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Back No Going Back: a Novel Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Part 1
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. Part 2
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. Part 3
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. Part 4
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. Part 5
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. 55
  63. 56
  64. 57
  65. 58
  66. Part 6
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. 69
  78. 70
  79. 71
  80. 72
  81. Acknowledgments
  82. About the Author
  83. Also by Sheena Kamal
  84. About the Publisher

Her eyes are dark pools. There are currents of emotion flowing behind them. She’s trying to explain something to me and keep her feelings in check all at once. Though I’m groggy and part of my brain is still asleep, I understand this with a glance. Then I see why when she speaks next. “Dao. I think they took him into custody last night.”

62

I sit up. “How do you know? Did they release the information?”

“Nothing has been released. The police aren’t saying anything. This was posted to the comment section of a news blog.”

“Hard Facts?” It was infamous in certain circles for having a comment section that was used by criminals themselves. Seb used to work with the excellent journalist who ran it. Krista Dennings used to work with her, too. Calling it Hard Facts was a bit of an insider joke. The blog itself was solid, but the gold was all the useful speculation and shade in the comments.

She hands me the laptop. “That’s the one. The Fugitive Squad or whatever they call themselves rolled up on a biker bar in Surrey. Apparently, it’s the second time in a week they’ve been there. They found a man matching Dao’s description and brought him in.”

“Positive ID?”

“No. Apparently, he didn’t speak—according to three separate comments. There was some horrific racial abuse on the part of the people commenting, saying that he wasn’t speaking because he’s an immigrant and doesn’t know English. Nora? What’s wrong? Please don’t look at me like that. This is good—it could be him. Nora?”

I try to respond, want to respond, but it’s like some kind of fever has gripped me. Since I survived that burning warehouse in Detroit, I’ve thought of nothing but finding Dao and finishing this. But they caught him. It’s over. It just doesn’t feel that way right now.

“Hey,” says Simone. “Hey, you.” She sets down her coffee mug and puts her arms around me.

Edison Lam’s Point Grey mansion is a graveyard. All the lights are off, and Kristof is nowhere to be found. A little Chopin wouldn’t be out of place here. I buzz at the gate. There’s no answer on the intercom. The security cameras at the gate clock my every move, though.

A car turns onto the street. I step into the shadows, not bothering to get into the Corolla, which I parked at the curb. It’s not even five a.m., and the sun hasn’t yet made an appearance. It’s too early for a house call, but Simone’s news has changed my plans.

The car pulls into a driveway four mansions down.