Seek

by Mia Sheridan

  "Get it yourself."

  She shot him a nasty look. "Asshole."

  Alec's jaw ticked in annoyance. "Excuse me if I'm a bit agitated. It's been a long fucking two months in this hovel."

  I stared, disbelieving, as she poured a drink from a tall table by the door, taking a long sip as she turned. My head felt foggy, my limbs heavy. I was still having trouble believing she really existed. "I remember you," I whispered. "I . . . took care of you."

  Harper shrugged. "I remember you, too. Bossy little thing."

  I flinched. "I was four. We were four." No, she hadn't been younger. Not younger, no . . . just . . . weaker.

  She shrugged again, gripping the drink Alec handed her and taking a long sip. "Did you know where I was while you lived the high-life with Paul and Linda Barton? I was living in squalor with a fat-ass named Gloria and her worthless husband, Jerry."

  Thomas's cousin came back into the room, biting into a sandwich as he looked around at all of us. I shook my head. "I . . . didn't know. I would have . . ." What would I have done? Something. I would have tried to do something, at least once I was old enough. I looked at the two people in front of me—the people I'd wrapped dreams around, one as a distant longing, and one my hope of the future, of family, of love. I felt flushed, hot. Sick.

  "We could start now," I said to Harper. "We're sisters . . ." I began, the hope in my voice pathetic even to my own ears.

  Harper laughed. "I don't think so, sister dear. But you will be leaving us with a very nice life." She looked at me and then smirked, moving her gaze to Alec.

  "How did you find out about me?" I asked, shaking my head as if in denial of this whole situation. But it was real. The red-hot agony of the knife in my heart told me it was very real.

  "It was the funniest thing. I saw you one day, just driving down the street. It was such a shock. I couldn't believe it was real. This girl who looked just like me, only she was driving this sleek BMW. I thought I was in the Twilight Zone, you know? I followed you, in my piece-of-shit Toyota, mind you, to this fucking mansion. You got out and it was like you were me only upgraded about a thousand percent." She glanced at Alec. "I told my boyfriend about you. His business wasn't doing well." She shrugged. "He'd been looking for a way to buy into a huge business opportunity here in Colombia and there you were: as if God himself had sent you to us. An answer to all our prayers, right baby?" Alec grinned back at her.

  Tears streaked down my face. I looked at Thomas, and though his expression was still distant, something I couldn't name had broken in his eyes. All this time . . . all the things I shared with him. He'd already known. I was such a fool. A stupid, stupid fool.

  "The grocery store where we met—"

  "Setup," Alec said smoothly. I nodded, a jerky movement, swiping the tears off my cheeks. He shook his head, sighing. "You were so easy, Livvy. So easy."

  "Who are you?"

  He tilted his head for a second as if trying to understand my question. "Alec Sanderson. Not an orphan. My parents live in the Midwest. A librarian and an accountant—two losers who aspire to nothing more than a white picket fence and a good game of pinochle on Thursday nights." He paused, a cruel tilting of his lips. "Simpletons. Like you."

  I shook my head, my mouth dry with disbelief. "So what," I said blankly, "you were going to marry me, have me killed, and H-Harper would take my place?"

  "Something like that," Alec said.

  "Then you were trapped in Colombia, and you needed me brought to you?"

  "Exactly.”

  “All your business trips—”

  “God, yes. You’re so gullible. Had to get away from you as often as I could.”

  He glanced at Harper. "Turned out better anyway. People . . . well, they go missing in Colombia all the time. Especially in the aftermath of a natural disaster." He tsked and grinned. "Only, you won't go missing. You'll rescue me, and we'll return to the States and get married."

  He and Harper would marry and then they'd use all my parents’ money for whatever they wanted, and no one would be the wiser.

  "People will know she's not me," I said blankly, knowing it wasn't true.

  Alec shook his head, looking sad. He sighed. "Who, Livvy? Those sorority sisters you talk to once a month? That gaggle of silicone-filled drunks? Your family? Oh right, you have no family. That friend of yours with about eight million kids who's always mumbling to herself about soccer schedules? Oh, she'll notice." He laughed. "Poor, lonely Livvy."

  Chrissy—the one with eight million kids—might actually notice, but I didn't say anything. I felt sick, yet numb.

  None of this was real, it couldn't be.

  Alec raised his glass to Harper. "All right, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm about all the fuck talked out. Should we get this show on the road?" He nodded to Harper who was behind me, and before I questioned his meaning, something slammed down on my head.

  I felt myself falling, there was a scuffle over my shoulder, something loud cracked in my ear, and I hit the floor with a jolting thud. I groaned, turning my head, the world swimming all around me. Harper was lying next to me on the floor, a pool of blood spreading toward me. "No," I sobbed, but it only came out as a whisper. I reached for her, my sister, the other half of me. Her eyes were open and she blinked, her expression filled with pain, confusion. She reached for me and our hands clasped right before my world went dark.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Livvy

  My head was pounding, and I was thirsty, so thirsty. My mouth felt gritty, and I detected a sour, medicinal taste. I was on something soft—a bed? Yes. I was in a small bedroom, and it was dark, though gray light was seeping under a doorway to my right. I gripped my scalp, searching for the source of the pain and found a giant lump on the back of my head. I touched it gingerly, wincing. Harper had hit me over the head with something. It all flowed back to me in excruciating detail and tears sprang to my eyes once more. For a moment I wanted to give up, to give in to the agonizing pain I felt—physically, emotionally. I felt groggy, bleary, as if I'd been hit and then drugged. With a small, pitiful cry, I lay back, staring at the ceiling, hot tears streaming from my eyes and pooling in my ears. For some reason, as I lay there, that little girl who had been so terribly brutalized came to my mind. Graciela. She'd fought. She was just thirteen years old, but she'd fought and lived. Maybe, just maybe, she’d be okay, eventually.

  Maybe I would be too.

  The thought of Graciela spurred me up from the bed and for a moment, I held my head again as the pounding became bearable, the pain fading just enough.

  The floor was concrete and it looked like I was in some sort of basement room. Did beach houses have basements? Had I been moved? My God, what were they going to do with me? I couldn't think about that now. I was barely holding the pain back, and if I let it consume me, I would never get out of here.

  There were no windows, only a door and I took a few unsteady steps to it, taking the knob in my hands and attempting to turn it. It was locked, of course, and I jiggled the handle, pulling on it with all my strength and then using my hand to beat at the metal. The small bit of effort made the room spin, tilt, and I put both palms on the door, holding myself upright as the blackness threatened to close in again. With a sob, I turned around slowly, pressing my back to the door.

  The sound of footsteps suddenly came to me from above, feet on metal, something shaking, clanging. My heart raced and I stepped back from the door, my brain growing fuzzy. A weapon? I looked around but there was nothing in the room, not even a blanket on the bed. The footsteps faded, the metal clanging stopped, and I suddenly felt nauseated. I barely made it to the corner before I retched, my stomach cramping in violent spasms. I cried softly, tears streaming down my face as I curled up in a ball. The blackness closed in again.

  Someone was holding me. I lifted my heavy eyelids and Thomas's—no, not Thomas, what was his name?—face swam above me. He was wiping the hair off my forehead, his expression strained, harsh. I was bein
g carried. Where? He betrayed me. I let out a sob, beating weakly at his chest. "You," I gasped. "You—"

  "I know, Liv. I know. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm taking you somewhere safe."

  But he had hurt me. Devastated me.

  I cried harder as he carried me up a set of metal stairs that clanged with each step. Everything swam around me, everything except him. Thomas.

  "What's your name?" I croaked.

  He glanced at me as we walked through a doorway that was already open into the coolness of the outside air. "Brody. My name is Brody Thomas."

  A different name. A different person. A stranger.

  It was too much. My eyes were so heavy. "What did you give me?" I slurred.

  "A drug to knock you out. It will wear off. Close your eyes, Liv."

  It was the last thing I heard before I woke again, the sound of waves breaking on the shore coming through the open window to my right. It was daytime and the sun shone around the edges of the woven shade. There was someone at my back. I froze. He was warm and solid, his body wrapped around mine. Thomas. I knew him even without looking. I knew the feel of him, his smell. A pit opened in my stomach, and I suddenly felt as if my spirit, all my will was sucked into that vast hole of mourning. For a moment I just breathed, my heart pounding against my ribs.

  "Lobo was one of my uncle's dogs," he said, his voice gritty as if he'd been sleeping too, but had somehow known I had woken. I didn't move, didn't utter a sound. I was scared, confused, but right then all I had the energy to do was to lay right where I was. He was warm, and solid, and even though he'd betrayed me, he'd somehow saved me too. My heart was broken, but for the moment I was safe. For the moment it was all I could manage to grasp on to. "He bought him as a puppy. He was small and far too sweet. He had"—he paused for a second, clearing his throat—"he had this little tail that would never stop wagging even when he was put up against these mean, vicious dogs. He just didn't know how to be a fighter."

  Thomas . . . Brody paused for so long I wasn't sure if he was going to go on or not, but then he moved behind me, settling closer and continued. "He wanted to sleep next to me, that fat little body cuddled so close, it was like he couldn't get close enough. I let him. Truth is, I loved it. It felt like he was . . . mine. I fed him, played with him. Eventually, he got bigger, stronger, but no matter how hard my uncle abused him, tried to make him mean, it just . . . wasn't in him."

  He paused again, his breath wafting across my ear. I could feel that his heart had started beating faster, thrum thrumming against my back. "My uncle sent him into the pit anyway. He . . . was obliterated. My uncle had to have known he would be. I think that's why he did it." He took a deep breath. "When it was over, he threw him back in the shed where I was sleeping. His body was broken, mangled, bloody. But he . . . was still alive. He looked up at me with these . . . eyes, Livvy. I . . . can't forget his eyes and the way that little tail started to wag. Slow, and barely, but I felt it. He'd been brutalized, and he was still wagging that damn little tail. My uncle came by and told me it was my fault, that I'd softened him, that I'd made him weak."

  My heart clenched, and I made a small sound of denial, picturing the broken body of that dog lying in a young boy's arms. "No, Liv, he was right. In that at least, my uncle was right. I loved him too much, and my love made him weak. My love got him killed. In the end, I was the one to go into the house and get my uncle's gun because I was the one who'd done the real damage. I was the one to shoot him, to put him out of his misery. And even as he died, he still wagged that damn little tail. Love makes you weak, Livvy. That's all it does."

  Tears were streaming down my cheeks, and I turned my face into the pillow under my head, too tired to cry any more, too confused and exhausted to feel the things that story elicited inside me. "My sister?" I whispered. Something felt . . . different inside me, something I couldn't explain.

  Thomas paused. "She's dead."

  I'd known it, of course, but to hear the words . . . Something filled my throat, but I swallowed it down. It was all too much. I let sleep enfold me again, and whisk me into the peaceful oblivion.

  The next time I woke, it was dimmer in the room. I was still in the same bed, under a white sheet. I sat up gingerly, bringing a hand to my head, but the pain I'd experienced earlier was almost completely gone. A quick glance told me I was wearing a white nightgown—someone had dressed me, Thomas most likely. Wrapping my arms around my body, I tiptoed to the door and tried the handle. It was unlocked and I peeked out. The house I was in appeared empty, but I heard the very faint sound of rustling paper, and what might be the light scratching of a pen.

  My heart beat faster as I went toward the sound, grabbing a vase off a nearby table so I had a weapon in case it was Alec or . . . Luis, even though Thomas had assured me I was safe, and I'd believed him.

  "You can put down the weapon, Livvy. It's just me." Thomas. No, Brody.

  My heart stuttered and I put my shoulders back, entering the room. He was sitting in a chair at a round kitchen table, his forearms resting on the white painted wood, his expression grim, watchful.

  As I looked into his familiar face, a bolt of outrage ping-ponged through my body, and I brought my hand back and threw the vase at his head, a yell of anger, of pain, of deep anguish coming from my chest. He moved his head to the side, dodging the vase easily, and it shattered on the wall behind him. My chest was rising and falling as I worked to gain control, to rein in the terrible tide of betrayal threatening to drown me. Brody stood slowly, moving toward me, and he caught me as my knees buckled, the wave crashing, pommeling. I sobbed, and he wrapped his arms around me, not uttering a word, just holding me as I cried. "I'm sorry, Liv. I know."

  What did he know? How much it hurt? He was one of the people who had hurt me. So why was I letting him comfort me now? Why had I listened to his story earlier and not smashed my elbow into his nose? Was I Lobo in this scenario? A sweet, stupid dog who it'd been so easy to betray, to obliterate? A dog who kept coming back for more abuse because he was too simple not to?

  Everyone I'd trusted had been deceiving me. No one truly loved me, or even cared about me, and it ripped my soul to shreds. I felt tattered, torn, the threads of my heart hanging loose and tangled. The sister I'd carried first in my arms and then in my heart, and now would only have in my nightmarish memories. The man I'd almost given my life to, and the one I'd handed my soul. All of them.

  I sniffled, taking deep breaths, letting go of his T-shirt that I'd gripped in my hands and finally looking into his face. His expression was so serious, his eyes sad. I stepped back. "You're safe here. I rented this house for you. You can stay here until the airport is clear, and you can get a flight home."

  I stared at him, attempting to make sense of this. "Your cousin? Alec?" I whispered.

  Something hardened in Thomas's gaze. "They would have killed you, Livvy." His stance was loosely causal, but his fists were clenched, muscles primed. A predator. "People . . . well, they go missing in Colombia all the time. Especially in the aftermath of a natural disaster." Oh God. Alec had first used those words in reference to me. I rubbed my temples.

  "Do you need more Tylenol—?"

  "No," I said, taking a big breath in my nose and letting it out of my mouth. "I want answers."

  His gaze lingered on me for a moment and then he nodded. "I'll tell you everything, Liv. Just let me make you some food and—"

  "I don't want any fucking food!" I yelled. "Just tell me the truth, goddamn you, Thomas, Brody, whoever you are!"

  His lips thinned, and a muscle jumped in his jaw but he nodded, gesturing toward the living room. He sat on the edge of the sofa, and I moved to sit beside him but then thought better of it, choosing an armchair instead. I sat down, curling my legs underneath me, suddenly feeling exposed in the thin nightgown I was wearing. "Where are my clothes, by the way?"

  "They're in the bedroom closet. I had them washed."

  "Oh." I picked at a small tear in the arm of the chair. "Why di
d you lie to me about your name?"

  "My last name—"

  "Yeah, I know your last name is Thomas. But you let me believe it was your first name."

  He paused, leaning forward on his knees. "I don't usually give a client my real name. Honestly, Liv, I wasn't even sure why I gave you my real last name. I guess"—he looked off behind my shoulder for a moment—"I guess I wanted to hear you call me by at least one of my names. The guys I served with called me by my last name. It's common. In some ways Thomas feels as much like my first name as Brody." He let out a breath, leaning his head forward and massaging the back of his neck. When he looked back up, I noticed how tired he appeared, saw the purplish ring of skin under his eyes, the fatigue in his expression.

  I looked away. "What should I call you now?"

  "Brody. I'd like it if you called me Brody. No one's called me Brody for a long time." He ran a hand over his hair. "Truth is, I've sort of forgotten who he was," he muttered on a sigh.

  "How'd you know Alec?"

  Brody blew out a breath. "I'd never met him. A month ago, my cousin, Luis, got word to me about getting in on a business deal."

  "You told me you hadn't talked to your cousins in years."

  He shook his head. "I hadn't, not until a month ago. The only reason he knew what I did was because Santiago had bragged about me over the years, and he'd heard about it. Luis said he and a business partner were in need of services I could offer. In exchange, they would cut me in to this big deal they'd been offered."

  "What deal?"

  His gaze moved over my face, something regretful appearing in his eyes. "Apparently, his business partner had met some rich girl he was scamming." I flinched and though Brody paused briefly, he went on. "Right before this guy was about to marry her and gain access to her fortune, he flew to Colombia to put some last-minute plans into place."