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I read that as agreement.
“So…school, neighbor, friend of family, employee of a grocery store they frequented, stuff like that. All of which the cops were going to sort through with a fine-tooth comb. But days passed, and she wasn’t found. Then her parents asked the reverend at their church to be their spokesperson with the media, so I figured they were religious. If they went to church, Elsie Fay did. And maybe the bad guy did too. So I went to their church.”
“And?” Hottie Honcho prompted.
“And, theyarereligious. The mom teaches Sunday school. The dad is a deacon. I went to church that first Sunday after she went missing. The reverend asked everyone to keep them and Elsie Fay in their prayers, and if they heard anything, or saw anything, to report it to the police immediately, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. Elsie Fay’s folks were there. Everyone was glancing at them. Or trying not to and looking sad or upset. Except, well…”—I shrugged—“him.”
Hottie Honcho looked over his shoulder at Chris.
Chris looked at Honcho and shook his head, also once.
Honcho turned back to me.
“Obviously, that was weird,” I shared. “What was weirder was that he seemed todiligentlyavoid looking at them or having any reaction. Therefore, I followed him home from church. Then I went to my place and”—I lifted my hands, mimicked tapping on a keyboard, wished I hadn’t because I undoubtedly looked like a dufus, dropped my hands and concluded—“did some Google magic, and found he was not to be found, at all, anywhere. He rented his house, that was as far as I got. No social media. No LinkedIn. No nada. Which was even weirder. Therefore, I had to take a closer look.”
Honcho again said nothing. Chris didn’t either, nor did he move, though he was back to glowering at me.
“So, how did you know?” I asked.
Honcho answered, “Donald Walken’s name is really Paul Nicholson, and he’s on the sex offender list. He’s already done time for some sick shit. This is why he illegally started using a new identity. Also why no one in his neighborhood or at the church knew he’s messed way the fuck up.”
Ah.
There you go.
I kept my mind firmly off the “sick shit” and that he had time to do that with Elsie Fay and focused on something else that was pertinent.
“Can I go now?”
When he leaned into his elbows on his desk, fingers linked, resting his chin on them, and penetrated me with his perfect jade stare, I figured that was a no.
“Do you know where you are?” he asked.
“No,” I answered.
“Do you know who we are?” he went on with a slight jerk of his head to Chris.
“Well, that’d be nice to know, considering we’re spending so much time together,” I told him.
“I’m Kai Mason.”
Why was that name familiar?
“And that’s Julien Jackson,” he continued on another slight jerk to Chris…or Julien.
I felt a strange, but far from unpleasant, electrical pulse jolt through me at learning his name.
Well then.
I ignored the pulse and focused on the fact that I liked his name. It was unusual, at least his first name was. It didn’t really look like him, but it also did, in an odd way.
“And considering you’re the Avenging Angel, you probably should know who the players are on the street,” Kai Mason carried on.
Uh-oh.
Seemed he knew more than just my name.
I sat back, clasped my hands in my lap and tried really hard not to suck my lips between my teeth in order to bite them, that being in order not to groan at my own stupidity.
