It's not enough that half of the police force is out looking for her. We need to track her down using logic and strategy.
"I won't press the importance of this," Director Cooper says, echoing my thoughts. "I'll have your morning class canceled, and I'll warn Eliza that she might have to step in for a few lessons."
"All the material has already been shared with her."
Eliza is a lab tech who is currently completing her Ph.D. in my field. She's a great assistant, and I have no qualms leaving her in charge. In fact, it might actually be good for her to step in front of the class and take charge.
"Excellent. You'll be wanting one of the SUVs."
Director Cooper opens one of the drawers and produces a set of keys to one of the vehicles with UV-blocking windows, protection I definitely need due to my sun allergy. Thankfully, Alyce always keeps a set in there. She's like that, always prepared, always one step ahead of the rest of us.
"Let's go find Markov." T-Bone closes his hands around the keys and motions for me to lead the way.
And that's exactly what I'm doing. Leading the arm of the law straight to my mother.
6
Mila
When we get to the garage, I don't even argue with T-Bone when he takes the driver's seat of the armored car. Any other time, I would have taken the keys out of his hands, and I would have insisted I be the one to drive. But I can't. I'm too distracted. Driving right now would be very irresponsible.
My thoughts keep racing, never latching onto a memory long enough for me to find any sort of peace. It's silly, because I knew what I was doing on this mission.
But where we're going I won't find any solace.
What I will, no doubt, find are more lies.
The very few positive memories I have of my childhood will disappear, vanish in a cloud of grief. I feel it. I almost want to roll my window down and fly away, never to be seen again.
The time my family and I spent at the lake house in Willowbend was kind of idyllic.
It was serene and a lot of fun. I even remember my mother playing board games with me by the large bay window on rainy nights when it was too cold to swim. When she was around, when she wasn't distracted by whatever was going on in her head, she was actually a good mother.
If I'm right and we find something at the lake house, all of those good memories of us during those summers will be lost.
"Hey…" T-Bone pulls me from the darkness in my head. "You okay there? You've gone quiet."
"I'm fine," I lie.
I'm not all right. How can I be? This feels like my mother has been caught and arrested all over again. I feel sixteen again.
I thought these wounds were slightly more healed. I really did believe that helping those families get closure would help me move on, but wave after wave of sadness and anger crash into me, leaving my insides feeling hollowed out like a piece of driftwood.
"You know I don't believe you. I can't even imagine what you must be going through. I took your word in Director Cooper’s office, but if you change your mind, you tell me. Are you sure you want to be here for this?”
"Yes," I say immediately before T-Bone can entertain any more doubt. "This is where I need to be. I never felt like I could do enough for the victims. Now I have a real tangible way to make a difference."
I won't let myself sabotage this chance.
No matter how much it hurts.
"If that changes, you need to tell me."
I just nod
"Would it make you feel better if I let you choose the music? You can put on that god-awful stuff you were listening to earlier."
I shake my head, a thin laugh escaping me. It's a small gesture, but it's very sweet. I fiddle around with controls, connecting my smartphone. The speakers fill with the not-so-subtle boom boom of my favorite album.
I try not to think too much about the fact that these were the songs that played on a loop during my mother's trial. There is comfort in the aggressive strum of the guitars and the guttural singing. It reminds the sixteen-year-old part of me that if I survived the last time, then I can surely survive this as an adult.
"Can I guess what you like to listen to?"
T-Bone laughs, and the sound surprises me. It's a beautiful rich sound that reminds me of an acoustic guitar being strummed over a campfire.
"Think you got me pegged, do you?"
"I'm a fairly good judge of musical tastes," I respond, knowing that it's a weird thing to brag about. "I'm going to say, based on your choice of pants and your haircut, that you're a top forties guy. You don't like it necessarily, but it's there, and it beats silence. It's predictable, and the same things get played over and over again."
T-Bone's laughter fills the car this time around. He shoots me a quick look before letting his eyes focus back on the road.
"How the hell did you do that? Based on my pants—" He stops, scrunches his face, and shakes his head. "What's wrong with my pants?"
"They're cargo pants, and the ugly, clunky things need to be burned. I hate the bulging pockets filled with all of the stuff you feel the need to carry.”
What I don’t tell him is how the loaded pockets aren’t fair to my eyes. He has powerful, muscular thighs, defined calves, and the most bubbled ass I've ever seen on a man, and he hides it all.
“Your choice in clothing means that you choose functionality over style. But you pay close enough attention to popular
