Page 114 of A Stop in Time
Bronson takes a drink of water and sets the glass down carefully. He’s clearly mulling over what I told him, and I dig into my food, waiting for whatever he’s going to say next.
“I had the new kid do a check on her.” He presses his lips together as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “No record of arrests. Nothin’ pinged.
“Mac’s parents died when she was young, and she was raised in an orphanage that shut down a while back. Aged outta the system, then bought the salvage yard.”
He pauses, and I set down my fork, reaching for the muscles in the back of my neck that are tense as fuck right now.
“She used trust fund money from her parents to buy that business.” He runs a hand along his bearded chin, a crease forming between his brows. “But there’s no record of anybody previously owning it. Not even by the name of Otis.
“Now”—he shrugs—“you know how incompetent a lot of these government records offices are, so who the hell knows if it got misfiled or what.”
True. “A definite possibility.”
He pauses before tipping his head to the side. “Another thing is, records say her parents died in a car accident and she barely survived but had severe scarring on her body.”
I tense, every ounce of protectiveness emerging, but stay silent, letting him finish.
“But nobody can find the death certificates for ’em.”
I narrow my eyes. “What are you thinkin’?”
“Somethin’ just doesn’t add up. Could be that she got new identification ’cause she was hidin’ from that guy who was beatin’ on her—wouldn’t be the first time a woman did that—before she took care of ’im.”
He lets out a slow, long breath. “But when I had the kid poke around about that trial you said she was doin’, there’s no record of one even happenin’. No FDA authorization, no trace of fundin’. Nothin’.”
I frown and lean forward. “I was there with her. Maybe he looked in the wrong place. Who the hell knows when it comes to medical shit like that…”
He nods slowly. “So, you saw it with your own eyes.” With a look of intense concentration, he raps his knuckles against the table. “Way I see it, somebody’s got you on a hamster wheel. Spinnin’ round and round but not gettin’ anywhere.”
A rough sound of frustration breaks free. “How the hell do I get off the damn thing?”
He narrows his eyes. “And who the hell put you on it in the first place?”
Our eyes hold for a second before we speak at the same time. “The invisible guy.”
“Christ.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, the start of a headache blooming behind my eyes. “What the hell kinda game is he playin’? I thought he was on our side.”
Bronson raises his brows. “You should know better than to assume that.”
He’s right, dammit. Doesn’t make me feel any better, though. It only has my stomach rioting sickly.
“You seen him around again?”
“Nope.” I fall silent for a beat. “Not at all.” A thought strikes and I sit up straighter. “What about the body count? The news keeps tryin’ to pin it on us.”
He squints, considering my words. “You think maybe he’s got you spinnin’ the wheel, distracted, while he’s addin’ to the bodies…”
“Maybe,” I hedge. “Bein’ that I’m a Scorpion, I coulda played right into it.”
“If that’s the case, and he’s the one murderin’ these people, why’d he lead you to Mac?”
My fingers curl into fists while frustration fills my veins. “Fuck if I know.”
“You’ve got feelin’s for her.”
My eyes cut to his, expecting humor there, but there’s none. He simply watches me in that analytical way of his. When I open my mouth to deny it, he cuts me off. “Don’t bullshit me.”
My mouth snaps shut, pissed at the turn of this conversation. He just continues. “It’s easy to see whenever you mention her name. So…you think there’s somethin’ there?”