attacking us with heat blasts, melting statues and killing a kid. Ethan had saved us all that day by killing Mayhem. And he was the kind of gentle soul who tore himself into bits about killing, even if it was self-defense.
“What does ‘known to be attached to’ mean?” Thatcher asked.
“They dated,” Marco replied. “They graduated high school a year before the War started. Stiles’s involvement in the War is documented in the later years. However, her exact movements in the first two years are unknown.”
“Was Alice Bethany’s mother?”
“I cannot answer that. However, the timing is correct, and after comparing their photographs, there is a strong resemblance between Bethany Crow and Alice Stiles.”
“Did May—Stiles ever mention having a baby?” I asked Thatcher.
He stared at me like I’d grown a finger out of my forehead. “Do you tell strangers the intimate details of your sex life, Renee? I barely knew Alice, so no, she never mentioned giving up a baby.”
I didn’t back down from his snarly response, even though my Sarcasm Brain wanted to snap right back at him. Besides, I hadn’t had a sex life to speak of for months. “Can you think of anyone in Manhattan she might have confided in? Someone who could help us?”
Thatcher didn’t answer right away, but he was thinking.
“Did he nod or shake his head?” Marco asked over the phone, clearly confused by the silence.
“Neither,” I replied. “Hold on a sec, Fuzz Face.”
Thatcher looked like he’d rather chew glass than admit anything when he finally said, “Mai Lynn Chang. She and Alice were good friends.”
Ethan and I shared a look. Mai Lynn was a cat shifter and current resident of Manhattan. She was also the mother of Simon Hewitt’s son, Caleb.
“I will contact Warden Hudson and arrange an interview,” Marco said.
“Thanks, pal,” I said. “See you in a few hours.”
Apparently Hudson was in some kind of meeting all afternoon, possibly getting his ass chewed off by his superiors for allowing Thatcher out on temporary release, so we didn’t have an interview time set up when we got back to HQ. Dinnertime was closing in, and as our little trio made its way to the cafeteria, Aaron snagged Ethan off to the side.
“Are you still able to go to Simon’s?” Aaron asked.
I stopped walking in order to eavesdrop, and my Thatcher-shaped shadow did the same.
Ethan stared at his boyfriend blankly for a beat, then his eyebrows went up. “Shit, I forgot about that.” He looked at me, almost apologetic. “We’d planned to visit Andrew tonight.”
Andrew, his half-brother, lived with the Hewitts, and the pair tried to see each other as often as possible. He was only eight, but Andrew reminded me so much of an adolescent Ethan, with his red hair and green eyes and warm smile.
“So go see him,” I said.
“What if Hudson calls back?”
“We can talk to Mai Lynn tomorrow.”
Ethan shook his head. “No, we should get this figured out as soon as possible. I’ll—”
“Go. See. Him. If we get over there tonight, Thatcher and I can handle it.”
“Are you sure?”
I gave him a gentle shove toward Aaron. “Go to play with your baby brother, Windy. I mean it.”
“Thanks, Stretch.”
He and Aaron headed back in the opposite direction, and I could have sworn I heard Ethan ask how Noah was feeling. The question made me curious for about five seconds, until a sharp pang of envy hit me right in the gut, and it had nothing to do with Noah. Ethan had so many of the things I longed for—a steady relationship with someone who cared about him, living family members who weren’t batshit insane, an open-mindedness about the Manhattan prisoners. I loved him dearly, but sometimes I wished he were easier to hate. Not that Ethan had had it easy—he’d had a horrible time in post-War foster care, and that had left all kinds of emotional scars. And finding the courage to come out to us hadn’t been easy for him, either.
He more than deserved the happiness he had.
The jerk.
Fingers snapped in front of my face. “Anyone home?” Thatcher asked.
I swatted his hand away. “Do you mind?”
“You were staring at the wall.”
“So?”
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He didn’t look annoyed, just amused, and that annoyed
Thatcher tilted his head to the side, a half smile playing on his lips, and damn it if he didn’t almost look attractive like that. “I know you’re only required to babysit me if I leave the building,” he said with a stupidly charming lilt to his voice, “but would you like to join me for dinner?”
“Not particularly.”
He shrugged one shoulder, not the least put off (that I could tell) by my abrupt shutdown. “At least you’re honest.”
“Most people call it rude.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No kidding.”
“You still blame us, don’t you?”
I blinked. “Us?”
He nodded slowly, something dark burning in his eyes. “Banes. You still blame us for the War, and for everything that happened afterward. Don’t you?”
We were really having this conversation in the middle of the hallway. Granted, no one was around, but I still carried an unpopular opinion around like a festering wound you can’t see beneath all the layers of clothing. I didn’t much feel like arguing my point where others could stumble by and overhear.
“Does it matter?” I asked.
“Yes. We have to work together, for however long it takes to solve this. You know where I stand, so I think it’s only fair that I know where you stand, as well.”
“I’m standing right here.” I folded my arms over my chest and turned to face him full-on. He only had two inches on me, but he did have a good thirty pounds of muscle and solid bulk that I lacked. His posture was as relaxed as mine was defensive, and I couldn’t help wondering if he was doing that on purpose to make me look like an aggressive bitch.
“You’re, what? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-seven.”
His eyebrows twitched. “I was twenty-two when the War ended, and I was stuck on that island living in misery, eating whatever crap the government dished out or we could scavenge. Today was the first time in fifteen years I set foot off that island, rode in a car, saw a person over the age of sixty. You can hate the Banes and hate Chimera all you want, but Derek Thatcher is a different man than the one who followed Specter. Chimera died a long time ago. Please try to remember that.”
A hot flush crept up my cheeks, straight to my hairline, and it wasn’t from anger—I was embarrassed. Fuck him for schooling me like that. I had a damn good reason for holding on to my narrow view of the past, and I wasn’t about to go explaining myself to Thatcher. Not now, and not ever.
“You have no idea where I stand,” I said coldly. “You can’t even see the fucking ground.”
His eyes narrowed. Before he could retort, my cell rang with Teresa’s personal tone.
“Hello?” I said.
“Good news,” she replied, slightly out of breath. “Mai Lynn is currently at the observation tower getting a checkup for her leg, and I got you guys permission to speak with her before she goes back to Manhattan.”
“Did the warden agree?”
