“He didn’t have to. His head guard gave us permission.”
“Fabulous. Thatcher and I will head over now.”
“Where’s Ethan?”
“On his way to see his brother.”
“Oh, right, he mentioned that yesterday. You good with him not being there?”
I glanced at Thatcher, who was watching me intently. “Nothing I can’t handle, T.”
“Good. Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
After I hung up, Thatcher asked, “We’re going where?”
“Ellis Island.”
He pulled a face, then quickly tried to hide it—interesting. “More flying?”
“Not a fan?”
“Not particularly.”
“Sucks to be you, then.”
Instead of the interrogation room, our guard escorted us to the medical ward on the second floor. Mai Lynn was sitting in what passed for a waiting room: six upholstered chairs around a single, wide, wood coffee table. There was no television, nor any magazines or books to read. The entire space was sterile and plain-colored, and about as interesting as a piece of white bread.
I’d never met Mai Lynn in person and only knew her from her file. As we approached, she used a wooden cane to stand up. Her left leg was in a walking cast. She’d broken it in July’s Central Park helicopter explosion, and seemed to be on the mend. She barely came up to my chin, and I had to look down when I shook her hand and introduced myself.
“Please, sit,” I said.
She settled back in her chair, and I took one opposite her. Thatcher stood a little to the side, observing but not really participating. Good. I could handle it myself.
“Something important must be afoot,” she said. “First you spring Derek, and now you’re speaking with me. Do I get to know why?”
“I wish I could go into the details,” I lied, “but I can’t.” The last three words were true, though. “I was hoping you could help us confirm a suspicion we have about one of your former, ah . . . coworkers.”
Her eyebrows jumped. “Coworkers?”
“From the War,” Thatcher said.
She glanced at him, then turned a curious look on me. “Who?”
“Alice Stiles,” I said.
“Alice died fifteen years ago.”
“I know. I’d rather focus on her activities during the first two years of the War.”
Mai Lynn’s expression closed off—bingo. “Why?”
I ignored the question. “Did you and Alice interact frequently during those two years?”
“Somewhat. As Specter began pulling us together, Alice and I were often in the same city at the same time.”
Interesting dance around the fact that they were together murdering Rangers and wreaking havoc in those cities. “To your knowledge, did Alice Stiles give birth to a child during that time period?”
Her eyes went wide with shock, and then her entire expression shifted into something fierce, protective. “What does it matter if she did or did not?”
“It matters because a young woman who may be her biological daughter is running around committing all kinds of crimes. A young woman who has a Meta power very similar to Alice Stiles’s. We’re just trying to confirm that the two are related.”
“Alice was a friend. I don’t know if this young woman is her daughter, but I won’t help you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Won’t.”
“Someone took her,” Thatcher said. He moved closer, his face a dark mask of frustration that he didn’t try to hide. “They faked her death and they took her, and God only knows what they trained her to be. Those bastards did the same thing to Landon.”
Mai Lynn’s face fell. Her hand rose, like she wanted to reach for Thatcher, then dropped back into her lap. She watched him, as though searching for deceit. “Who’s ‘they’?”
“We aren’t certain yet, but I need to find him. Please.”
She looked pained when she turned back to me. “I don’t know if Alice had a child, not for sure. She disappeared completely for about seven months, and the next time I saw her she was . . . different.”
“Different how?” I asked.
“Distant. Colder. She wouldn’t say a word about where she’d gone or why, and I never pressed.”
“Is there anyone you can think of whom she might have confided in?”
She shook her head. “They’re all dead now.” To Thatcher she added, “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful. I hope you find him.”
“Thank you.”
“You deserve to be with your son, Derek.”
He smiled warmly. “So do you, Mai Lynn.”
“Maybe soon.” Her eyes lit up with the eagerness of a child waiting for Christmas morning to hurry up and get here. “My official parole interview is next week. I could be with Caleb again before the month is over.”
“You’ll get out. I know you will.”
“I wish I had your faith.”
As much as I hated breaking up the official Absentee Parents Club meeting, I cleared my throat loudly. Two heads swiveled to look at me blankly—probably forgot I was even there. This wasn’t a social call. “If there’s nothing else you can tell us, we should be heading back,” I said.
“Of course,” Mai Lynn said.
I stood up, then forced myself to say, “Thank you for your cooperation.”
“You’re welcome.”
On the way to the elevator, Thatcher leaned over and whispered, “You didn’t hurt yourself saying thank you, did you?”
I glared at him, and he just smiled. Really smiled.
We didn’t speak on the elevator, or as we left the observation tower for the warm evening air that reeked of the bay. This area certainly had an unmistakable smell. Halfway to the puddle-jumper, my com squealed with the emergency beacon. I jumped, the noise cutting the silence between us. I fumbled the earpiece twice before I got it in.
“Duvall,” I said.
“It’s me.” Teresa. “Simon just called. He said Aaron and Ethan are twenty minutes late, and neither is answering his phone.”
“Shows them stopped three blocks from Simon’s house, on Communipaw Avenue. No movement. Marco and Lacey are already in the air.”
“Thatcher and I are outside. We can be there in a few minutes.”
“Keep your com on.”
“Will do.” I didn’t explain to Thatcher, I just grabbed his arm and pulled.
To his credit, Thatcher didn’t start asking questions until I failed to either direct us to Governors Island, or land in the parking area on the mainland. I filled him in while I flew straight toward the streets I only halfway knew, until I was over Communipaw Avenue. Landing the puddle-jumper wasn’t going to be easy—it wasn’t a large machine, but I was used to having a lot more maneuvering space. Thatcher white-knuckled his armrest in a way that would have amused me if I weren’t scared out of my mind for Ethan’s safety. Two grown men with
