Part 10 (2/2)
He stood smiling at her, head slightly tilted, eyes defocusing.
”Ferd.” She didn't want him daydreaming that he had rescued the Elf Princess Johanna and saved the hobbits from doom.
His head snapped back up. ”I'm wondering. You know, about the symptoms.”
”A vet would know,” Jo said.
G.o.d exists and will punish you for ruining the life of a local veterinarian , her conscience muttered.
”The abstracts only mention physical signs,” Ferd said. ”Not psychological symptoms.”
Jo shook her head. ”Nope.”
”But-”
”Mr. Peebles is eighteen inches tall and weighs four pounds. He's small enough. He doesn't need a shrink.” And especially not her.
”He's ...”
Gabe looked up from his coffee. ”Write it all down. Keep a log.”
Ferd nodded. ”That's not a bad idea. I'm just worried that-”
”Keep it quiet for now. You don't want to start a panic.”
Ferd frowned. Venting his worries aloud was his modus operandi.
”Picture driving down Geary Boulevard with Mr. Peebles in the pa.s.senger seat, when the city's scared witless about infected monkeys,” Gabe said. ”A mob would put a trash can through your winds.h.i.+eld.”
Ferd put a hand to his stomach. ”But... I just can't help worrying about the way he's acting. He-”
”You'd be lucky to get out with anything besides your socks on.”
Jo said, ”Just keep an eye on things.”
Ferd straightened and nodded sternly. ”If he shows symptoms, I'll alert you.”
”Please.” Jo began inching him toward the door.
He called over his shoulder. ”Have a good day at school, Gabe. I'm going to work.”
Jo got the door closed and walked back to the kitchen. Gabe was pacing near the kitchen table, arms crossed. She gave him a look.
He nodded at her notes. ”That a new case you're working on?”
She stuck her hands in her back pockets and waited for him to apologize. He didn't.
”That's confidential information,” she said.
”The notes were open on the table. I didn't mean to pry.” His eyes were a warm brown, but his gaze was cool. ”The man involved, Kanan-he grabbed you and threatened you?”
”I'm fine. The police are looking for him.”
”Kanan's a security consultant for an outfit in Silicon Valley?”
”Gabe, you don't need to worry about this.”
His shoulders tightened. ”Is he?”
She relented. ”Yes.”
”He doesn't sound like a corporate sheepdog. He sounds like a security contractor.”
She didn't think she was hearing him right. ”You think he's a mercenary?”
”Describe the guy for me,” Gabe said.
”You saw his photo.”
”Pa.s.sport head shot. It's not enough.”
”Midthirties. Your height. Dressed casually, but obviously in shape. Lean. Carries himself... alertly.”
”Ripped?”
”Yes,” she said.
”'Alertly.' You mean high-level situational awareness?”
”Aside from his memory loss, yes.” She recalled thinking that Kanan held himself like a gunslinger. ”Go on.”
”It's just a suspicion. But the kind of people corporations hire to shepherd their employees on trips to third world countries aren't school crossing guards.”
His seriousness shook her. ”I'll check it out,” she said.
”Good. Mind if I do as well?”
”You don't need to.”
”Do you mind?”
”You're not involved.” She saw no change in his expression. ”No, I don't mind. Depending on what you plan to do.”
”Find out who he worked for before signing on as in-house security for Chira-Sayf. I can ask people I know. See if he worked for a security contractor with military ties.”
”Okay.” She felt uncomfortable accepting his offer of help. She wasn't a damsel in distress. ”Gabe, this is generous of you, but overcautious. Kanan doesn't scare me.”
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