A high-pitched squeal snapped me out of my head as a laughing father swung his pink-cheeked daughter in the air and caught her against his chest. Giggling and squirming, she wriggled until he put her down.
Part of me wondered if my dad had ever played with me like that.
Hard not to think of him, after Colby gifted me a rare photo of my parents for Christmas.
Ahead of her father, the girl ran to the railing, gripped a pole, then popped her head through the bars.
After her joyous squeals, her frantic screams didn’t register until the man rushed to her, peered over the edge to the sandbar below, and gulped hard. He jerked his daughter to him, hefted her onto his hip, and then scanned the Battery for help.
Two Black Hat agents on a case stuck out like sore thumbs anytime. With me in civilian clothes, I imagine the scene could be interpreted as a high-value target, a socialite or politician’s daughter, out for a picnic. With her bodyguards.
“Call the police,” the man yelled. “There’s a…” He cradled his daughter’s head, forcing her to rest against his shoulder. “Just do it.” He bounced her lightly on his hip, as if she were a much smaller child. “Please.”
That was all the civic duty the man had in him before he swept his daughter down the nearest steps into a gray sedan parked snug against the Battery. He wedged into the traffic faster than Asa and I could rise.
We crossed to where the girl had stood and leaned over for a better look.
As we did, a foul stench hit my nose, one I recognized as if it were a perfume I had been born wearing.
Black magic.
Sneakers dotted with cartoon characters acted as a flotation device for a skinny leg bone bobbing in the surf.
“Call the director.” I gritted my teeth. “Looks like we have our first body.”