Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“He believes I live on campus. That’s just—precaution,” Jean finished, even as his mind supplied fear, panic, horror. He swallowed hard against a rush of nausea. If he stayed on this line of thinking he would lose his mind, so he willed Neil to have an ounce of humanity and said, “Stay out of my business and tell me why you came.”
Neil drummed a restless beat on the steering wheel for a few moments, then allowed the change in topic without argument. He gestured to the side of his head as he said, “Word is someone at the FBI finally asked why and when I did this to my appearance if I did not want to be found, and they tracked it back to my stay at Evermore. People are starting to ask questions, and we’re supposed to get ahead of it to clear things up.”
“We cannot,” Jean said as Neil turned into a parking garage.
Neil didn’t answer until he’d gotten a ticket from the turnstile. Only when his window was closed again did he say, “We cannot name him.”
He left it at that, waiting for Jean to piece it together. Jean stared at him as Neil sought a parking spot, ticking through every possible connotation. When it clicked into place, he felt his stomach bottom out. If they couldn’t point the finger at Riko, and Neil’s entire defense hinged on his fear of getting caught, there was only one person left who could take the fall.
“They’re burning my family,” he said.
It wasn’t a question, but Neil said, “Yes.” He found a space and killed the engine, but instead of getting out he said “Jean,” with an urgency that forced Jean to look at him. “I’m sorry.”
I am Jean Moreau. I belong to the Moriyamas.
“I am a Moreau,” Jean said. “I know my place. I will play my role.”
Neil looked like he wanted to say more, but he got out of the car without comment. Jean fell in alongside him as they left the garage and started down the sidewalk. Neil started for a corner store before spotting an ATM, and he withdrew cash that he promptly stuffed in his back pocket.
Jean didn’t ask, but Neil explained, “My uncle and I flew into the city on our own passports. Because of my father’s open case, that should have set off a few alerts with the local FBI office. Now we just need to create a trail so we can force a confrontation.”
It didn’t need a response from him, so Jean only made a half-hearted gesture and followed Neil to a Thai restaurant on a rundown corner. Neil waved aside the hostess in favor of looking around. The place was packed, but Neil only needed a few moments to find the rest of their party. When he set off, Jean followed him. The man they approached looked nothing like Neil, but Neil slid into the corner booth opposite him and motioned for Jean to join him.
Neil passed him a menu as soon as he was seated, but Jean pushed it back his way. “No.”
“You might as well eat something,” the man across from him said. “You have a very long evening ahead of you, and I doubt your next hosts will be good enough to feed you.” Stuart Hatford leaned back against the back of his booth to consider Jean. There was no kindness in him, and barely any interest, but he managed to sound vaguely polite as he said, “Jean-Yves Moreau. A pleasure, I’m sure.”
That got Neil’s attention, and he looked from his uncle to Jean even as Jean said, “Do not call me that.”
The waitress came over before Stuart could respond. Jean tried to send her away, but Neil ordered two portions of something Jean didn’t recognize. As soon as she was gone, Neil asked, “Jean-Yves?”
“Don’t. I am not allowed to use that name,” Jean warned him.
“Says who?” Stuart asked. “The dead kid? Your legal name is more important now than ever before, so get used to hearing it.” He didn’t wait for Jean to respond but looked at Neil and wagged a hand at his own face. “You drag him here kicking and screaming, or is this an unrelated problem?”
Neil shrugged. “Do you have anyone who can take on local work?”
“Depends on what you can afford. Timing’s bad enough to drive the price up.”
“The timing can’t be helped, so I don’t care what the price is. He didn’t confiscate anything from me,” Neil reminded him. “I didn’t bring it with me, but you know I’m good for it. Just find me a way to get it to you.” The waitress came around again with orange-hued drinks for Neil and Jean, and Neil offered her a disarming smile that would never sit quite right on his face. “Do you have a pen I could borrow? Thank you, I’ll give it back to you as soon as I can.”