Page 113 of Homecoming

He hung back, thankfully, and Fox tailed Tenny around an endcap and into the next aisle, this one’s shelves loaded with ready-made frames whose stock images could be replaced with personal photos or drawings.

Tenny reached out and tapped a pane of glass with the back of a fingernail. “You aren’t being subtle.”

“Not trying to be.” Fox drew up beside him. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last night before you hid away in your room like a child.”

Tenny hissed a dismissive noise, lip curling as he side-stepped, trying to put some space between them.

Fox let him have it – but he didn’t drop the matter. “You nearly stabbed him. Youdidslice him up.” He let the words settle between them, watched the way Tenny’s jaw clenched. “Proud of yourself?”

Tenny turned to regard him through the mirrored lenses of his shades, and his effort to hold still, to not even swallow, was obvious – at least to Fox.

“You know,” Fox said, conspiratorial now, “Eden and I have been known to fight like cats and dogs. We were absolute bastards to each other when we reunited in London. But trust me: it’s a lot easier to just fuck, get it out of your system, and then carry on like adults.”

Tenny did swallow then, throat moving like it was dry and difficult. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, turning away, moving down the aisle in the same aimless way as before – but his shoulders were drawn up now, the line of his back rigid beneath his cut.

“If you deny it,” Fox said, and Tenny paused, hand half-outstretched toward another frame, finger poised to tap, “if you denyyourselfthis. You’ll be angry every day for the rest of your life. Anger like that will make you more human, sure – and more dangerous.”

Tenny took a breath and let it out slowly, whole body moving.

“Haven’t you gone long enough without ever having anything you want?”

Fox thought, for a moment, as Tenny wet his lips and gathered another breath, that he would respond, even if it was just to tell him to fuck off. But he kept silent, and moved off again.

When they reached the end of the aisle, Walsh was waiting. “The van was stolen two-and-a-half weeks ago. Overnight, out of this lot. He filed a police report.” He held up a flash drive. “And he made copies of the security footage that night.”

Fox nodded. “Where to next, oh wise and powerful vice president?”

Walsh smirked. “Your house.”

~*~

Eden had three laptops open on her desk, and flitted between all of them, barefoot and stripped down to just a t-shirt and the black jeans she’d worn earlier, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. “So, timeline.” She pointed to the corkboard, and the transcript of Jimmy Connors’ confession to Ghost; Fox had recorded it. “Our mystery dealers approach Jimmy, and start feeding product.

“Next, the van is stolen outside of Ortega’s.” She pointed to the first laptop, open on the paused security video which showed two masked men breaking into and hotwiring the van.

“Night of the party.” A spread of glossy photos she’d taken at the mill, and the second laptop, open to the lab results from Ratchet’s friend, confirming that shirt had belonged to Allie Henderson. “Allie goes missing, and Jimmy claims Ricky chased her off behind the mill, and she disappeared. There we have blood – on its way to the lab – signs of a struggle, and tire tracks.

“Today.” The third laptop, the traffic cam footage pulled up. “Nicole Myer is abducted outside of her place of work, with no contact since.” She straightened, and bit absently at one ragged thumbnail. “I’ve spoken with her parents, and tried not to alarm them, but they were headed down to the precinct, apparently.” She turned to survey them. “All of this smells like trafficking to me. Now we have to find where they’re being held.” Her expression shifted from fractious, to furious. “And find our Fred and Ricky as well.”

Fox was struck by a hefty dose of déjà vu.

Albie, too, judging by his frown. He had a shoulder braced in the doorjamb of the office, arms folded. “Why is this sounding so terribly like Texas?” he asked with a sigh. “It’s another manhunt.”

“No dead bodies yet,” Axelle said. She was seated in Eden’s office chair, twisting it aimlessly side-to-side. She shrugged. “For whatever that’s worth.”

“It’s worth a little,” Eden said. She turned to Walsh. “Any chance you know which empty barn or warehouse might be holding abducted girls?”

“Not off the top of my head, no. I say we lean on Jimmy again. They came to him, some, but he must have gone to them as well.”

Eden nodded. “I also asked your Lieutenant Fielding for a list of all the reported missing persons in the last three months. The victims we found in Texas were female, and all post-pubescent, so, using that criteria, I've found another of interest.” She plucked a print-out off the desk and handed it to Walsh, who then passed it around the room.

Shauna Davis, age twenty-five. The photo was of a slight girl with dark hair and a shy smile. She looked retiring, pulling back from the camera, her arms around a small dog, but her eyes were keen and bright, intelligent.

“She lived alone,” Eden said, as Fox passed the flier on to Albie. “When she failed to show up at work for three days in a row – she was a veterinary technician – a coworker went to her place and found it empty. The mail had piled up, and the dog had soiled the rug, and all the sinks were bone-dry. Her car was found a few days later in the Kroger parking lot.”

“Security footage?” Walsh asked.

“Fielding says no. They checked back when it happened, but the car was too far from the store to make out anything definitive.”

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