She’d never wanted to hit someone so badly in her life, and that included the day when she couldn’t get away from a boy band radio marathon while being stuck in a cab during rush hour. “Forget it. Call me when you find out anything. I’ll make my own way.”
Adderson’s valiant attempt to get the last word in was cut short by a decisive poke from Paige’s thumb. Once she’d hung up on him, she dialed another number and opened her window to get a better look at the road leading up to the crescent-shaped little parking area. The cool air helped calm her down, right until the point that she was reminded of how Cole used to hang his head out the window like a dog just to feel a breeze on his face. She allowed herself a quick sad smile while watching for any sign that she was being followed. Rico wasn’t dead, which meant he would be coming after her with all he had if he still believed he had to kill her. Since she doubted that Kawosa had planted that stuff about a Skinner splinter group, she wasn’t sure if she should trust him anyhow. That was a tough fact to wrap her mind around, but would have been dangerous for her to take lightly.
“Midwestern Ectological Group, Branch 40,” chirped a fresh voice that Paige had never heard before.
“Can I talk to Stu?”
“He’s in the field. Someone else can help you, though.”
“No. Put me through to him. Take this number down.” After Paige rattled off her identification number, the girl at the other end of the phone wrote it down, asked someone else what to do with it, looked it up and then made a quick connection that resulted in a transfer to another phone line.
“Paige? Where have you been? Wait, is this really you?”
“Yeah, Stu, it’s me.”
“Prove it.”
She drew a breath and brought the phone so close to her mouth that she almost ate it. “I already gave my number to the stupid little dimwit you got answering the phones, and if you make me give it out again, I’ll drive to wherever you are and tattoo it onto your face with a piece of broken glass.”
“Whoa! That’s you, all right. Sorry about that, but we’ve had some changes on this end. And please don’t start making comments about my end. I’m kinda in mixed company here.”
Not everyone at MEG knew about Skinners. Most of the organization just chased ghosts and investigated paranormal claims, but the core members were more than happy to provide a communication structure for those who knew where to find the occasional genuine Bigfoot lair. Stu was not only eager to be Paige and Cole’s primary contact, but able to back up that trust with results.
“Have you heard anything from Cole?” he asked.
“I was just going to ask the same thing.”
“If we had, don’t you think we would have called?”
“Yes,” she said earnestly. “What about Rico? Have you heard anything from him?”
“Yeah. Just a little while ago. Sounds like you two got separated. Want me to connect you to him?”
“No. Calling him right now may be dangerous. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” Stu said, even though he was too far removed to know how anything was.
“Do you know anyone who can pick me up?”
“Any Skinners, you mean?”
“No,” she replied, without worrying whether it was too quick. Rico still hadn’t tracked her down, but that was as comforting as a fuse taking just a little longer than expected to reach the dynamite. “I was thinking more along the lines of one of the MEG branches. You guys have to have an office somewhere in New York, right?”
“Our closest branch is in South Jersey. There’s another bunch of guys covering the East Coast paranormal scene better than us. I could make a call. They don’t know about you, but they’d probably be willing to help you out as a favor to us.”
Paige was going to accept the offer when she thought better of it. Calling the MEG guys was sketchy enough. They were still only observers and phone operators. Bringing anyone else into this mess was just cruel.
“Paige? You still there?”
“Yeah, Stu. I’m just thinking.”
“Let me call the Jersey branch. Don’t you know someone out that way?”
“It’s all right.” Wanting desperately to put him on another track, she asked, “What are you doing in the field? Usually the only time you’re away from the office is to play in one of those Sniper Ranger tournaments.”
“One of our investigators got shoved off a patio. He swears it was a poltergeist that did it, but the guy once tripped over a bump in the sidewalk and broke his wrist. Whatever the reason, I’m taking his place. I love talking to you guys, but going out on real investigations beats the snot out of staring at a computer screen all day.”
“Congrats.”
“Thanks. Everything all right, Paige? You sound upset.”
She fired back with: “Maybe it’s the whole fugitive thing. Or it could have something to do with Cole being in prison. That kind of stuff tends to put a damper on things.”
“Okay, fair enough. Dumb question. Just trying to help.”
There was no way for Stu to help. She felt like an idiot for even thinking MEG could be of any use in this situation, especially when they were purposely kept as far removed from Skinner business as possible. “Do me a favor. Try to find out what you can about Cole. Run a search on Colorado State Penitentiary. Google his name. I don’t care. If you find anything, let me know before anyone else.”
“I can do that, definitely.”
“I’m serious about that last part. No matter who else calls or asks, even Rico, I want to know first.”
“He’s your partner,” Stu replied. “I can respect that.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Paige hung up and faced the stretch of road leading back to I-190. Her ears had picked up the crunch of approaching tires on gravel. Moments before the car came into view, her hand was already wrapped around the Beretta and preparing to empty its entire magazine through her window. She didn’t relax until she was certain that the old woman driving the late model Dodge wasn’t one of Rico’s contacts.
After the Dodge pulled to a stop, the old woman killed the engine and reached for her passenger seat. When she turned back around, she was holding a little sandwich that she nibbled on while gazing out her windshield.
There was one more number Paige wanted to dial, but she wasn’t going to do so while standing still. Her nerves were jangling so badly that she thought it might feel better to run all the way back to Chicago. She backed out of her spot, headed for the interstate, and began tapping out her next call.
Prophet wasn’t answering his phone. Screening his calls was one of several precautions the bounty hunter was taking after escaping Denver the night the SWAT teams took Cole away. Deciding against leaving a message, she hung up.
Her car was barely up to full speed when her phone rang with Prophet’s caller ID notification lighting up her screen. “Walter,” she said without wasting time on a greeting, “when was the last time you saw those Gypsies?”
“Number one,” Prophet replied, “they don’t like it when we call them Gypsies. It’s insulting, but only when it comes from an outsider. Maybe a racist thing. I kind of lose track, but the proper name is Amriany, and that’s what they like to hear. They carry a lot of guns, so you might wanna keep that in mind.”
“Yeah, yeah. Have you seen them lately?”
“Number two,” Prophet continued calmly, “I haven’t seen them since Denver.”
“Can you get ahold of them?”
“Maybe. Why?”
“I’m in a jam. Rico and I went after the Nymar communication hub in Toronto. We got some leads, but Kawosa turned him against me.”
Suddenly, Paige felt like her stomach had imploded. If Kawosa had somehow tracked the bounty hunter down, she could very well be making the same mistake where Prophet was concerned. If he’d already taken Rico’s side, he could call the big man and send him to her. Unfortunately, it was too late to worry about all that. She needed to trust someone, and if Walter wasn’t trustworthy, things were even worse than she’d imagined. “I need help, Prophet, and I don’t know who else to turn to. You said the Amriany had serious funding and transportation. Is there any way you could convince them to get me to Denver? It’ll take too long for me to drive, and I’m not about to surrender my weapons to make it through an airport security check.”