Dead Wind (Inspector Shana Merchant, Book 3) by Tessa Wegert
About Dead Wind:
Excerpt:
PROLOGUE
Alexandria Bay, New York
“Have you ever played Never Have I Ever?”
The game had been a favorite of mine as a kid, from grade school all the way until junior high. I wasn’t sure if it was still in fashion, if Trey would even have a clue what I was talking about, but he did something with his head that I took as affirmation, so I folded my hands on the sticky table and leaned toward him with a smile.
“So, it’s a really fun game, and it goes like this: I say ‘never have I ever’ about something I haven’t done, and you tell me if you have done it. If you’ve done it, then you win. It’s easy. Should we try?”
A nod.
“Here we go,” I said. “Never have I ever eaten worms.”
Trey’s eyes widened, and a smile tugged at his lips. He looked up at his mother, whose expression was already softening. “Do gummy worms count?” Trey asked, his voice barely audible even in the quiet room.
“Yes!” I beamed at him, making sure he knew how pleased I was that he was playing along. “That means you win the round. And then you get to ask the question. Sound good?”
Trey nodded again. He was in.
“Okay.” I took a breath and tried to keep my eyes on the kid. Behind him, Tim reached for his notebook. “The first question I want to ask isn’t actually about you. It’s about that man.”
Trey stiffened, and his dark eyes grew wary. But he didn’t shrink away from me.
“When you answer,” I told him, “say what he would say if he was playing. Get it?”
Virginia shifted in her seat. This wasn’t why she brought her son here, not part of the plan, and her trepidation was plain to see. Where Trey’s recovery was concerned, the questions I was about to ask would do no good. If anything, they might cause Trey to regress, and that prospect made my stomach clench and a wave of acid swell in my throat. If I was going to succeed at finding his captor, though, and eliminate the possibility of more victims, more damaged psyches, more death, I had to get Trey to talk on my terms. I tried to convey this to his mother without words, a silent exchange that played out over Trey’s head. Her lips were pinched tight when she pulled the nine-year-old onto her lap as if he were a toddler, but she didn’t argue. She knew as well as I did the black presence that loomed over her child would never be fully vanquished until the man who’d taken Trey was found.
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