Page 15 of The Tracker's Secret
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Sunder,” he said with a slight bow of his head. He was a beast of a man, probably six foot seven or more. His hair was cropped short in a military style, giving his head a squarish appearance, kind of like Rosalina’s Scion. He was in short sleeves and wore a thin black tie. His nose was wide and slightly crooked as if it had been broken once. I could definitely see him getting into brawls, but I couldn’t imagine the type of guy it would take to injure him. Maybe he’d fought The Hulk. Yeah, that would explain it.
We stood facing a wide window into a brightly lit room with a small platform and black lines and large numbers painted across the back wall.
Tom pressed a button on a console and said, “Okay, we’re ready.”
A door opened off to the side in the one-way-window room, and five men dressed in casual, clean clothes filed in and positioned themselves under the numbered spots. They all wore glowing handcuffs, charged with a spell to block magic.
I recognized our attacker immediately, and I almost started pointing at him, but I stood still. The men turned in our direction, staring blankly. Tom pressed another button, and one by one, asked them to step forward while I examined their faces carefully.
Two of the men were of the same height and hair color as the mage, but the others were blond and taller. I vaguely wondered how they picked this bunch. Were they all criminals?
When number four stepped forward, I had to clench my fists and resist the urge to pound on the window, shouting a couple of colorful insults at him.
His face looked as pleased as if he’d just come back from a trip to the beach.The bastard. He was full of smugness, like someone without a worry in the world, someone who expected to be out of here in the next minute. I seethed, a phantom burning sensation running up my side. I would gladly put the asshole mage into a frying pan to give him a bit of his own medicine.
After all the men had taken a step forward, Tom turned to me. “Is your attacker among these men?”
“He is,” I said between clenched teeth.
“Under which number?”
“Four,” I said without hesitation.
“Very well.”
We left the room followed by Detective Archer, who handed Tom one of the five folders he held in his large hand. “Here, his name is Jenson Boyle. He has a previous record.”
“Of course he does.” Tom opened the folder. A picture of the mage rested on top, held in place by a paper clip. Tom flipped through the rest quickly, his frown growing deeper and deeper the more he read.
“What is it?” I asked, a nervous tingle running up my spine. My skin began to itch all over.
No, no, no. Not now, Red!
I took a deep breath to calm myself down. After what I’ve been through today—almost being burned into a crispy piece of bacon—this stupid urge to shift would return now?! How useless! I had to force a few more slow breaths before the itching stopped.
Tom closed the folder. “Stephen may be able to explain better. Let’s go back.”
Huh? Why?
We went back into the room where we’d left Stephen. He sat waiting patiently, hands interlaced in front of him, resting on the table. He glanced up when we walked in, a worried frown on his forehead.
I took the chair next to Stephen, and Tom sat across from us, opened the folder, and unclipped the picture from the rest of the documents.
“His name is Jenson Boyle.” He pushed the photograph in Stephen’s direction. The mage had a shaved head in this picture, but his smug face was unmistakable.
Stephen froze and let out a pent-up breath. He licked his lips and started to shake his head but froze again, making his confusion plain.
At last, he said, “I know this man.”
“You do?!” I blurted out.
Tom leaned forward. “Can you tell us about him?”
“He works for my father.”
I gasped, my mind reeling with that piece of information.
Tom leafed through the documents, his inquisitive dark eyes going through the material with methodical care. “Do you have any idea why he would try to kill you? Any personal grudges between the two of you?”
