The Day Before by Liana Brooks Page A

was there, apparently fresh from a photo shoot for the next recruiting poster: black hair pinned neatly back, ruby lips, pressed white blouse, navy skirt he guaranteed landed a regulation two-­and-­a-­quarter inches above her patella. She probably checked the length with a ruler before leaving her house every morning.
    He collapsed into a chair and swallowed bile while her pen drummed on the table. The quiet hum of the air-­conditioning wove a dangerous lullaby, inviting him to rest his head on the table and sleep.
    She stopped tapping. “MacKenzie, do you need to go to sick call?”
    The tabletop was cool and smooth. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was nap time.
    â€œEarth to MacKenzie,” Rose persisted. “Are you dead, dying, or just drugged?”
    A heavy hand fell across his back, knocking the wind out of him.
    â€œHow’s it going, Rose?” a man asked. There was a beat of silence. Mac was willing to bet the newcomer and Rose were sharing looks of disgust aimed at him. “What’s wrong with him?”
    â€œI work for the bureau, Detective Altin, not the Vatican. I don’t do miracles or mind reading,” Rose said.
    Mac opened an eye and caught sight of the dour detective taking a seat by the door.
    Altin held out the papers he’d brought. “I got your report on the Jane Doe from ’68. The chief was ready to bite through her desk when she saw that.”
    The conversation swirled around him.
    Rose took the papers. “Did you talk to the family?”
    â€œMr. and Missus Chimes, the parents, are still out of country. Mrs. Chimes-­Martin was able to answer some of the questions. Turns out both she and her sister have shadows. One each, as far as she knows.” Altin tapped the paper. “The shadow house is out of state.”
    â€œWhat’s out of state?” Marrins demanded as he walked into the room. He plopped down in the chair opposite Altin with a jiggle and a scowl.
    â€œThe Chimeses kept shadows for their daughters.” Altin gave Marrins a copy of the report. “It’s out of my jurisdiction. I called the bureau’s senior agent over there and asked him to send someone over to confirm that the Shadow has a clone marker.
    Marrins read through the interview with a frown in place. “We need to exhume Jane Doe-­183: Melody Doe. Good work, this is more than I expected from you, Rose.”
    Maybe she’s not so perfect after all.

 
    CHAPTER 10
    We are inebriated by the concept of Self, by the idea of the individual mind. We want Self to exist to such a degree that we have built an entire culture around the worship of Self and the need for such inanities as Personal Growth.
    ~ Excerpt from The Oneness of Being by Oaza Moun Il–2070
    Friday June 7, 2069
    Alabama District 3
    Commonwealth of North America
    I f the saints were listening, and inclined to grant miracles, then the phone would have exploded twelve minutes ago when Detective Altin put Dr. Emir on speaker to rant. Friday was a day without miracles. The phone worked fine, and for a quarter of an hour, Sam listened to the blistering rage of the aging physicist. “My research is threatened!” Emir yelled again.
    Sam pushed the phone a little farther across the desk. Maybe the phone would fall and accidentally hang up on the good doctor.
    â€œThese men would turn my work into nothing more than a stage for hate and fear! I won’t stand for it.”
    Marrins knocked on the wood frame outside Sam’s office.
    She sighed, grabbing the phone while motioning her boss in. “Neither will we. I assure you that the bureau is doing everything in its power to pursue this”—­she fumbled for a word—­“injustice to the fullest extent. We are doing everything in our power to safeguard your work. Detective Altin is a fine, upstanding law-­enforcement officer, and if you have any complaints about his