Seb put the football on Canyon’s desk and opened the top of the bag so Timber could see it was full of snacks, all Timber’s favorites. Several types of beef jerky, some hardboiled eggs, cheese cubes, popcorn, smoked salami sticks, plus energy drinks.
“What do you want?” Timber asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Video,” Seb grunted. “Check for me if it’s been altered or not.”
Timber opened programs and entered data, talking as he worked. “I do that for free. It’s my job.”
“I need it now.”
Timber shook his head, typing in data. “No can do. I’m on a mission-critical One True Mate assignment.”
A packet of beef jerky landed on the desk, within Timber’s reach, and Seb growled, “I’ll wait.”
Timber downed the jerky, thinking about Canyon. He went to the filing cabinet, rooted around inside it, then slipped behind it into the alcove, almost surprised to see Canyon still laying there, still fucking sleeping. Timber knelt and poked him in the ribs. No response. He put his hand on Canyon’s side, just to be sure Canyon was breathing. He was, so Timber returned to the desks. Seb still sat in Canyon’s chair, staring straight ahead at the wall of security monitors, throwing and catching the football.
Timber checked the output from his work, musing out loud as he read it. “I’m trying to find Dahlia Paige, who’ssupposed to be Crew’s One True Mate. She lives in Serenity, but she’s changed her name more than once, and somehow, the name changes are expertly done and all traces of them are expunged, even out of the police files. I don’t know how she did it.”
“Angel powers,” Seb said.
“Yeah, maybe.” Timber waved at the screen. “The only lead I haven’t checked out is this Woodridge connection.”
He picked up the phone and called the duty sergeant to request checks at an address.
Timber hung up, then told Seb, “You’ve got until I hear back from him.”
“Thanks,” Seb growled, moving the bag of snacks from Canyon’s desk to Timber’s, then tossed a thumb drive onto his desk.
Timber picked it up. “I guess I’m Canyon today.” He motioned for Seb to move out of his way, then turned on Canyon’s computer and connected the drive.
“Where’s Canyon?”
“Assignment. Where’s your tattoos?”
Seb stared at him, eyes flat and dangerous. Timber grinned, thinking maybe he got under Seb’s skin a little—but instead the tattoos appeared, slowly. Black tribal tattoos that appeared in grayscale, then darkened, swirling around his jaw and cheeks.
Timber gave him a thumbs up. “Cool trick.”
He clicked a file and a video played on Canyon’s monitor. It was of an ordinary-looking guy, middle-aged, lean and shrewd-looking, with short brown hair, watching someone off-camera. The guy nodded, then took off his shirt to show a jacked physique. He turned around to show the back of his left shoulder, revealing a starrenqua.
Timber opened a program and fed the video into it. He nodded at the image. “Who’s this guy?”
“Names Rosenvelt Van Boeson. Lives in Chicago.”
“A Citlali?”
Seb didn’t say anything, and Timber turned to give him a questioning look.
“Yeah, I think he’s Citlali,” Seb growled, like Timber was challenging him.
Timber squinted at him. “What the fuck, bro?”
Seb shrugged. “He’sfoxen,”
“No shit?” Timber turned back to the screen, leaning forward, studying it closely. “I thoughtfoxendidn’t have Citlali.”
Again, Seb didn’t say anything.
Timber gave him a flat ‘what the fuck’ look.
