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n? Revenge because the oracles had not bothered to speak with a pilgrim, taking too long to see an impatient, broken soul? Or perhaps revenge from within the oracles’ compounds, perhaps a girl who wished that she had been given a chance to disappear or to shine?
Pulling out her palm, Lila made a call to the oracle for a list of suspects. Her mind was running too wild with too much guessing.
She had too few leads, and she was too damn tired to come up with more.
Chapter 22
Lila set her laptop down on Tristan’s wine barrel coffee table and reclined into the couch, smacking her worn servant’s boots beside the computer with two heavy thumps. She crossed her arms over her plain gray t-shirt and let her head sink into the cushions.
A nap sounded like a really good idea.
After Lila sped home and popped into the security office to handle the commanders’ meeting, Sutton had gently reminded her that Wednesday was her day off. She’d spent a few hours in her office anyway, dealing with a few pieces of neglected Randolph business. Then she’d dug further into Teresa Bailey. But if the Germans had contacted the woman, it hadn’t been through any channel Lila could hack or poke at, which meant that she was stuck. The Germans had either met Teresa in person or the contact had come to her some other way.
To find out, Lila would have to use truth serum. Teresa would squeal about everything then: her chop shop, Natalie, the people behind Oskar’s kidnapping. But only the government militia could use the truth serum, and that would only happen if Bullstow put two and two together or if Shaw got the information from Lila.
Unfortunately, Bullstow wouldn’t work quickly enough, and Shaw wouldn’t ask for her assistance. The chief believed Lila too busy with the oracle kidnappings, especially now that a fresh case had been dumped into her lap. She didn’t have time to pull his strings and shove him in the right direction, either. Sending him another anonymous tip so soon would only put herself at risk, for few in Saxony could have hacked Natalie’s star drive so quickly, and no one else would use Bullstow to get information they could get themselves through other means.
Chief Shaw wasn’t an idiot. He’d figure out that Lila had tipped him off, and he’d have proof that she’d stolen evidence from a crime scene. Shaw would never let that go, regardless of who her father was, regardless of her motivations. Not even if she helped him solve his case and let him take credit for returning the boy.
Besides, the last thing she wanted was to return Oskar.
Breathing out in frustration, she sank deeper into Tristan’s couch. She couldn’t even track Teresa down herself, because when Shaw finally questioned her, Teresa would likely tell him that they’d spoken.
Lila would still be screwed.
Since she’d had no other leads to dig into and her mother had begun sending her messages about returning to the great house, Lila had fled the compound. She’d known touching her mother’s Blanc would bite her in the ass later.
Her eyes flitted to the side of the room.
Dixon had curled himself up in an oversized chair, his eyes half-lidded as though he might fall asleep, his stare fixed on a knot on the floor. When she’d arrived at the apartment fifteen minutes before, he’d barely looked up. He just scribbled a line halfway down the page in his notepad, then shoved it in pocket, returning to his brooding.
Apparently, Tristan had returned to Natalie’s for another look.
Before Dixon had closed the notepad, Lila scanned the first entry. He’d written it several days ago. He usually went through an entire notepad in a week.
Lila worried the hem of her t-shirt, unsure how to talk to him, unsure if she should talk to him at all. He’d done nothing but avoid or her brood whenever he had to endure her presence.
Perhaps he’d been doing that with everyone. He seemed so alone, curled up in the oversized chair. He used to sprawl over it like a nonchalant king or a highborn. Even a criminal.
Never a brooding child.
Pax had done the same thing once, looking far younger than his years because something heavy lay on his shoulders, weighing down his mind and his heart. Lila hadn’t let Pax fumble with it for long. Two days after Trevor’s death, she’d barged into his room without knocking and plopped down on his couch, tuning her palm to a public playlist filled with random music. She’d spent nearly half a bowl of popcorn on him, tossing kernel after kernel onto his back before he got pissed enough to jump up and scream at her.
After he was done hollering, she’d just hugged him. What could you say to a boy who’d lost his best friend and his first love? Nothing anyone had ever said made losing Holly easier.
So Lila didn’t even try.
On the second day of music and militia reports and breakfast and lunch and dinner, Pax finally spoke. He didn’t talk much, but he talked. Every day he talked a little more until he finally channeled his energy into his schoolwork.
As she watched Dixon’s face, she was reminded of Pax lying on the bed, kernels tossed around him. Perhaps Dixon was fumbling too. Perhaps it was harder for him to write something, instead of mumbling it.
Here she was without her popcorn.
“Dixon, come here.” She patted the couch next to her.
Dixon’s eyes shot up. He looked around the room a little lost, then cocked his head.
“Come here,” she said a little more forcefully.
