The detective had been professional and methodical. Harold’s men had gone over the interior of the house. The only fingerprints were Carson’s. And the car that looked like a junker had been quite fast. It had led his men on a merry chase.
But it hadn’t been fast enough to get so far ahead that Timbers would have lost it. Bowman must have found a place to hide and waited until the coast was clear before making his getaway.
The whole incident was a puzzle. It felt like a combination of careful planning and magic.
Harold made a snorting sound. He didn’t believe in magic, although he did believe that the children from the Solomon Clinic had powers.
But he knew the detective wasn’t one of them. Harold had checked the rolls. He wasn’t listed. Or what if he was one of the ones who had somehow slipped away? No, that wasn’t possible. Some of the mothers had failed to take the children back for testing, and their names had fallen off the list. But the Howell Institute had maintained meticulous records of all the mothers and children, even the ones who broke their contracts. And Harold had been working from their list, not the one from the Solomon clinic.
So either the detective was using some kind of magic tricks that Harold couldn’t imagine. Or...
What if the woman was one of the children? What if she’d met Carson before his death?
Harold’s fists clenched. He had surveilled the man for months. He hadn’t gotten together with any women.
Dismissing that possibility, Harold went back to another option. What if Carson had been lying about being able to do stuff on his own? What if it was possible, and he’d somehow been able to hide it?
Harold didn’t think so. Not after what he’d done to the man. Everybody broke under torture, and if Carson had known something, he would have given it up to make the pain stop.
But now perhaps the woman was the key.
On the chair in front of him, Roka shifted.
Harold’s gaze flicked back to him. He’d like to kill the idiot, but this might be the wrong time for bodies to keep piling up. He couldn’t just terminate someone when they were no longer of use to him. He kept a room on the basement level where operatives might sleep if they were on duty here.
“Go down to the dorm,” he said. “Get some rest. We can continue this later.”
Harold bit back a smirk as relief flooded Roka’s face. The man practically sprang from the chair as he headed toward the door, wincing as he juggled the ice pack against his nose.
When he was gone, Harold turned back to his computer. At first, the woman had stayed out of sight behind a large bush. But when Bowman had taken Roka into the house, she’d come out of hiding and joined him. Which was good because he’d gotten some good shots of her face.
He’d fed it into a powerful facial recognition program, and he had high hopes that it would reveal her identity. If he knew who the woman was, he could scoop her up and get back to some intensive interrogation.
* * *
Olivia felta sense of relief when she got back to the house, stepped inside, and locked the door.
The solace evaporated as she watched Gabe walking around, checking locks on doors and windows, even the ones upstairs.
Travis stood behind her, his arms around her waist, holding her tightly.I hate putting you in danger.
Not your fault, she answered.
She looked up as Gabe rejoined her in the den. “You don’t think they’re going to come here, do you?” she asked. “I mean, they don’t know who I am.”
“I hope not. Are you sure you’re not willing to go to a friend’s house or something?”
She wasn’t going to tell him that she didn’t have any real friends. She imagined it was the same for all of the children produced from Dr. Solomon’s experiments.
All she could do was reiterate her previous “no.”
“Do you know how to use a gun?” the detective asked.
Travis’s grip on her tightened as she answered, “My father made sure I did, because this house is in an isolated location. I have a gun in a lockbox here. But really, I’m probably better off using the powers Gabe and I have.”
“Maybe not if someone’s shooting at you,” Gabe muttered. He had brought in an arsenal, including an automatic rifle.
We need to get better at hurling thunderbolts,Travis said.
