Damaged Hart: Hart Pursuit Trilogy Book One

by Paige, Violet

  He looked over his shoulder, but I didn’t think it was to silence Max. I wondered if there was someone else in the house.

  “Who do you want to ask me about? I might not even know this girl. You might have the wrong person. I might not be able to help you, darlin’.”

  “Penny Neworth,” I answered.

  It had happened before. And until I found her, I knew it would continue to happen. Something in my gut told me this wouldn’t be the last time.

  Ethan Howard slammed the door in my face and turned the lock.

  Three

  I waited until after dinner before I knocked on Ethan Howard’s door again. I ate at a diner near the hotel, nibbled half a grilled chicken sandwich and sipped a Diet Coke, waiting for enough time to pass before I headed back to his house. The sun had started to set, and the air was a few degrees cooler.

  I had flown from Washington D.C. to Dallas for the weekend to interview him. I couldn’t walk away just because I’d had one door slammed in my face. I hadn’t given up when I traveled to the suburbs of Chicago, or during the trip to Charleston. That’s how I got Ethan’s name in the first place.

  It took perseverance and a little persuasion. This was my journey. My story to tell. However long it took to tell it.

  It would have been easier if my birth mother had gone to college in the age of the Internet, but she was at in college before the age of email. Recovering digital records of students, roommates, and hallmates wasn’t an option. They might as well have been erased from the web. Almost non-existent. There hadn’t been any social media in 1990. There had been no chatrooms or web pages. Back then, they didn’t have email on campus or even computers in their dorm rooms. I was on a true hunt for a needle in a haystack. But I knew she was out there somewhere. So was my father. I had parents. Everyone did. Mine just seemed to be harder to find.

  Ethan Howard knew something. Why else would he shut me down the way he did? I couldn’t leave Dallas without knowing what that was. I couldn’t leave without the next lead.

  It had been Jennifer Seavers in Charleston who knew Ethan. She hadn’t known my mother well, but she remembered Ethan from the study lounge. It was all she could give me. A name. I realized the slightly graying mother of four only did that because she felt sorry for me. She told me she and her husband had fostered a few children over the years. It was enough to make her sympathize with my story. She couldn’t tell me where to find Penny Neworth, but she thought Ethan might have kept in touch with her.

  I wasn’t sure why that would be the case now that I had met him. Who knows what he was like twenty-eight years ago? Maybe he had been charming as a twenty-year-old. Or a good listener. Maybe he was someone my mom thought was funny or told good stories. Maybe he was a straight-up flirt, or the nerdy type. It was my job to figure out the connection. The more I knew about him, the more I’d know about my mom.

  I turned off the ignition and grabbed the recorder. I decided to go straight to the side kitchen door this time. He didn’t seem like a front door kind of man.

  The interior door to the kitchen was still closed. I knocked.

  I lifted on my tiptoes to see above the white café curtain. There were no lights. No sounds of anyone cooking. Max wasn’t around either.

  I knocked again. “Ethan? Are you home? It’s me, Sydney. I came back in case we could talk. Are you there? Maybe I could explain more about my story. I’m sorry if I surprised you. I just want to know who my mom is.” I waited, but there was no movement. “I don’t have to share your interview. I can turn off the microphone,” I offered. It wasn’t how I wanted to do things, but I had set my priorities. Finding my mom meant more to me than my podcast.

  I made a semi-circle to the front door and rang the doorbell. If he was inside, I wasn’t able to coax him out. I sat on the front steps, hoping he’d drive up any minute, or change his mind and open the door.

  I’d been in this place before. The quiet and stillness of waiting. Sometimes I recorded while I waited, but not tonight. The Texas sunset fell around me. The sky was almost magenta. I tucked my feet closer under my knees and watched the hues deepen as the sun sank lower.

  I waited two hours. And no Ethan Howard. I combed through my phone and read social media posts from friends. There were snaps of cocktails. Pictures of a group on vacation. Even a new baby. How had I missed Emma’s pregnancy announcement? Six months of one singular focus had turned me into a chronic workaholic.

  I sighed, realizing what a bad friend I had been lately. What a bad daughter. What a terrible sister. The podcast consumed my life, but I wasn’t willing to give it up. I knew I wouldn’t, and anyone close to me knew that too.

  After scrolling through every post and catching up, I made the mistake of checking my email.

  The icy chill raced through my veins when I saw the subject line in my inbox. Why was he back? Why had he sent another one after it had been so long? What did it mean?

  I clicked on the little envelope next to the subject and it popped open, but just then I heard the squeak of breaks and looked up to see Ethan Howard steering his pickup truck into the driveway. Max’s head hung out the window.

  I shoved my phone in my pocket and slowly approached the truck. I couldn’t tell if he was frustrated or angry I had returned.

  “Hi, Ethan.” I waved lightly.

  “You’re back.”

  I nodded. “I just want to talk. We don’t have to do the microphone thing at all. Really.”

  He opened the passenger door for Max. The dog hopped to the broken concrete and ran toward my shoes, sniffing uncontrollably. I patted his head.

  “Hey, boy. I’m Sydney.” I scratched behind his ears, kneeling to get on his level.

  “Watch out. He’ll lick you to death.”

  I laughed. “I had dogs growing up. I’m ok with that.”

  “So you do have parents?” Ethan took off his ball cap, embroidered with the big Cowboys’ star on the front and situated it over his forehead.

  “I do. I’ve always known I was adopted.” I rose from the crouched position.

  “Then why are you trying to track down Penny?”

  I had to keep the bubble of hope from floating up and out. He acknowledged her and that was a start.

  “I’ve always wanted to know about my birth parents. I think that’s kind of a natural reaction to adoption. Wanting to know your roots. Your biological history.”

  “Huh.” He stood there. I was afraid to move. Afraid to invite myself in. Afraid to press the record button.

  “It might not seem like much, but anything you can tell me about Penny could help me find her. I’d like to meet her.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to meet you?”

  “I can deal with that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  It wasn’t Ethan’s responsibility to counsel me through this. I had made my decision years ago. I had gotten off track, but now I was the one driving the train. I was going to find her.

  “I’m positive,” I answered. I wanted him to see the determination in my eyes. “Can you help me?”

  Four

  I had overslept this morning and now this.

  I didn’t think it was possible to run any faster. The suitcase wacked my ankles as I jogged through the terminal. The handle wasn’t long enough. I winced every time I heard the contents rattle. It was more of a hurried mall-walk than a full sprint. I brushed my long layers to the side when they flopped in my eyes. I was out of breath and my chest stung with nervous beats. Why did I think I could make this connection? I shouldn’t have booked it.

  My palms were sweaty. I huffed when I saw the 21-A sign ahead. Shit. I was so close.

  The agent buckled the strap across the standing poles. The ones meant to keep people in order.

  “Wait, wait,” I wailed, dragging my bag to the gate.

  She twisted her mouth to one side. “You were almost locked out.”

  “I made it?”

  It only took a second for her to
release the clip on the pole. The strap snapped into place.

  She held the ticket wand in front of me. “Hurry. You can still walk down the jet way. The cabin door is open. I’ll call ahead for you,” she offered.

  “Oh my God. Thank you.” I shoved the ticket under the scanner and breathed when the computer beeped.

  “No problem.” She smiled. “Have a safe flight.” She reached for the phone attached to the wall, but I was out of earshot before she started speaking.

  “Last one in.” The flight attendant’s tone wasn’t as friendly. I saw the look in his eyes. He motioned for me to get out of his way.

  I smiled weakly. “Thanks. I ran from the other gate. My flight into Atlanta was late.”

  That look said everything. He had already labeled me the high-maintenance passenger. The pain in the ass. It didn’t matter if my flight was truly behind schedule because of weather delays in Dallas. I wasn’t getting any sympathy from Jeff C. His sweater vest was embroidered with his name and last initial.

  Did it help that I was flying first class? At least I didn’t have to walk to the back of the plane. I was one row from the front. My seat was against the window.

  “Why don’t you stow that overhead?” The flight attendant pointed at my bag.

  “No.” I shook my head. I folded the handle in. “I’d rather put it by my feet.” I didn’t like to leave my equipment unattended, even if it was only feet away from me. I had paid for the best, and I took care of it.

  He shrugged. “Just make sure it fits.” He walked away. 3B wanted a Bloody Mary. It seemed to take priority over my luggage issues.

  I never liked rain. Not rainy Sundays. Or romantic rain that dripped along window panes. Not songs about rainy nights. I tried to ignore the drops splattering on the airplane’s wings as I took my seat. It made everything feel muggy and damp despite the air blasting from the overhead vents.

  I clipped the belt across my lap, giving it an extra tug. What good could a thick strap of fabric do if we became the casualty of a rain storm? I closed my eyes.

  I hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night. I had another nightmare. Another restless night. I bounced between what Ethan had told me and the email I hadn’t finished reading. I knew it was there, waiting. Leering, as if it had life. I hadn’t been brave enough to read it. I would when I got home. I’d grab a nice tall glass of wine and open it. I’d face it head on, like I had the other emails.

  I let my eyes drift open as the plane pushed back from the gate.

  Jeff C picked up the handheld mic and began to demonstrate safety precautions as we taxied. I had flown enough that I had practically memorized his entire presentation. I could see the cockpit door from my seat. I knew exactly where the exits were in case of an emergency. Jeff C became background noise as we taxied down the runway. The raindrops ran in a horizontal direction on my window.

  I thought about what Ethan had said last night. Why couldn’t I just stop? Why did I have to do this? What if Penny Neworth didn’t want to be found? My response never satisfied anyone. I could stop now, but I wouldn’t. I was going to follow the next lead. And the next. Until I had what I needed.

  I refused to believe the answers weren’t there. I was evidence they were. I had to keep looking. Keep recording. Keep searching. I reminded myself this was a journey. My journey. What I wanted was out there.

  The captain announced we were next for takeoff. I closed my eyes this time, pretending the rain didn’t exist. That we weren’t about to fly into low hanging rain clouds. I nestled my podcast equipment between my ankles as we ascended at a steep angle. I didn’t want the mic rattling inside.

  We began to level off and I opened my eyes. The rain was gone. It was sunny and clear at this altitude. I closed the shade over the window.

  “Champagne?”

  “Hmm?” I turned toward the aisle.

  It wasn’t Jeff C. A flight attendant with deep red hair, almost purple. I’d never seen hair that color before. It looked like something she blended from a bottle.

  “Would you like some champagne? Or we have a variety of wine, beer, and cocktails,” she offered. “I can mix anything you like. I bartend two nights a week in Nashville.” Her nametag read Cindy L.

  “Oh. That’s great.” I was too nervous to drink. My heart rate still hadn’t settled from the sprint through the terminal. “No thank you. I’ll just take water, please.”

  She looked puzzled, but handed me a glass bottle. I heard the passengers ordering around me. Free alcohol in first class was the standard. Why pay all this money to sit in a plush seat and order water? I didn’t care. I needed to think clearly for the remainder of the trip home. Ninety minutes and we’d be in D.C.

  “Thank y—” I began to pour it into a crystal pilsner she handed me alongside the water.

  Cindy L’s eyes jerked away.

  “Hold on, I’ll be right back to offer you something else,” she spoke over her shoulder.

  She kicked the pedal on the cart and reversed direction. I strained to look through the crack in the seats in front of me.

  The flight attendants were huddled together near the coffee station. No one re-stocked the cart or mixed drinks. Whatever it was, they were locked in something serious. Something grave. I couldn’t hear them. But I could read their lips. At least I thought I could.

  Was there a problem with the plane?

  I pressed into the arm rests, leaning forward. I strained to make out what they were saying. No. I must have read that wrong. We had only been in the air twenty minutes. We had flown through the storm with barely any turbulence.

  But I saw the concern in their eyes. I saw the way they kept checking the cockpit door. Their sudden nervous ticks. Tugging on their aprons. Pulling their ears. Wiping worry off their foreheads. One attendant pulled her bottom lip under her teeth so many times her lip was already raw.

  I looked across the aisle. The couple on the other side was watching a movie. They wore earbuds. Neither had noticed the flight attendants. I looked behind me. The curtain that separated first class from business was drawn and Velcroed together. The row behind me wasn’t any different. A slightly balding man read on his tablet, while the woman next to him had pulled a sleep mask over her eyes. It didn’t seem as if they were traveling together. They were twisted in opposite directions so they didn’t touch. No one bothered to glance up.

  I unbuckled and slid into the open seat next to me. My stomach already burned. How was I the only one seeing this? It was like being in the part of a dream when things blur past. I was somehow conscious and the other passengers weren’t.

  I turned my attention to the galley.

  A chill crept up my neck as I watched in horror as the flight crew, huddled together, reached for each other’s hands, and closed their eyes. I’d never seen fear like that before. My skin prickled with it. It was only a quick couple of seconds before they stepped out of the circle.

  My God. What was going to happen to this plane?

  Five

  I didn’t know how long the flight attendants would wring their hands and readjust their hair before they made an announcement. I got it. They had to be composed. They needed to stay calm. And I could grant them a few minutes to gain control of their own fear, but holy hell, they had to say something. One of the pilots had to say something. Someone had to do something. Warn the passengers. Prepare us. Explain what the hell was happening. There was clearly a problem with the flight. Why was I the only one who noticed?

  I unbuckled my seat belt, suddenly feeling unsafe without it. I let the strap fall to the side and rose slowly. I started toward the galley, not taking my eyes off Cindy or Jeff. There was a restroom on the other side of where they had gathered.

  They stopped talking as soon as I approached. I pointed to the restroom.

  “Ladies’ room,” I explained.

  They nodded, dismissing my presence and I quickly opened the door and locked myself inside. I pressed my ear to the door. Despite the low-rumble from t
he jet, I could hear words. Fragments of sentences.

  “—circle for how long—hours—”

  “—knows the threat—FBI—”

  There was a threat on the plane? Did the FBI know or did they need to contact the FBI? Was it a person? Was it a weapon?

  “—trained—they will panic like children—no—”

  “—be normal, Cin, be—”

  “—we can’t do—”

  “—stop, just stop—”

  The words turned to a whisper level and I couldn’t hear. The tones weren’t deep enough any longer. I pressed my ear and palms to the door, praying they’d say something else. It wasn’t enough. I didn’t have anything to go on.

  Shit. My hands started to tremble. I ran them under the weak stream of water in the tiny sink and dried them. I unlocked the door. The flight attendants had left the galley. Before anyone noticed I did a quick glance over the counters, but there wasn’t anything left out that indicated a problem. All I had was my gut instinct and the few trigger words I heard through the bathroom door.

  I walked back to my seat. I took my time to observe the passengers in first class. Nothing had changed in the ten minutes I had been gone. I readjusted my seatbelt and reached for the bag at my feet.

  I unzipped the side of my bag and pulled out my laptop. None of the boundaries I had set mattered right now. I had to figure out what was going on.

  There was one place I knew I could go. The only place where no conversation was off limits. Where data flowed freely in sordid chat rooms. Where money really could buy you anything you wanted. Information. Sex. Drugs. Exotic animals. It was the only place I knew where to turn in the middle of a crisis of this scale. If this was as dark as I thought it was, I had to access my old life.