Licking his fingers clean, Clay rose and pushed back his chair. “Then let’s go, with or without Hairnado.”
“Clay,” I warned him. “Name-calling is beneath you.”
“I’m seven feet and change.” He grinned. “Most things are beneath me.”
“I’ll get my kit.” I nudged him toward his room. “You get your partner.”
I already had my wand in my pants pocket. I palmed my badge, ID, and wallet, then I was ready.
Much to my relief, and Clay’s obvious disgust, Asa emerged with his hair restored to its former glory. His part was sharp, his braids were neat, and they gleamed, still damp, under the light.
As he walked past, I breathed in the scents of tobacco…and green apple.
Rolling my lips in to keep from commenting, I handed him a paper towel I’d loaded with four scones earlier, before Clay polished off the full three dozen. The man was a bottomless pit.
Asa brought them to his nose and inhaled. “You baked these?”
“I did.” I tilted my head, mining for an explanation for the game we played. “How could you tell?”
Perhaps sensing my angle, he took his sweet time in answering. “They smell like you.”
“Hmm.” I appeared to consider that. “Does it bother you?”
Without breaking eye contact, which I was learning was a big thing with him, he selected a scone and bit it clear in half. The way he savored it gave me workplace-inappropriate chills, and I was drawn to the flex of his throat when he swallowed, which left me questioning my sanity.
“No,” he rasped when he was done. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”
“Yeah, well, this bothers me.” Clay pointed at Asa and then at me. “Whatever this is, stop it.”
Asa didn’t look away from me when he said, “It’s too late for that.”
“Um.” I faced a sudden need to swallow, dare I say gulp. “Explain too late for me?”
Neither one enlightened me, which made me want to hex them with warts on their unmentionables.
Goddess bless, this was sad. Warts? Really? I truly had lost my touch.
We gathered our equipment, loaded into the SUV, and set out for a visit to Mr. Olsen.
Without Asa causing inconvenient flutters in my stomach, I had room for dread to spread its wings.
* * *
The front doorhadn’t been repaired or replaced. That was our first hint Mr. Olsen had flown the coop.
The moment we learned he lied about filing a missing persons report, we should have doubled back.
Final confirmation from the Kellies hit my inbox around five this morning, but we waited until sunrise.
The holdout had been the troll-ruling body itself, the agency a troll in a tricky situation, like a foster gone missing, would most likely approach for help. The clerics had to be convinced to share information regarding a foster with outsiders through a donation to their order. Eventually, they verified the girl existed, and who was responsible for her, but they hadn’t been made aware she had gone missing.
We had kicked a hornets’ nest in bringing the situation to their attention. I wasn’t sorry it would be passed upline to the director. I was only sorry the director wasn’t allergic to hornet stings.
Ever the optimist, Clay offered, “Maybe Olsen stayed in a hotel last night?”
“Maybe,” I allowed for Clay’s sake. “Let’s take him up on his open-door invitation.”
“There is no door,” Asa said wryly. “Are you sure we ought to intrude?”