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“Holy shit,” the text from Snake reads. “That’s the kid who attacked the daycare a few weeks ago.”
I show Graveyard the text as we walk back up the drive. He shakes his head.
“That isn’t possible,” he says. “Dale told me that Jonathan is under constant supervision. He has private security and everything. I think he told me that as a warning.”
“What if he really does have a brother?” I ask. “A twin, maybe. Sometimes brothers get split up in the system. It’s not impossible.”
Graveyard stares at my phone carefully and shakes his head again. “Maybe,” he says. “But there’s no way this is a coincidence. Meredith placed Jonathan with this family less than a year ago. If that kid is his brother, what are the chances that he ends up in a gang? Someone’s after Meredith, he’s watching her every move. The attack was a personal vendetta against her.”
“This is some high-level conspiracy shit,” I groan. “What now?”
“Now we find the guy who’s after her and take him out.”
“Ah,” I say, understanding. “Now I know why you brought me along.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
Pocus sits next to me, agitated, his leg shaking up and down. I put my hand on his knee to still it. Then he sighs heavily. It’s not his fault, but he’s grating my nerves right now. With all the pregnancy hormones swirling around my body, he’s on thin ice.
“Baby,” I whisper. “It’ll be okay.”
We sit at the desk of a social worker, trying to get news about Charlie. We’ve brought the necessary paperwork that I carefully forged. We won’t leave until someone tells us where the hell she is.
“It’s not a good sign that they’re keeping us waiting,” he responds quietly. “I know how this system works. They’ll come back and tell us that there’s nothing they can do.”
“We won’t stop fighting,” I remind him. “So what if some low-level social worker is taking too long? I’m willing to go through all the bullshit bureaucratic red tape if I have to.”
He sighs again and slouches over, hanging his head in irritation.
Finally, the young social worker comes back in with an apologetic look on her face. I have to give it to Pocus. He knows the system well.
“I’m so sorry to tell you that Charlie has already been placed with family,” she says in a flippant tone.
“We are her family,” Pocus tells her through gritted teeth. “We are her only family. So either you’re lying, or your computer system is glitching because there is no one else she could have been placed with.”
The woman looks at him with a sympathetic but condescending expression.
“We have all the paperwork,” I interject, handing her the file of documents I worked so hard on.
She takes the file and barely glances at it before handing it back to me. Okay, now I’m pissed too.
“Well, as I said, she’s already been sent with relatives. There’s nothing I can do about that. Are you sure there isn’t other family? Because it sounds to me like this might be a domestic dispute.”
I stare at Pocus in disbelief. He stands up from the desk, his face contorted in anger. The woman leans back quickly, as if she’s afraid he’ll hit her.
“If something happens to that little girl while she’s placed with this so-called relative, that’s completely on you,” he says, pointing in her face. “I hope it doesn’t happen, but if it does, I’ll make sure you lose your job over this.”
As we leave the office, Pocus storms ahead of me. His long legs eat up the pavement. I can barely keep up with him. He’s hurting. I’m hurting too. Whatever is going on goes all the way to the top. The person Meredith has been running from clearly has high connections in the city. But he has nothing on me.
In a split second, I turn back around and re-enter the office. The social worker looks at me, surprised. I hold my back carefully, pretending I’m in pain. I lower myself slowly onto the chair I just vacated.
“I’m sorry about my husband,” I tell her. “He tends to run a little hot sometimes, but we both love Charlie so much. We only want what’s best for her and… Oh—”
I cry out in fake pain. Then I draw a deep breath and put my hand up, pretending I only need a moment to collect myself.
“Are you okay?” she asks me carefully, eyeing my huge pregnant belly.
“Probably just indigestion,” I say, feigning embarrassment. “I’m not due for eight weeks, but… Ow!”
