Page 87 of Deadly Lineage
“And you need this information by…?”
I hunched in on myself. “As soon as possible would be helpful.”
“Of course. Is there anything else, Detective O’Hare?”
I shook my head, even though Holland couldn’t see it. “No. I don’t believe so. Thank you.”
“I would say it is not a problem, but that would be untruthful. I look forward to meeting you in person, Detective.”
The call ended and I was left staring at my fading screen. I was proud to say my fingers only shook slightly as I gently laid my phone down on my desk, staring at it as if it had contracted a deadly disease.
I was still staring at my phone when Harrison asked, “Was that who I think it was?”
“Ifwho you think it waswas a scary-ass warlock who’ll probably turn me into the most basic form of life when he meets me, then yeah. That was Nikodemus Holland, Boone’s father.”
“Well, shit.” Harrison leaned back in her chair, arms flopped out beside her and bottom lip hanging open. “Somehow saying, ‘Way to take one for the team’ doesn’t seem adequate.”
I barked out a laugh. “No, but I’ll take it regardless.”
Having only heard one side of the conversation, Harrison asked, “So, they keep an account of the mothers?”
“Apparently.” I cringed thinking of why. “They don’t want another warlock breeding with a human who produced a necromancer child, so they keep an accounting of them.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Not even a little.”
“That’s…I don’t even know what that is.” Harrison dragged a hand through her hair, eyes distant. “I suppose it’s not for me to judge.”
“No, although it’s hard not to. I’ve battled with the knowledge enough. In Holland’s defense, he registered Boone in the warlock archives, claiming him as his son.”
Harrison absently nodded. “Well, I suppose that’s something.” Shaking off her inner thoughts and opinions, Harrison said, “You think Mississippi and surrounding states will be enough? There’s nothing prohibiting travel. Hell, you’re from Illinois.”
“I know, but I couldn’t think of a better option. At least it’s a starting point.”
“A damn broad one, but more than we had a minute ago. Good work, O’Hare.” Harrison rose and slapped me on the shoulder as she walked by.
I continued staring at my phone, wondering if I was incredibly brave, stupid, or desperate. Thinking of myself as brave was far too gracious. Stupid and desperate it was, then.
This time when I picked up my phone, my hands were steady. I shot off a quick text to Boone asking when he expected his father. Morbidly, I wanted to know just how much time I had left before Nikodemus Holland changed my biological makeup. Maybe I should even give Captain Cicely a heads-up. It wasn’t nearly as good as giving six weeks’s notice, but I didn’t want her to wonder why I didn’t show up for work.
Boone texted back,His plane is supposed to land at seven. I expect him at my house by eight. Three little dots showed up before a follow up text arrived.Do you want to have a late dinner with us?The words were followed by a pleading face emoji.
I sagged and texted my doom.Text me when he arrives. I’ll stop by.
Boone gave my text a thumbs-up emoji followed by one blowing a kiss. It was ridiculous how happy that stupid emoji made me.
Shaking my head, I laid my phone to the side and got back to work. Becks was still working on Linus Remington’s computer. I wasn’t certain when she’d have something for me. In the meantime, I pulled up the information Gladys Campion e-mailed regarding the previously unknown branch of Telane Winston’s family. Gladys had done the heavy lifting, sifting through old, dusty, and moldy archives. It was up to me to follow the more recent trail.
I typed in the last known descendant Mrs. Campion came across and hit paydirt straightaway. There might not have beena lot of children, but they’d lived and reproduced. Not all were married, especially recently. Like so many narrow-branched family trees, this one grew thinner and wispier as the decades passed.
Weeding through the family tree—following each branch until they dwindled or until no male children were produced—took most of the day and into the early afternoon. Lunch came and went. I purchased a questionable sandwich from the vending machine, a bag of chips and a soda rounding out my less-than-stellar meal.
My eyes burned. I wasn’t sure how Becks stared at a computer screen all day. Maybe she had some of those special glasses that filtered the light. Not that I’d seen her in glasses—ever. That still didn’t mean she didn’t have them. It wasn’t like I had a camera watching Becks’s every move.
I marked off another name when that particular branch ended with two daughters who were currently far too young to reproduce. I tracked back and followed what appeared to be the remaining branch. This one was tricky. For reasons unknown, two generations back, the son had chosen to change his last name. I was no longer chasing Winstons, but…
McCallisters.
