Authors: Greg Curtis
As for Benedict, he was now in an institution being evaluated, and the likelihood was that he would be discharged as unfit to stand trial and committed.
It seemed unfair to him, that all these people who had shot him and tried to kill him were getting away with it. But at least it was over and they weren't going to be trying to shoot him any more.
“She's right though – we will be late. So let's just go and pick her mother up and bring her back to Olmstead before Katz has a heart attack. And then you can be off on your next assignment.”
His next assignment! It was such an odd thing to hear. But now he had assignments. As a private investigator on contract to Olmstead for the moment, he had people to find. In this case a mother and three year old son who needed to be contacted, helped – if they could be – and brought back to Olmstead if they were willing. He suspected they would be willing.
Leaving the bureau had been the hardest decision he had ever had to make. But it had been the right decision. He had always been torn between his role as an agent of the FBI and his life as a nephilim. Forced to choose. No longer. Being an agent had been a dream – his dream. Using his gift to find lost children had also been a dream – her dream. But being a nephilim was reality. In the end he had to help his people and he couldn't do that as an agent. But Cassie would no doubt be pleased, especially after he had tried to lay down the law with her. Not that she'd listened.
“All right let's go. The house isn't going anywhere.”
Garrick walked Maricia back to the truck and even held the door open for her. He got a kiss on the cheek for his trouble, and a cheeky look from Katarinka as she saw them. Of course she had to add to it with a few choice words when he climbed in the driver's seat.
“Now you two, I want to see those seat belts done up tight and both of you on your own sides of the vehicle. There'll be none of that old person sex thank you very much. You could damage my poor teenage brain!”
“Old! I'm thirty four!” But even as he protested Garrick knew he shouldn't have. It was a mistake.
“Thirty four! Oh my God that's ancient!”
She laughed, amused at her own lack of wit, and Maricia turned away to stare red faced out of the window while Garrick groaned. It suddenly occurred to him that he'd been in this exact same situation only a few months before – driving the miscreant back to school. Only this time he was going to be driving her to meet up with her mother and then take them both back to Olmstead and Katz had decided she was a comedienne.
He turned the key and fired the engine. Seven hours of the kid trying to be funny. He might actually preferred it when she was being a brat!