The Lost Sister (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 7)

by Elle Gray

  She sits back but doesn’t let go of my hand. We sit side by side in silence for a long few minutes, the only sound the ticking of the clock nearby.

  “After I was taken, they placed me with a family in France,” Kit starts.

  “What?” I ask, sitting up.

  “I was given plenty of freedom over there, but it was clear I was still a prisoner,” she says. “There was always somebody watching me. Always. The people I was placed with, Patric and Celine Laurent, acted as foster parents. They raised me. Sent me to the best schools, exposed me to different cultures and languages. They acted like I was their daughter. And I’m pretty sure I wasn’t their first.”

  “My God, Kit.”

  “They tried to make me forget who I am. Tried to make me forget you and mom and dad,” she continues, her voice flat and unemotional. “And I played the game. Pretended to be all in on this new life. But deep down, I never forgot. I refused to give up who I was and always plotted and planned my escape. I promised myself that when the time was right, I would run and find my way back to you.”

  I grip her hand a little tighter, trying to comprehend what she’s telling me. The idea that she was forced to live this new life—it’s monstrous. But to what end? What was the point of it all?

  “You want to hear the sickest part of it all?” she asks.

  “Tell me.”

  “They were actually nice people. They had good hearts. They were kind to me,” she says. “As much as I hated and resented being there, I can’t lie and say there weren’t good times too. Those came later, when I was a little older, but I enjoyed some of my time with them. I enjoyed the culture and the learning. How sick is that?”

  I shake my head. “It’s not sick. It’s normal. When we’re dealing with trauma like that all day, every day, our minds will automatically seek out the good just so we have some happy memories to cling to,” I tell her. “We aren’t meant to live in misery twenty-four seven. We have to find some ray of light in our situation, whatever it may be. If we don’t, we’ll slip into despair and lose that essence of ourselves. If you hadn’t found things you enjoyed, you would have forgotten who you were and you never would have made your way back here.”

  She looks at me—for the first time, it feels like she really looks at me. The real Kit is there smiling at me. I pull her into a hug and we stay there for several minutes, each of us relieved that the walls of secrets we have both built are slowly coming down.

  We’re not out of the woods yet, and each of us knows that. But at least we have each other.

  “What was the point of it all though? Were you just given to them like an adoption? Could they not have their own kids?” I ask.

  “I—I don’t want to tell you anymore,” she says. “Not right now.”

  She gives me a tight smile and I watch as her eyes tear up. Kit’s cheeks grow red, and she sniffs back her tears. It’s the most emotional I’ve seen her get since she’s been back, and even though I want to know more about her life overseas, I know better than to push. It’ll only make her retreat deeper into her shell and I may not ever get her out again.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me,” I say. “That means a lot.”

  “Believe me, I want to tell you everything, Blake. And I will,” she tells me. “But when the time is right. There’s just too much going on right now and—”

  “It’s all right,” I say, squeezing her hand. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. I don’t want to pry or force you to share something that personal and traumatic. I want you to tell me when you’re ready.”

  She gives me a tight smile. “Thank you.”

  “Of course,” I reply.

  We sit back on the couch together, our hands still locked together. It’s almost as if we fear if we don’t, we’ll blow away. That we’ll lose each other again. Neither of us can bear the thought. I’m confident that won’t be the case. Whatever roadblocks still lay in front of us we’ll be able to go around—or through—together. Even with all the circumstances and danger surrounding us, I am still amazed and joyful about having my sister back. I’m not ever going to let go of her. Not if I can help it. I only wish our parents were still here along with us.

  “Do you know what I hate the most?” she asks.

  “What’s that?”

  “That I never got to say goodbye,” she tells me. “I have never been to their graves. I never got to say my piece and pay my respects to our parents.”

  I nod, totally understanding. I haven’t been back to their graves in—well—a long time. It’s still too difficult, even after all these years. I always justify it with work—I’m too busy. I have this big case. I’ll go once we track this guy down. But the truth of the matter is that I’ve avoided their graves simply because it still hurts too much. It’s another one of those things Dr. Reinhart hasn’t been able to break me out of. Or rather, it’s another one of those things I haven’t been able to break myself out of. Dr. Reinhart’s given me the tools I need. I just haven’t had the courage or strength to use them yet.

  But maybe having Kit by my side will make it easier. Maybe Kit will help me make that breakthrough. And she can finally pay her respects as well. It would be a win-win for both of us. I turn my head and look at her, a soft smile on my lips.

  “Then we’ll go,” I say. “As soon as we can, we’ll fly back and visit our folks. I’m sure they would love to see us together.”

  “I think so too,” she says. “Let’s do that. Please?”

  “It’s a deal. As soon as we’re clear of this mess we’re in, we’re on the first flight to Maryland. I promise.”

  My stomach churns at the thought of going back. It’s unfortunately not going to be as easy as I make it sound. There’s still a lot of baggage there for me. But Kit needs this as much as I do, so I’m just going to have to find a way to get over myself and push through the pain.

  “What are you going to do about Mangold?” she asks suddenly.

  “Not sure yet,” I say. “But if I can get actual proof of the atrocities he committed down in South America, I might just be able to use that cut his legs out from under him.”

  “And the Senate committee?”

  I blow out a long breath. “Not sure yet about that either. I figure that I have a few days to play with,” I say. “Senator Graham is Mangold’s lapdog, and as long as they think I’m giving Mangold’s job offer some though, they’ll leave me be.”

  “That won’t last long,” she points out. “You’re going to have to come up with something quick.”

  “Trust me, I know.”

  “Torres?”

  “For now, ignore him. There’s nothing else I can do but play defense. If he brings an indictment, I’ll get after him then,” I respond. “I’ve got too much to worry about right now without worrying about what evidence he’s making up to screw me with. If it comes to it, we’ll attack the evidence. If we get lucky, we’ll catch him in a big lie and turn the tables on him.”

  “And this House representative—what’s her name again?”

  “Hedlund,” I say. “Kathryn Hedlund.”

  “Yeah, her. What are you going to do about her?” she asks. “And as an aside, I hate that she has my name. Really hate it.”

  “At least it’s spelled differently,” I point out with a laugh. “As far her, we’re working on that. And if what I’m planning pans out, I think we may just be able to blindside both her and Graham and knock them both down a few pegs.”

  Kit laughs softly. “A billionaire tyrant, a Deputy Chief of Police, a Senator, a Representative, a deadly assassin, and a shadowy evil organization,” she notes. “When my sister lines up her enemies, she goes big. You really know how to stick yourself in a pickle.”

  “Fish said something similar,” I comment with a laugh. “I guess you guys are right. But I didn’t pick all these fights. They picked me.”

  “I think I’d like to meet Fish. I’m just amused that my sister, the big, bad G-woman, is good friends wi
th a crime boss,” she says. “You ever think about walking away?”

  “From the job? Never,” I reply. “My team and I are doing some real good. We’re making a difference. We’ve taken a lot of really bad people off the streets while we’ve been operating. And Fish is a good guy. I’ll make sure you meet him.”

  “And yet they want to knock you down and blow up your team anyway.”

  “We’re collateral damage,” I tell her. “And it’s one reason why I absolutely despise politics. They make something that should be simple—locking up bad guys—way more complicated than it needs to be.”

  “Do you think if everything went sideways, you could handle a life without your badge?” Kit asks. “Could you deal with being a regular civilian?”

  It’s a question I’ve had to ask myself more than once. The truth is, I just don’t know. I am this job. One hundred percent. And I don’t know who I am without it.

  “I’d rather not have to find out,” is all I can think to tell her. “I honestly don’t know who or what I’d be without my job.”

  It’s kind of a scary thought, but it’s the truth of things. Life without my badge, without my team? I don’t know that it’s a life I’d want.

  Twenty-Two

  Criminal Data Analysis Unit; Seattle Field Office

  “Okay, so I’ve been tracking her online purchases. Nurse Crane is one wily woman,” Mo reports. “She’s got a couple of shell companies she routes her orders and payments through, if you can believe it.”

  “Of course I believe it. We’ve seen people do some outlandish things,” I say. “This doesn’t even make the top one hundred.”

  “Well, her shell corporation has purchased large amounts of phenobarbital and primidone over the last year,” Mo tells me.

  “That’s excellent,” I reply. “Can we definitively tie her to the shell corporation?”

  “I’m working on that,” she says. “I’ve already spoken to a judge, and we need that tie-in before she’ll grant us a warrant to search Crane’s physical premises.”

  “That’s good work, Mo. Really excellent work,” I say. “Now, how are you going to tie her to the shell company?”

  “I’m trying to get the papers of incorporation. But it’s a tax haven down in the Cayman Islands,” Mo admits, sounding slightly defeated. “Lots of red tape and even then, I don’t know that they’ll hand them over.”

  I pace the front of the bullpen, my arms crossed over my chest. I glance at Astra’s workstation then at my watch. She’s usually the first one in, but half the day is gone and she’s still not here. I checked my phone earlier but had no message or text from her either. It’s totally unlike her and I’m starting to get worried about her.

  “We’ll figure that out. Their government has worked with the Bureau before. I’m sure they’ll give us what we need—eventually,” I say. “Hey, have either of you heard from Astra?”

  Rick and Mo both shake their heads. I frown and look at my phone again. Still nothing. They’re looking at me with concern written on their faces.

  “She probably just had an appointment she forgot to tell me about,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. “It wouldn’t be the first time she did that.”

  It would actually be the first time. Astra is more conscientious about her job than I am. She is always punctual, and if she is going to be late, or has an appointment, she never fails to send me a message of some sort to let me know what’s going on. Astra is of the “you can never have too much information” school of thought. It’s something I appreciate about her since it keeps me from wondering and worrying.

  But standing here now, with no idea where she is and having had no communication with her, I’m firmly in the wondering and worrying camp. I’ve already called twice with no response. With everything happening and Mangold and his pet assassin lurking around out there, my mind is already going worst-case scenario. I’m terrified I’m going to get a call that they’ve found her body somewhere as a message to me.

  I give myself a shake and clear my throat. “Okay, Mo, liaise with somebody in White Collar—specifically the tax havens desk and see if they can get the ball rolling on getting those papers of incorporation.”

  “Oh goody, I get to go back to my old stomping grounds and show off,” she says, drawing a laugh from me. “Got it. I know exactly who to talk to.”

  “Excellent,” I nod. “And Rick, how are we looking on that special project?”

  “Which one, boss? I’ve got a few,” he says.

  “The priority is the photos from Bocasilva,” I say.

  “Working on it. I think I may have a line on them,” he replies. “They were posted online at one point, but the site was scrubbed shortly thereafter.”

  “Mangold,” I frown.

  “Probably,” he says. “In addition to his baseball bat-wielding goons, he’s also got an army of online sleuths who spend all day, every day, searching for anything negative about him or his companies. And when they find it, they hack in and kill the site, scrubbing everything along with it. But the internet is forever. It’s just a matter of being able to follow the digital breadcrumbs, which I am currently chomping up like Pac-Man.”

  “Good. Keep at it,” I say. “What about the other thing I had you look into?”

  He smiles. “Nothing is ever gone forever,” he tells me. “I haven’t dug it up yet because I’ve been working on these other things. But I’ll get it for you ASAP, boss.”

  “Thanks, Rick. You’re the best.”

  “Darn right I am.”

  I chuckle to myself as I head into my office, leaving them with their tasks. I grab my personal cell and call Astra again, but it goes directly to voicemail.

  “Hey, it’s me. Again,” I say after the beep. “Haven’t heard from you and I’m starting to freak out a little bit. Call me and let me know you’re all right.”

  I disconnect the call and follow up with a text that says pretty much the same thing. I lean against my desk, tapping my phone against the palm of my hand, trying to figure out what to do. I keep glancing at my phone, expecting it to either ring or for a text to come through. But nothing does. After five minutes, the knots in my belly pull tight, and after ten, my heart is thundering inside of me. Something’s wrong. Very, very wrong.

  I grab my keys and my bag, my decision made. I step out of my office and head for the doors, calling to Mo and Rick over my shoulder.

  “Hey, I’m going to go see if I can track Astra down,” I announce. “Hold down the fort.”

  “You got it, boss,” Rick calls.

  “We’ll call you if she turns up here,” Mo adds.

  I take the elevator up and make my way through the labyrinth of corridors, heading for the main exit, my mind filled with all manner of horrible thoughts. I’m terrified that to make his point, Mangold’s done something to Astra. I’m scared he turned the Đavole loose on her. And if he did that, I don’t even know what I’d do with myself. Astra is my best friend. She’s my sister every bit as much as Kit is, as far as I’m concerned. If something happened to her because of something I did, it would absolutely kill me.

  “Blake. Hey, stop.”

  I turn and see Rosie standing in her doorway beckoning me. I growl under my breath. I really don’t have time for this right now. I don’t know how long Astra’s been missing but in a situation like this, every last second counts. But I know I can’t blow off my boss, so I trudge over to the doorway. She leads me past her secretary and into her office and sits down, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk.

  “Rosie, this isn’t a good time—”

  “I’ll be brief,” she cuts me off. “I got a call from the Director this morning. He’s concerned about your investigation into Willem Mangold.”

  I roll my eyes. “Let me guess, Mangold and the Director are what, frat brothers?”

  “Something like that. They’re golf buddies these days. Thick as thieves, those two,” Rosie says. “I didn’t know what to tell him because I was
n’t in the loop on this investigation. Care to fill me in?”

  I want to slap myself stupid for the oversight. I should have known Mangold would count the Director as one of his close, personal friends. He seems to collect powerful people like Pokémon cards.

  “I’m sorry, Rosie. I meant to loop you in, and it just slipped my mind. A lot’s been popping off recently,” I tell her.

  It’s not a total lie. A lot has been popping off lately. I just never meant to tell her about my investigation into Mangold until I had incontrovertible proof that he was the head of the Thirteen and responsible for a laundry list of crimes.

  “Uh-huh,” she replies. “Why is there no paper on this investigation then if you meant to loop me in on it?”

  I bite my bottom lip and frown. I know “I forgot” is not an excuse that’s going to work here. When you open an investigation, you are supposed to generate a paper trail. It’s Investigation Procedure 101. The only reason you don’t paper an investigation is that you’re hiding it. Which, I have a perfectly valid reason to do.

  “Okay, listen. I don’t have time to give you the minutiae right now, Rosie. Astra’s missing.”

  “What do you mean missing?”

  “I mean, she’s totally off the grid. Nobody’s seen or heard from her,” I tell her, trying to avoid panicking. “The last time anybody saw her was when we left last night. I’ve tried calling and texting but got nothing. I was just on my way to her place.”

  Rosie looks at me, a disapproving frown on her face. “Does this have anything to do with the case you meant to loop me in on?”

  “It might. I don’t know yet,” I admit, even though I know the answer to that question is a resounding yes.

  “Give me the highlights,” she says. “The Director is expecting a call back with an explanation for this mess you’re making.”

  I sigh but launch into an extremely abridged version of the case. I make sure to include the bit about the mass grave and that we’re in the process of obtaining proof of it. I tell her I believe he’s the head of the Thirteen and that he abducted me from my own garage. I give her all the details that cast him in the worst light, hoping she’ll be so shocked by it she forgets to read me the riot act for not looping her in—and for not papering this investigation.