Toxic (Denazen #2)(50)

“I don’t suppose you care to elaborate?”

Sid just glared at him.

Markus nodded. “Fair enough. How about we try something a little different. I’ll say a word, and you tell me if it means anything to you and what. Sound good?”

Sid could tell he was being set up, you could see it in his eyes, but he nodded anyway.

I tucked my feet up and got more comfortable.

“Gang.”

Sid actually laughed. “No way. Layne wasn’t in a gang, and what happened wasn’t gang related. This is Parkview, for Christ’s sake.”

“Unstable.”

At this word, Sid faltered. “I wouldn’t say unstable. The last few months were hard for her, but she wasn’t as cracked out as her parents are making it seem. They tried to tell the cops she was into some weird shit. They tried to head shrink her. It was all bullshit.”

“What about…Denazen.”

On the screen Sid froze, and I almost toppled off the bed.

Sid didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The horror was written all over his face. And it didn’t escape Markus’s notice. “What is Denazen, Sid?”

Sid recovered and straightened in his chair. “It’s that law firm that burned down at the beginning of the summer. What’s that got to do with Layne?”

Markus gave him a knowing grin. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

Sid shifted in his seat.

Markus leaned back. You could tell by the cat-that-inhaled-the-canary grin that he knew Sid was hiding something. Hell, anyone watching knew. Sid didn’t know crap about keeping a poker face. “I’ve got a source that says Layne mentioned keeping a diary to her parents. Maybe there’s something in there that could shed some light on things. Any chance you know where it is?”

“Layne didn’t keep a diary,” Sid said quickly. “She thought they were lame.”

“I think you’re lying, Sid. I think that diary is the key to connecting your dead girlfriend to Denazen. This source—”

“Who?”

Markus waggled a finger. “A good journalist never outs his source.”

Sid stood. His face was bright red as he took a menacing step toward Markus. The vulture didn’t even flinch. “You’re a hack looking to cause trouble, not a journalist.” He flipped Markus off and stalked away from the camera. This wasn’t anything new. The few times I’d had the displeasure of catching bits of his show, I’d seen plenty of guests stalk off. In fact, it was pretty much his thing. Push people till they snapped and make fun of the resulting explosion.

“Well, there you have it, folks. What really happened to Layne Phillips, and what does the Denazen Law Firm have to do with it?” Markus stood. “And where is that elusive diary?”

The rest of what he was saying was drowned out by the little voice in my head. The one that frequently got me into more trouble than it helped me out of. A diary. If she wrote about Denazen, then maybe there was something useful in it. Something about Supremacy or the cure.

It was a long shot. But I had to find out.

…

With some help from Google, I knew where I was going and was ready by ten. My mood wasn’t sunshine-y. I was sore, not to mention black and blue from my daring attempt to fly, and my shoulder wasn’t letting up. A deep ache that intensified each time I moved had set in to keep the constantly oscillating cold/hot wave company. On top of that, every once in a while a wave of nausea would hit. It never lasted long but made me think twice about attempting anything more than water. Even coffee seemed like a bad plan—and that was depressing.

My current temperature was elevated by what felt like a thousand degrees. I’d peeled off my hoodie, stripping down to my tank even though the weatherman said it was only in the fifties. The constant back and forth was threatening to drive me insane.

Rosie wasn’t at her desk, so there was no one to monitor the front door—which struck me as odd. Rosie never left the desk. But maybe this meant my luck was changing for the better. I was certainly due. I’d be able to slip out and be gone before anyone knew it.

“I thought you’d be sleeping.”

Or not.

When I turned around, Kale was leaning against Rosie’s desk. An entirely new pain—an aching deep in my chest—washed over me.

“Could say the same about you.” I looked around. It was just the two of us. “What, no shadow?”

He pushed off the desk and crossed the lobby, stopping a safe distance away. “Where are you going?”

“Why do you care?”The words spilled from my lips before I could think twice, and I blamed the pain in my shoulder. It was affecting the connection between my brain and my mouth. Mostly.

His eyes went wide. “You’re angry. At me?”

“No,” I said, stepping away. “Yes. Sort of.” Backing up to the door, I leaned against the cool glass. The heat was fading, cold settling in. I pulled the hoodie over my head and tugged the sleeves into place. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not feeling great, and the whole thing with the party last night—”

“Because I came with Jade.”

“That, and you left. Without me.” The truth was, I was angry at him. I wanted to tell him what was going on. With Dad. With the twins. But I was afraid. If he’d been there with me, he would have found out by default, and there’d be no more hiding. The logic really wasn’t solid, I was blaming him for something he had no control over, but I didn’t care. Not right then, anyway.