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this.”
    â€œBut did I?”
    The detective’s face hardened just a fraction. “Don’t worry about it, Penelope,” he said. He handed me several papers. “Here’s some age enhancements we have of Tara. Do any of them look familiar?”
    My hand shook as I took the papers from him. I saw David frowning a little as he watched me. But he was looking at my face, not my hand.
    The printouts of the age enhancements were spooky. It was Tara, for sure, but—not. They seemed like high-tech caricatures; the features were right but exaggerated just a little. I went slowly through the stack, trying to merge the images with the girl I’d seen yesterday.
    Merge them with Tara , I mean.
    I’m not sure how long I’d been staring at them when Larson said softly, “What do you think?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I whispered. No point in lying. “This is her. And so is the girl I saw at the coffee shop. But they’re not the same.”
    â€œNot the same by a pretty wide margin, or not exactly identical?” Larson asked. “Because age enhancement is never exact. It’s just an approximation.”
    I shook my head and gave him back the pictures. “I don’t know,” I said again. “But I know that girl was Tara.”
    Larson took the pictures and slid them into a file. “Well,like I said, we are looking into it. We know where the car owner lives, and we’re working with other agencies to see what we can find out.”
    â€œAgencies?” David said, and I immediately wished he’d shut up. “Like, the CIA?”
    Larson smiled toothlessly. “No no, nothing like that. Just other law enforcement agencies.”
    â€œAre you telling her parents?” I said. “Maybe they know something, maybe they know the guy?”
    â€œWe’ll bring them in when the time comes,” Larson said, which was about as nice a brush-off as I’d ever heard.
    â€œOkay,” I said, defeated. My head hurt.
    Larson stood up, so David and I did too. “I’ll keep in touch,” Larson said. “And if you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.”
    â€œThanks,” I said.
    David and Larson traded nods, and we made our way back out the way we’d come. Once we were outside, David said, “How did that go, do you think? I couldn’t tell.”
    â€œDunno,” I grumbled.
    â€œThat good, huh?”
    â€œWhatever.”
    I felt him wanting to ask more, but he didn’t. We walked back to the car and climbed in. It took a massive force of will for me not to slam the door. No reason to take out my frustration on his truck.
    â€œWe’ve got some time before work,” David said hesitantlyas he pulled into traffic. “Where should we—I mean, where do you want to go?”
    â€œDoesn’t matter,” I whispered.
    â€œPelly? Are you okay?”
    â€œNo, I’m not okay,” I said. “My best friend got kidnapped and I didn’t do anything about it and now she’s out there somewhere and no one ’s doing anything about it, including me, and if I could just find her and get her back then I could—”
    Stop. Shut up.
    I crammed my hand against my mouth to stanch the flow of words bleeding from me. I wanted to roll up my jeans right then and there. Bleed for real, bleed the hate. I’d just said more to David Harowitz about Tara than I’d told anybody since my therapist.
    That shows how much I enjoyed sharing. David, however, didn’t seem put off at all.
    â€œYou could what?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. Which was a lie.
    David gave me a little snort. “In other words, ‘Shut up and stop bothering me, David.’ ”
    â€œThat’s not what I meant,” I said. “I just . . .”
    We were at a stoplight. David took his eyes off the road and turned to me. His hazel eyes, dotted