Page 12 of Captive

Olson moves his shoulders beneath his overcoat. "I thought I looked pretty convincing but might be why none of the girls would get within ten feet ofme."

"Ya think?" I sighed. "So you just spent—" I pause for him to fill in the span oftime.

"Twomonths."

My eyes widen. "That explains the stench. So you spent two months living on the streets and all you found out is that people run when you ask about the missing girls? But wait, you said they all comeback."

Olson, who is maybe ten years older than me, grins. The lines around his mouth are creased with grime. "I see you never outgrew your smartass rookie phase, Ten. And I do have more, but since you're not part of the investigation." He reached up to twist an invisible key in front of his mouth. His fingernails were black, and his knuckles were crusted withdirt.

I turn back to Clark. "I won't let you down, Captain. Send me in. Please. Let me dothis."

Clark looks at Olson like my mom used to look at my dad when it seemed they were about to give in on something. "The truth is, we don't have many ideas on how to get to Freestone." Clark sits back but then shakes his head. "But I would never forgive myself if something happened to you, Tennyson." He laughs dryly. "Shit, Maddox would personally put me in thegrave."

"He'd probably be relieved. Then he could have his new partner," I say flippantly as if it doesn't matter, as if I didn't drive around for hours wondering when the heaviness would leave my chest and mylimbs.

Clark looks at Olson again. "What do ya think? Even with the scant information you have, we might be able to get her close enough to Freestone to find out where and what the hell is going on in this secretsociety."

"If she can get out of there alive," Olson adds darkly. "While I was out there every girl came back. But from the bits of information I picked up, every once in a while, a girl doesn't return. No explanation and the other girls keep a tight lip aboutit."

Clark slaps the arm of his chair. "Olson's right. I can't doit."

"I'll get in and get out. Alive." I lean forward with two goals—to look him harder in the eye, letting him know I am dead serious and to get out of the circle of stench flowing around Olson. "Captain Clark," I say with as much charm as I can muster, "I. Have. Got.This."

Clark's barrel chest lifts and falls with surrender. "Maybe this could work." He sticks his elbow on the desk and points at me, reminding me of my dad telling me what I was doing wrong during the mile relay. "There's no way we can send you in with a wire. Freestone is too clever, and from the information I have on him, he trusts no one. He has a few confidantes and that's it. A wire or any hint that you're not actually a kid off the streets and you'll wind up just like those guys with their skulls bashed in orworse."

I smile. "Not sure where worse goes once you get your skull bashed in." Adrenaline is surging through me and, at the same time, a dose of apprehension. I'd been undercover before but posing as a junkie or prostitute out on the streets was child's play compared to this. None of us have any idea where this secret club takes place, which means I disappear and my usual safeguards and safety nets are stripped away. It will be just me and my wits, and even though I feel pretty confident about those wits, I'm not completely sure how they'll hold up facing whatever the hell is waiting for me in the LaceUnderground.

Clark is squinting at me, seemingly trying to read my thoughts. "Tennyson, you're not doing this because of the note about the partnerswitch?"

"Nope," I say too confidently, and it sounds forced. "I need something new. I'm getting stale. Today, I got outsmarted by a damn skateboard. It's time to push myself." I'm still absorbing the entire notion that I'm going undercover on a big investigation. At the same time, my head is spinning from the stinky man sitting next to me. I turn to him. "What other information do you have, Olson? How do I get noticed byFreestone?"

Olson lifts open his coat and pulls out a notepad. He fans his face. "Whoa, do I need a shower," he comments before flipping open thenotebook.

"You need more than a shower," Clark quips. "I was thinking about calling the guys at the fire station to see if they could come hose you off in the parking lot. By the way, don't bother to get too clean. I'm going to need you back out in that roadside tent hanging with yourhomies."

Olson's mouth drops open. "What the hell?Why?"

"Cuz you're going to be keeping an eye on Tennyson while she's on the street. If Freestone picks her up, we need to knowit."

"God dammit," Olson mutters as he looks at his notes. "Cherry Cola," he says, without any context or preamble. Clark and I wait for him tocontinue.

I can see the dirt inside Olson's nostrils as he faces me. "Not sure what it's connected to but it seems to be a code word for the girls hanging out in the park. It starts with Cherry Cola, that's what I heard them say to eachother."

"Was that while you were lurking in the bushes snooping on them in your flasher trench coat?" Iask.

Olson lifts his dirt covered middle finger at me. "On second thought, Ten, you'll do just fine at the park with that smartmouth."

I know the park he's referring to. It's at the end of the city limits. At one time, it was a nicely kept picnic spot, a place to bring kids to play, but as the homeless population grew they sort of claimed the park as their sanctuary. The city manager and police chief decided it was better having them in one place and off the sidewalks and bus benches. So the park became a sort of campsite for runaways and people down on theirluck.

"But you don't know who Cherry Cola is?" Iask.

He shakes his head and some flakes fall from his hair. I sit back again to get farther away from him. "I know this sounds strange but the homeless kids hanging out in the park seem to want to disappear. Like they think something better is waiting for them on the otherside."

"The other side?" I ask. "What do you mean the otherside?"

Olson shakes his head again, dislodging more flakes. "No, I'm using the wrong phrase. Underground. Someone has them convinced it's better for them underground. And the journey to the underground starts with Cherry Cola." He flips through his tiny notepad. The outside cardboard is coated with black fingerprints. "I kept a tally of the days between episodes. It's threeweeks."

"What episodes?" Clark asks before I can get the questionout.

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