Touch (Denazen #1)(57)

“What, do you guys like dump something into the water every night before bed? Is everyone in this town a freak?”

“This area has the highest concentration of Sixes in the United States. We’re not sure why, but let’s just say it’s no coincidence that Denazen’s main office is located in Parkview.”

“Damn right, I’m useful,” Alex piped up. “I’m resourceful and crafty and, best of all, my moral compass doesn’t point north.”

“Is that so?” Dad sounded a bit intrigued. I even thought I saw a small grin.

“It is,” Alex confirmed.

Dad looked from Alex to me then back again. “And my daughter?”

Alex shrugged. “What about her?”

“What are your intentions?”

“Buddy, if you’re asking if I plan on dating your daughter again, that’d be a big, resounding hell no. Way too high maintenance for me.”

§

I drove with Dad back to Denazen, and Alex followed in his own car.

“You pissed about Alex?” No sense beating between the bushes. He’d been fairly quiet since we left the coffee house, and as usual, I couldn’t read his expression.

“To tell you the truth, Deznee, I’m proud of you. You seem to be approaching this job with a new sense of responsibility and a level of maturity I didn’t think possible of you.”

Ouch.

“I’m recommending you start your field work within the next few days. I want you out there tracking down information on these underground Sixes as soon as possible. Something tells me our best way to find them is through you—and possibly Alex.”

“Alex? As in you’re going to, like what, team us up or something?”

“Would that be an issue?”

Score! Could my luck get any better? I swallowed a grin and forced a frown. “Well, I’ll be honest, it’s not my idea of a party. He’s not my favorite person.”

“You two seem pretty chummy.”

“Um, hello? Trying to impress you by signing a new guy here. I have a feeling me walking up to him and sending his nuts up his throat wouldn’t exactly win him over to the idea of Denazen.”

Dad laughed. He actually chuckled. I’d never heard him laugh before. If I didn’t loathe him so much, the sound would have made me smile. He flipped on the blinker and veered into the Denazen parking lot.

“I think this is going to work out very well for everyone.”





22


They didn’t let me see Alex again the rest of that day. Or the next. Dad assured me he was fine and making progress with the good people at Denazen.

I stood in front of the mirror, trying to decide if I should pull my hair back or leave it down. Brandt always loved it down. Said it made me look wild and that suited me. In the end, I went with what Brandt would have wanted.

After all, this was his day.

I smoothed my skirt and took one last look before grabbing the small, green wrapped package I’d been hoarding for months. Tucking it into my pocket, I went downstairs. Dad was waiting for me by the door, wearing one of the same suits he wore on a regular basis to work and looking at his watch. We were only a little late.

The ride to the funeral home was too short, while at the same time too long. The atmosphere in the car was cold and uncomfortable, so I was eager to get out. Yet I was in no rush to arrive at our destination. My dead best friend. A depressing room. And lots of crying people—most of whom had known very little, if not nothing, about him—all gathered in one place. Not good times.

I’d asked how Alex was doing the night before, but all Dad would tell me was they’d insisted he stay at Denazen during his training and I would get to see him tomorrow. I asked if he could be present for the funeral. Dad said no.

So I was on my own, stuck in the front row of the church next to Aunt Cairn. The woman looked downright scary. With no makeup, she looked ten times older than I knew she was. Lips pursed in a thin line, her eyes stared straight ahead, trained on the mahogany casket set at the front of the church next to the altar. Father Kapshaw’s lips were moving—I’d catch a word here and there about tragedy—but honestly, I wasn’t paying attention.

I focused on Dad, who sat in the front row next to Uncle Mark. Unlike his wife, Mark cried openly, clutching his brother’s hand for support and mumbling apologies to his dead son. It made me sick. Twice I had to bite down to keep from jumping up and screaming, it was his fault—not yours!

The funeral home had been a bustle of activity. Friends and neighbors all dropping by to pay their respects and look in on the family. People I knew Brandt hadn’t seen in years surfaced from out of nowhere to mourn his passing. Boys he’d gone to high school with, girls who’d been madly in love with him, people he barely knew—all claiming to be his best friends. It made me want to scream. They all stood in the corner, trying to one-up each other in barely contained whispers.

“I talked to Brandt the night before it happened! He sounded like he was freaked about something!” This from Manny Fallow, a guy Brandt never liked and who he’d gone out of his way to avoid every single day since the fourth grade. The guy always smelled like mothballs.

“We had a date this coming Friday. We were so into each other.” This from Gina Barnes, an old junior high girlfriend he hadn’t spoken to in years. Into each other? Brandt had said just a month ago what a skank Gina had turned into. He wouldn’t have touched her with a forty-foot pole.