Page 5 of Inextricably Tied

“Your voicemail didn’t leave much of an option.” Harbinger examines her gloves. “I believe the word ‘warrant’ was used.”

Tamneth flicks his watch face toward him as he shuffles paper on the desk, a subtle reminder of their punctuality — or lack thereof. “I know it’s been a while since our last encounter —”

“You mean when you called me a con artist in front of the courtroom because we testified for the defense?”

Tamneth smooths a hand back through his hair before he locks his fingers on the table. “What else would you call it when you take people’s money and tell them what they’d like to hear?”

Harbinger’s head tilts as she hums. “I prefer the term ‘freelance-seer.’”

“I understand our working relationship —”

“Get to the fucking point.”

Even without Harbinger’s abilities, Flint can read her. The irritation spiking from her shoulders, arms crossed over her chest. Flint does nothing to make her distaste more palatable, his eyes narrowed across the table when Tamneth speaks again.

“Instead of remaining at odds, the OID would like to work together.”

“Quite the change of tune from ‘con artist.’”

Tamneth does all he can to keep his tight smile in place. “Even if I question the validity of your ‘abilities,’ the OID is willing to make certain concessions for this case.”

“What case?”

Tamneth pulls papers from the folder before him, turning the pages so Flint and Harbinger can read them. “These are non-disclosure agreements. We have something we’d like you to look at. With your…’powers.’”

Flint scans the document. Harbinger keeps her eyes on Tamneth. “What case?”

Tamneth doesn’t budge. “If you sign these agreements, we can share that information with you.”

Even reckless Harbin is skeptical. Flint doesn’t hesitate. “We’re not agreeing to anything until we know exactly what you’re asking us to do.”

Tamneth sighs, steepling his fingers. “It’s for the Raymond Reid case. Suspected kidnapper, torturer, serial killer —”

“Reid?”

Flint’s stunned. Harbinger’s posture changes, helmet tilted toward Tamneth like he may give something else away.

“He was all over the news earlier this year when you arrested him.” Flint remembers the images of an unassuming white human, glasses, receding brown hair. Exactly what you’d expect.

“We suspect Reid’s been active for a few years, but his movement increased exponentially in the nine months before his capture. His victim count is likely between fifteen and twenty-five adolescent girls.”

“Teenagers?”

Tamneth pulls a round of images from the folder, an array of young girls from various family photos. Toes digging into sand at the shoreline, teeth sticky and stained with candy, first car keys dangling from fingers. All smiling.

Flint’s stomach twists.

Harbinger turns a picture gingerly toward her. “And you think they’re all…dead?”

Tamneth gives her a hard look. “It’s very likely. They all tend to fall into the same population: thirteen to seventeen, white, human or human-appearing.”

“Wow,” Harbinger drawls. “That’s the one demographic you care to look for. And you still haven’t figured this out?”

Flint fights the tug in his chest. It’s tragic, but he knows what Tamneth is doing. Playing on their heartstrings, trying to soften them for whatever comes next. Whatever favor the OID has to ask. “If you know all of that, why do you need Harbinger?”

Tamneth leans back in his chair, as if it pains him to admit it. “We’ve found plenty of circumstantial evidence tying Reid to the crimes; witness accounts and recordings placing him in the vicinity of each girl’s last known location. But we haven’t been able to recover any of the bodies. No trophies, no DNA, nothing concrete.”

It lances through Flint. He knows Harbinger can feel it, but neither of them reacts save for the barest tilt of her helmet. Flint’s voice is level. “What are you asking us?”