Indigo(31)

Nora was shocked. “Why would you ask that?”

“I know that look.”

Nora was sure her mouth was hanging open. She was also sure she’d never told Shelby what had happened to her mom and dad. Of course, she couldn’t be certain of anything now, could she? Nora glanced around, wondering if anyone else had done something equally strange. The waiter was standing with his back to them, looking into the kitchen hatch. The receptionist talked on the telephone, responding to a query. The busboy cleared dishes and detritus off a table in the corner.

“Shelby,” Nora said, fumbling through her confusion, “I don’t think we should talk about that here.” They were sitting under the bright restaurant lights, but outside, night had fallen.

“Honey, how can we not?” Shelby leaned forward, her red-gold hair swinging with the movement, and her pretty face looked more serious than Nora had ever before seen it. “It’s haunting you. I can see it in your eyes.”

Suddenly Nora couldn’t bear to be in Desiderio’s any longer. She leaped to her feet and was out of the restaurant, into the shadows of the next doorway. Abruptly, Nora emerged outside the place on Forty-fourth, the Italian restaurant her family had loved so much. Dad in his handsome suit, Mom in her gold dress, and Nora in a short skirt and lace blouse with some high-heeled shoes she’d saved her allowance to buy. Her parents had agreed to indulge her if she paid half the price. She’d scrimped and …

Then they were together in the alley, taking that odd shortcut. Together as a family for the very last moment.

Indigo expected to see the hunched shape lurch out of the protection of the trash bin, and the flash of the gun.

But nothing was in this alley. Nothing but her. Again she saw a flash, but it was not the gun, it was a raised knife, and it was not a man holding it, but her mother. Indigo sank down to her haunches, trying to see this fragment of memory more clearly, slow it down, stretch it out. But she could not capture it long enough.

Her life—her mind—was tearing itself apart, and the two halves of her were merging in some way she did not understand. Nora didn’t know how to divide her two selves again. Shelby knew something she could not possibly know, unless Nora had revealed that to her and forgotten.

What else had she told Shelby that she no longer remembered? How much of her memory of anything might be false? And what if the psycho bitch came back to finish the job? Either way, just being Nora’s friend might be putting Shelby in danger.

Nora might not be able to unravel her own mysteries, but she had to try. The Children of Phonos, the psycho bitch, the missing time last night, these murders … she had to figure it all out, and she had to make sure Shelby was safe in the meantime. In the midst of her own panic and confusion, Nora could do that, at least.

*

As Indigo, she stepped out of the shadows beside Sam’s apartment building. As Nora, she walked around the front of the building, but before she could approach the front door, she saw Sam coming along the sidewalk toward her. She smiled. That was good. She wanted Sam to see her, to know she was waiting for him.

Nora’s heart ached when he slowed down, his face revealing suspicion, even fear. She couldn’t blame him.

“Sam,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage. “I know we need to talk … about a lot of things. But before we can do that, there are some things I need to figure out. You know I’m covering these child killings.”

“If Raj doesn’t fire your ass after the last few days.” Sam’s gaze was hard. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, Nora, you’ve at least got to talk to her. I covered for you as best I could, but she’s pissed.”

Nora nodded. “I’ll call her right after I leave here. But look … this case, these child killings … I do think they’re ritual murders. I do think they’re connected to the cult from last year, the Children of Phonos.”

“I think so, too. The more I pursue the missing kids and the human-trafficking circles they’ve vanished into, the more I think the whole thing is connected. That lawyer, Bullington—”

Nora blinked. “Bullington’s involved in trafficking?”

“He defended some of the sicker bastards the cops have picked up this year, a couple of the procurers they’ve got evidence on but were unable to put away.”

“Unable why? If there’s evidence—”

“Bullington got the judge to rule stuff inadmissible. I’m still looking into it, but there’s something else. Bullington’s dead.”

Nora forced herself to look stunned. “How?”

Sam searched her eyes. “Someone threw him out his office window on Sunday morning. Dead on impact.”

“Shit,” she whispered. “Is this really all connected?”

“I think it is. Now tell me what’s going on with you.” Sam’s expression softened. “The way you took off—”

Nora exhaled. Memories flooded her mind … and she thought these were real. They were recent enough that she remembered the feel of Sam’s sheets, and his hands on her. She remembered the smell of the orange tea he made in the mornings and the taste of burned waffle, the morning he’d tried out the new waffle iron. That had all been well over a year ago, before he’d left NYChronicle, when they’d been more than friends with benefits, when they’d still said the words I love you. It had been Nora’s suggestion after Sam left the Chronicle that they just be friends with benefits. It had been a relief to push away their growing intimacy. She’d started to hate keeping secrets from him, yet found herself unable to tell him the truth. He was fascinated with Indigo, had made her his pet project, but he was frightened of her, too. Loving Sam had been too complicated. Sleeping with him occasionally had been much simpler.