time was to see how things were going. The final time was to try to convince me to come back after his wife let me go.”

“Three times.” Not a question.

I inserted a long pause. Clementine didn’t speak. I wasn’t sure she breathed.

“Were you having an affair with Nixon Davis?”

Startled green eyes flashed to mine, horror painting her features, red filling her face. “What? N-no. Why would you… No.”

I stared, assessed, and dissected every twitch of her muscles.

I analyzed the tension in her shoulders.

I watched the spread of humiliation color her pale skin, but the woman remained genuinely aghast. Was it a show?

I had a hundred more questions, but Jordyn was already going to be pissed that I’d stepped out on this limb alone.

Frustrated at not getting the answers I wanted, I pressed the Stop button on the recording and pocketed my phone. “Sit tight, Miss Prescott. We’re not done yet.”

Leaving the room, I headed to the basement.

I announced myself with a “Please tell me you’ve miraculously discovered the answer to what the hell is going on with my fucked-up case because, at this point, I have bad feelings for about four people, two of them being the parents, but none of them seem to be in actual possession of the abducted child, which makes me think I’m wrong.

If our dear old missing mother, who is supposed to be on bed rest, wasn’t so goddamn confident the boy was alive and not in danger, I’d be convinced he was dead in a fucking ditch somewhere. ”

Aslan smacked Costa’s shoulder and leaned in, lowering his voice. “PS, when Quaid loses the ability to censor his comments and starts dropping the f-bomb, he’s about ten seconds from a volcanic eruption of a Vesuvius magnitude. Proceed with caution.”

Costa pff ed and shoved Aslan out of his space. “You act like I don’t know my boy insert-long-space friend.”

Aslan snorted. “Afraid I wouldn’t have heard the pause?”

“Yes, and I don’t need your bullshit.”

“You’re cute.”

“Shut up, Doyle.” To me, Costa said, “Remembering this is my weekend off, you will contain your volcanic explosion. Got it?”

Aslan, not missing a beat, said, “He volcanically exploded all over me last night. Hopefully, he’s drained.”

Costa groaned and sank lower in his chair, but my level-ten sneer brought the smile back, and he pointed, chuckling. “Does that face really work on anyone anymore?”

I sighed and sulked. “No, and it’s pissing me off. I used to control people with this face. I had all the power. No one liked me. They did as I said. It was glorious. Now, I get called cute .”

Costa shrugged and motioned to Aslan. “He just called me cute. We can be cute together. Take over the world with our cuteness. Be the… What the fuck am I saying?” He pointed an accusatory finger at Aslan. “This is your fault.”

Aslan howled and clapped his hands. “You two are epic. I predict volcanic explosions in your future.” He winked in my direction .

Costa glared at my husband. “You’re disgusting, and I hate you.”

I did my best to smother a smile and keep the sneer in place as I smacked Aslan’s shoulder. “Get out of my chair, husband , before I remove you, and leave poor Costa alone. I need him more than I need you right now.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Still laughing, Aslan begrudgingly moved. “Next, you’ll be offering to suck his cock.”

I flopped heavily into the vacated chair and nudged Costa’s knee to draw his attention from my husband before he decided to kill him. “Hi, sweetie, honey pie, boy friend with a pause in between.”

“Don’t.”

“Please tell me you have something I can use to solve my case.”

“Maybe. I have good news, bad news, and expected news.”

“Expected news? What does that mean?”

Costa swiveled to face the bank of computers on his desk, clicked a tab on the active screen, and brought up a still-frame video. He let it run. “I visually confirmed your father’s Tuesday evening meeting was with Clementine.”

The bird’s-eye view of the courtyard wasn’t a clear image. The focus was poor, and the distance from the scattered tables made it hard to make out faces. Costa indicated when a man entered the frame and sat at a table to the left of the screen. A minute later, a woman joined him.

Costa hit pause and clicked around, zooming in. More clicking and the picture cleared enough to properly identify Nixon and Clementine.

“Let me watch it.”

“I’ll set it at an increased speed. They’re together for about forty-five minutes, and there’s no sound, so you only get actions, and they’re unimpressive.”

I watched.

Aslan stood behind me, rubbing my tight shoulders and narrating.

“They mostly talk. Nothing overly intimate in their behavior. They don’t even lean toward each other or act secretively.

A few gestures from him. She’s mostly poised and alert, nodding a few times.

Exceeept…” Aslan drew the word out. “There. See it? Nixon touches her hand and leaves it there for a minute.”

“That’s it? One intimate touch.”

“That’s all we saw,” Costa confirmed. “I would barely call it intimate. They talk. She leaves. Nixon checks the time and makes a phone call.”

“He called home to tell Imogen he was running late.” I slumped with defeat. “His story checks out, except that he lied about who he met with to supposedly protect his wife.”

“And technically,” Costa added, “doesn’t this mean that he and Clementine couldn’t have taken Crow? They wouldn’t have had enough time to get to the Soccerplex. This video is timestamped. They parted ways at five thirty-six. Peak rush hour.”