Hidden Truths (The Hidden Series Book 1)

by Kristin Coley

  Jake also let me know that any investigation into the death of Samuel Phillips and the shooting of Connor were suspended indefinitely, due to lack of evidence. Jake and Connor had made their suspicions clear to the captain, but there was little he could do with no evidence.

  Jake warned me to keep silent about everything that happened. I knew he was still concerned our dirty cop would find out about me. I was the only one that could link him to his crimes. Granted, my knowledge wasn’t admissible in court, but if I could identify him we would be one step closer to finding the necessary evidence to put him away.

  Carly was incredibly disappointed when I informed her that Tristan, aka Jake, had moved away. I told her his dad was offered a promotion out of state and she understood. She still helped me drown my sorrows in mint chocolate chip ice cream though.

  Jake tested a theory when he texted me random questions to see if I could answer them with my special ability. We proved his suspicions correct when I couldn’t answer a single one.

  This led him to call me once, right before Christmas.

  “We have a missing child,” he began, his desire to keep it professional clear. I couldn’t help but joke back with my response.

  “It’s nice to talk to you again too. How’s life? Good, that’s good. Ready for Christmas? Yes, me too. How’s work? Oh, you have a missing child? That’s terrible. And so close to Christmas.” I wasn’t trying to be ugly, but hearing his voice for the first time in weeks caused my chest to burn. The flame I had tried to extinguish when he left flared back to life with every hint of contact. The rich timbre of his voice brought back the dozens of conversations we had sitting on his bed in that tiny shotgun house.

  I heard his chagrin when he replied, “I'm sorry. How are you?” I smiled at his attempt and answered, “I’m good. The semester is over, so I’m free until January. My life’s been quiet since my boyfriend moved away.”

  “I'm sorry about your boyfriend,” he said, the words quietly sincere.

  “Me too,” I answered, before forcing myself to change the subject. “How’s Connor doing?”

  “Good.” His happiness was immediately apparent. “He’s amazed the doctors with his recovery. He doesn’t know it, but he wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you.”

  “I didn’t ask the questions. You did.” My mind replayed the series of events that led us to him that night. Jake had some sense that made him ask that particular question, a premonition or awareness. He went with it and managed to save Connor.

  “But I was with the girl that knows all the answers. I couldn’t have done it without you.” His words were grateful, and I took heart at my part in it. We might not have caught the bad guy, but we knew he was out there, and he hadn’t managed to kill Connor.

  “That’s good to hear, partner,” I said, stressing the word partner slightly. “Now for why you called. You need help finding a kid?”

  “Yes, we think his father has him. But we can’t find him. I was hoping maybe you could. I sent you a picture. I’m not quite sure how this will work,” he told me. I put the phone on speaker and switched to my text messages. I saw the picture of a little boy, maybe five or six, with a gap-toothed smile. He was smiling at the camera in what looked like a school picture. “His name is Anthony Williams. He’s five. Been missing for six days. Can you tell me where Anthony Williams is?”

  My answer was immediate. “117 Shade Tree Lane, Houston, TX,” I told him, as a picture of the house formed in my mind. I saw the numbers on the door and knew the rest. I wondered if my ability was getting stronger with use, or if it was because this house had an address that it was easier for me.

  “Thank you,” Jake answered, relief in his voice. “I’m going to call it in now.”

  “Okay,” I replied, already saddened by the knowledge that I had to hang up with him. “Let me know he’s okay. Please?” I could hear the note of pleading in my voice. Ever since Samuel Phillips, I had a fear that every missing child would be a dead child.

  His voice was understanding when he said, “I will.”

  “Merry Christmas, Addie,” he whispered, before he was gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I stepped through the door of the warehouse cautiously. Nothing about this was adding up. Jake had texted me, asking that I meet him and Connor at a warehouse off Second Street to confirm the identity of our dirty cop. I couldn’t help but think this wasn’t like him.

  He studiously avoided any plan of action that might endanger me. We had considered several when we were on the path of Samuel Phillips’ killer, at least until Connor was shot and almost killed and Jake had always rejected every one of them.

  I pushed the door closed behind me, wincing at the screech the metal made. Against my better judgement, I had found myself borrowing Mom’s car and driving out here.

  It almost felt like banjos should be playing as I looked around the cavernous warehouse. It was abandoned and eerily reminiscent of the place Connor had been shot. Goosebumps rose on my arms, spooking me, and I shuddered.

  I stood still, letting my eyes adjust and listening intently for any indication of where they might be. I desperately wanted to turn around and go home. In fact, my instincts screamed at me to do so, but I couldn’t, not if there was a chance to stop Samuel’s killer.

  The sudden crack of a gunshot froze my blood, even as my feet started running. The errant thought crossed my mind that I should be running away from the sound not toward it. The pounding of my feet echoed the pounding of my heart, as I reached a door that I instinctively knew led to Jake.

  Nothing could have prepared me for the sight that awaited me. Shock held my tears at bay, as I stared at Connor’s sightless eyes, his body folded in on itself on the cold concrete floor. My horrified eyes shifted up to see our killer with his gun resting against the back of Jake’s skull.

  “So glad you could join us,” he mocked, and I saw Jake’s phone in his hand. Ice embedded itself in my soul, as I recognized I had been set up.

  “I worried momentarily that you wouldn’t be persuaded by your lover’s request, but I should have known that young love is foolish.” His smile was cruel, a twisted mask of evil. The wild thumping of my heart slowed, as the icy fear in my soul spread to the rest of my body.

  “Are you going to kill Jake?” My question was abrupt, already knowing there was no mercy in this man. “What are planning to do with me?”

  His response played as background noise to the horrifying picture forming in my mind.

  “I’m going to kill you both.”

  The echo of the gunshot accompanied my scream, as I woke up shaking, tears streaming down my face.

  My hand fumbled for the phone, desperate to text Jake and assure myself he was alright. I hit send before looking at the time. It was 1:20 in the morning. I doubted he was awake, much less that he would answer me. The nightmares had haunted me off and on since Samuel’s death, getting worse after Connor was shot. None had ever been as bad as the one I had just woken up from though.

  My hands continued to shake, the phone tight in my grip, as I relived the nightmare. This one was more detailed than any I’d had. Most were just flashbacks; the sight of Samuel Phillips lying on the floor of the cabin, images from the night Connor was shot, and always our killer’s face.

  The heavy thumping of my heart refused to slow, as tears trickled down my cheeks, and the fear that my dream was a prophecy rolled through me.

  The ding of a text message woke me up the next morning before my alarm even had a chance to go off. The nightmare flashed through my mind, even as I realized my phone was still in my hand. I hurried to swipe the screen, anxiously hoping it would be Jake’s response that woke me.

  “I’m fine. Sleeping when your text came in. Are you ok? What happened?” I read, my heart returning to a normal rhythm, as relief coursed through me.

  “I’m ok. Had a nightmare. Too real. Worried me.” I replied back, my fingers slightly unsteady as I typed.

  “Ok, se
riously hoping your dreams aren’t prophetic.” My laugh was shaky, as I read his words. They reminded me of my own fears the night before. “How bad was the nightmare?”

  “The worst. I just want to forget it. I need to get ready for school. I’m glad you’re okay.” I hit send and shoved myself out of bed. My message was abrupt, but honest. I wanted to forget my dream, and if I said a silent prayer begging that my dreams weren’t prophetic, that was between me and God.

  As the months after Christmas bled on I found myself scanning every face I saw, looking for the one face. He continued to haunt my nightmares; his cold eyes, relentless.

  I would wake with a cry most nights, reliving the sight of Samuel Phillips lying on the floor dead, with his killer’s face above him. Sometimes, it was Connor, the man situated behind him with a gun. Luckily, none were as real as the one I had the night I texted Jake in a panic, but they made sleeping difficult. It was to the point that I was afraid to close my eyes at night, knowing a nightmare would awaken me.

  I ventured to sketch his face, hoping I could drive him from my mind, but I had no talent for drawing. Carly caught me one day and asked what I was doing, so I made up an excuse about trying to draw a picture of my dad.

  A few days later, she sat down at lunch with a pronouncement. “I have an idea!”

  “Yay. Good for you!” I said sarcastically. My sleepless nights had started to catch up with me, making my temper short. It was April now, months since Connor’s shooting. I kept thinking the nightmares would abate, but instead they seemed to be getting worse.

  I debated calling Jake and telling him, but I couldn’t convince myself. I didn’t want to worry him or worse, seem like I was trying to pursue him. My head knew I needed to deal with this on my own, and that I couldn’t continue to rely on Jake. As difficult as it was to acknowledge, I knew what we had was done, and I was trying to let it sink in—even if my heart continued to mourn the loss.

  “I’m going to ignore your obvious sarcasm, since you will be declaring me the bestest friend in the world when I tell you my idea.” Her expression was serious and the slightest bit smug. I was genuinely sorry for my attitude, so I gave her my best smile, as I made it a point to pay attention to her. I sat up straight and folded my hands, meeting her eyes, channeling my best obedient dog look.

  She laughed before saying, “You know how you were trying to draw your dad and failing quite miserably?” I nodded, not likely to forget the face that haunted me. “Weeeelllll, I found an art student that does portraits. He’s willing to help you!” She was gleeful as she told me this, and I could honestly say she might be the most perfect bestest friend in the world. I threw my arms around her in a hug.

  “You are the best!” I said to her, hope unfurling inside of me for the first time since Connor was shot. This might be the break we needed.

  Carly told me she arranged for us to meet the guy after school the next day. The clock inched, as I watched it anxiously all day. Thoughts spun around my head as the day wore on. If this guy could accurately sketch the face I saw, I could give it to Jake. Maybe he had met the guy and didn’t know it. While it would be too big of a risk to show it around, if someone besides me knew his face, then maybe we would find him.

  Finally, the bell rang, and I raced to the courtyard to meet Carly. She was standing next to a skinny guy with longish hair. I wondered how he got his haircut past the dress code before ignoring the thought and instead wondering if this guy could actually draw the face that continued to haunt me.

  We sat down, and he told me to describe the guy. It took a lot of trial and error to figure out what constituted a description, but we finally started working on the same page.

  Turned out, I was terrible at describing people. The finished product was good, but still off. I think it was more my inability to describe than his talent, but even imperfect it was more than we’d had. I thanked him and took the drawing, feeling closer to an answer than ever before.

  The sketch showed a guy that was pretty mundane looking, but I didn’t know how to tell the artist to draw cold soulless eyes when I was supposed to be describing my dad. Even if my dad had abandoned me when I was a baby, that was a bit much.

  I snapped a picture of the sketch with my phone and texted it to Jake.

  “I had an art student at my school draw a picture of my dad. It’s not perfect, but close. Maybe you recognize him?”

  A few minutes later, I got a text back. “Good work. I don’t recognize him, but I’ll show it to Connor. Maybe he will.”

  I felt disappointment that he didn’t recognize the guy, but I knew it was a long shot. I had admitted the likeness wasn’t great.

  It was a while later before I got another text from Jake, and I expected him to say that Connor didn’t recognize him either, but instead he asked, “How are you doing?”

  I typed, “Good” and sent it. It wasn’t the truth though, and my hand hovered over the keypad. I finally typed, “I’m not sleeping well.”

  Seconds later, he responded, almost like he was waiting on my admission.

  “That’s not unusual after what you've been through. Stress affects everyone differently.”

  “Even months later?” I typed, that being the thought that worried me the most. Part of me felt like this face was stalking me, that if I didn’t find him, he would find me, and I would be the one shot in the back.

  “Yes, even months later. This entire situation has lingered. We know he’s still out there. That’s not going to go away.” I frowned, disappointed in an answer that didn’t help me feel better.

  “Working out helps me. I exhaust myself, so the dreams will stay away,” he texted. The knowledge that he also had nightmares relieved my mind. He had watched his best friend almost die, and I knew he still worried about me. I took a deep breath, acknowledging this would be something that would take time to work through.

  “I’ll try that,” I answered.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A couple days later, he sent a text asking if he could call me. “Connor didn’t recognize the picture. I wouldn’t tell him where it came from, and he’s suspicious. He’s never been satisfied with my answer of how I knew where he was the night he was shot.”

  I knew lying to his best friend and partner was the last thing Jake wanted to do, but he refused to tell Connor about me.

  “I don’t mind if you tell him about me. He may not believe either of us, but I’m willing to try,” I told him again.

  “No, not yet. We might have to in the future, but I’m not willing to risk it right now,” he answered adamantly.

  “Are you sleeping any better?” His question caused my heart to flutter. I pushed down the foolish joy that came with the thought that he cared enough to remember and ask about my sleeping problems.

  “A little. I tried what you said about exhausting myself. I did a few workouts, and it seemed to help,” I replied, pacing on the back porch. Paw Paw was watching a Nascar race inside, and my mom had gone to the store. Nervous energy was running through me, talking to Jake. I was glad he called, but was already dreading the end of our conversation. We were drifting further apart. With no forward momentum in the case and only the two of us knowing about the dirty cop, it seemed like our time together was coming to an end.

  “Keep it up and don’t worry. I don’t think you’re in danger. No one but us knows. The guy will slip up eventually,” Jake replied, soothingly.

  “What about Daniel Phillips? Is he still testifying?”

  “Yes, but now I wonder how useful his testimony is. It’ll put some bad guys behind bars, but no one knew about the needle.” We had begun to refer to the dirty cop as the needle. No need to advertise our knowledge or increase suspicion. “I have a feeling this goes deeper than anyone anticipated, including Daniel. We never suspected they’d go after his brother.” I heard the regret in his voice. Samuel Phillips had become a casualty of a war he knew nothing about. Connor had almost been one as well. It was easier to accept the loss when
you knew the risk, but Samuel had been an innocent we couldn’t save.

  “I don’t want you taking any unnecessary risks.” Jake’s determined tone brought me back to our conversation. “One loss is enough. You were never meant to be a part of this.” His voice was tight from worry and perhaps a hint of fear. “I don’t want to think about anything happening to you.” My heart warmed with his words.

  “Same here,” I replied tartly. “You’re in more danger than I am every day. Unless you count the perils of high school.” This startled a laugh out of him, breaking the cloud of gloom over our heads.

  “I really don’t want to go back to high school,” he said, with utmost sincerity. “Been there, done that. Twice.”

  “You have to admit, the second time was much more thrilling,” I joked, knowing his undercover work had been mind-numbingly boring at times.

  “Well, I met you,” he replied, something in his voice catching me off guard. “That definitely has been the highlight of my high school careers.” A silly smile slipped across my face hearing this. I wouldn’t admit it, not even under threat of tickling, but meeting him had been the highlight of my high school days too.

  “It’s not every day you meet a girl that can answer any question,” I said, deflecting the seriousness of our words.

  “That’s true,” he laughed. “Especially when they’re always right.”

  I heard my mom’s car pull under the carport.

  “I’ve got to go help my mom unload the groceries,” I told him, knowing what my mom’s line of questioning would be, if she caught me on the phone.

  “Alright. Call me if you need anything,” he said, his words sounding reluctant to my ear. I hoped it was because he didn’t want to end our call, and not because he didn’t want me to call. My thoughts swirled in confusion, demanding I question every nuance of our conversation. The car door slammed shut as I heard the trunk pop open, prompting me to end our conversation.