Page 45 of Swerve
I force myself to meet his slightly mocking grin head-on and say, “Is that a problem?”
“He’s a little old for you, isn’t he?”
“He’s my boss,” I say, folding my arms across my chest and refusing to yield any ground. “But do you really feel qualified to be giving this lecture? All things considered, I mean.”
He raises an eyebrow, and she sees the touché in his eyes and feels a ridiculous gratitude for the point in her column.
“There’s something I want to show you,” he says, and then turns and walks back to the office.
Knox
“The most confused you will ever get is when you try to convince your heart and spirit of something your mind knows is a lie.”
?Shannon L. Alder
WHAT THE HELL?
Knox takes the chair in front of the computer and gives himself a silent berating.
Had he really just said that? What business was it of his if Emory Benson dated her boss?
None.
So what was up with the hair-trigger reaction?
He hears her footsteps behind him and decides he’s not up for answering his own questions.
Without looking over his shoulder, he points at the computer screen and says, “There. That’s your sister, right?”
She steps in close, leaning forward to stare at the screen, and then, with the breath catching in her throat, “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Her voice is so low, he can barely hear the response. He glances at her face, sees that all color has drained from it. “I’ve been able to spot her and Grace in four different frames. I’ve also noticed the man in the gray baseball cap in three of those frames.”
He can feel her stiffen beside him. “That’s not a coincidence, is it?” she asks.
“Probably not,” he says.
He clicks on the man’s face, enlarges the screen. “His features distort when I zoom in. The only thing I can make out is the logo on his hat.”
“What is it?” she asks.
“Carlos Garcia.”
“Is that a brand?”
I click over to the webpage where I’ve already found it online and read, “Streetwear brand Carlos Garcia offers the coolest everyday wear for kids looking to make a statement. T-shirts, jeans, backpacks make up a line of highly desirable clothing.”
She visibly swallows and says, “Why would he be following them?”
“It could be a coincidence,” he says.
“But you don’t think so?”
He doesn’t say anything for several seconds, and then, “Probably not.”
“How can we find out who he is?” she asks, panic now edging her voice. “Is there some kind of facial recognition software—”
“Not with photos this blurred,” he says, shaking his head.
