The Lost Sister (Sister Series, #8)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eightteen
Chapter Nineteen
The Lost Sister
by
Leanne Davis
The Sister Series, Book Eight
www.leannedavis.net
Table of Contents:
Copyright
Dedication
Other Titles by Leanne Davis
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eightteen
Chapter Nineteen
Dear Reader
My Other Titles
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Lost Sister
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Leanne Davis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: dvsleanne@aol.com
Publishing History First Edition, 2017 Digital
Digital ISBN: 978-1-941522-46-2
The Sister Series, Book Eight
Edited by Teri at The Editing Fairy (editingfairy@yahoo.com)
Copy Editing: Sophie@sharperediting.com
Cover Design by Steven Novak (novakillustration@gmail.com)
Dedication:
To Susan Jordens
For being my first and best reader.
I can't tell you how much your continued interest
and support of my books means to me,
and I'll always be so grateful for it and appreciative of you!
Other Titles by Leanne Davis
Diversions
River’s End Series
River’s End
River’s Escape
River’s Return
River Road
River on Fire
River’s Lost
The Sister Series
The Other Sister
The Years Between
The Good Sister
The Best Friend
The Wrong Sister
The Years After
The Broken Sister
The Perfect Sister
The Lost Sister
The Remaining Sister
Daughters Series
Christina
Natalie
Melissa
Emily
The Zenith Trilogy
Zenith Falling
Zenith Rising
Zenith Fulfilled
The Seaclusion Series
Poison
Notorious
Secrets
Seclusion
Prologue
Eyes opened and smashed shut. Eyelids blinked. Grit was scabbed in the corners of her eyes. Vomit had dried on the side of her mouth. Moaning, Tara Tamasy stared up at the dark, metal-gray clouds above her. Alive. She was alive. Her breath nearly stopped again as the shock affected her brain. She managed to survive!
Relief. So much stronger than she ever imagined. Before tonight, she might have thought she didn’t care too much either way if she lived or died. Turned out, when that theory was put to the test, she cared a hell of a lot.
She didn’t want to die.
The problem was, she had no idea how to live.
But she was alive. Slowly, she bent forward until her back arched off the side of the concrete wall she was leaning against. Glancing up, she saw the building against which she’d been dumped unceremoniously. It loomed several stories high. In front of her was the green dumpster. She sniffed, her nose wrinkling as the heavy, acrid, foul smell of garbage singed her nose hairs. She took in a long, deep breath, letting it fill her lungs as she wearily reaffirmed she was still alive.
She slid her sleeve over her dirty, grubby hand and rubbed her chin and cheek to get rid of the dried vomit. Rising to her feet, she suffered from the pangs of arthritis in the cold dawn light. They left her. Dumped her there. Literally threw her out with the garbage. Perhaps she should have been grateful they didn’t toss her actually into the dumpster. They almost kindly left her sitting up so she didn’t choke on her own vomit and die.
It was close. Way too close this time.
Shaking off the vice of the drugged-out feelings, she glanced down, patting her chest, stomach, hips, and pockets. Everything was gone. They even stole the measly change she had. They left her clothed, at least. Did they do anything to her while she was out? Who knew? Some friends. What did she expect?
It wasn’t anything she hadn’t done to others. Stealing their shit while they were passed out on drugs.
Damn. The few dollars she had scrounged together were gone. Her tongue began tapping her dry, cracked lips, as if reliving the experience, although it was all misty and gray in her memory. She shuddered; at least she’d been tossed up on that little white pill. It made remembering the experience no more than vague images and fleeting memories.
All of it would eventually become vaguer memories and more fleeting images, as new ones, perhaps worse ones, appeared to her. Add them on to the last three years. Staring down at her toes in the canvas shoes she wore, she saw a rip over her big toe, and the heel was falling off the left shoe’s sole. She was down to no more than the clothes on her back. Even her backpack was gone. It held what few items she possessed in this world. Scraps of clothes, some candy, a leftover joint, and… a picture. A portrait of her family.
She shook off her disappointment. As if she needed a reminder of them. Ironically, if they walked past her at this moment, they’d never, ever have recognized her. They could stop, look her in the eye, and stare at her for ten minutes, or hear her voice even, and she doubted a single one of them could recognize her.
Except maybe Tristan.
She shut her brain down. No. No use thinking about them. Any of them. Not even Tristan. He was old now and probably all stuck up in their grandfather’s ass, being the perfect mannequin and becoming just like their grandfather as he started to run Tamasy Industries. Despite that, Tristan was the most decent of her spectacularly indecent family, albeit a little self-contained. Always busy and keeping to himself, he had a kinder heart than any of them. Even her. Besides, even if he did recognize her, he’d never have accepted her. Not like this.
Then again, what decent person would?
Her hair was dirty blonde and long. The color was owing to the actual dirt in it. She hadn’t bathed in days… okay, maybe a few weeks. She scratched her scalp. Once she started, it mad
e the itching increase even more until she was nearly pulling the hair follicles out with her short, stubby fingernails. She yanked up the hood of her dark, generic hoodie, trying to ignore the itching. She almost laughed when she pictured her mother seeing her now. Her mother would have disowned her, or wished she had died last night. Anything rather than admit that this dumpy, bedraggled, dirty, filthy urchin from the street could be her daughter.
Tara shook her head. It didn’t matter anymore. None of them did. She wasn’t a Tamasy anymore. She was an Aderly. Tara was the only name she went by on the streets. Sometimes, she claimed Tara Aderly as her full name if hardpressed to admit it. That was her mother’s maiden name. Stupid perhaps for an alias, but definitely something she responded to. She wasn’t ready to totally excise her full identity. She very much doubted anyone was looking for Tara Tamasy. Tamasy was a name for Northern California, not Seattle, Washington. That was where she hitchhiked to and finally settled, maybe two years ago now. Everything began to blend together. The day, the week, the month and the year were all vague to her now. It didn’t matter to her anymore, not like it used to. She was no longer a functioning member of society. What did it matter what day it was? Or the time? Not like she had to be anywhere or do anything. She had dumpsters to hit. She had a pretty good routine going now, and some decent restaurant dumpsters she could dig through. She thought she was about twenty years old now, having left home six months after her seventeenth birthday. She might have been close to twenty-one now.
She went south first, heading to Los Angeles, then slowly worked her way north again, avoiding anywhere close to her hometown of Marsdale. She stayed in Portland for a while before coming to Seattle. The tent cities first drew her there. Homeless people lived all over the city and slept under the overpasses. She’d also lived under two or three overpasses in a small, one-person tent during the last few years.
Of late, she was hitting the drugs too hard. Last night, she got cornered by a group of four creeps, three guys and a girl. The girl was younger than Tara. Some stupid, runaway bitch who was meaner than all three boys combined. They caught her, high as a freaking kite, and took full advantage of her inebriated state. One pulled a knife on her while the others held her hands behind her back. She tried to shake them loose, but being weak and high wasn’t a good combination. She recognized one of the guys, a kid named George. His name was most likely fake, but he had cuddled up to her one night. They might have even fucked. She didn’t know for sure. Still, that was in the past. Not today.
She struggled and swore at them, quickly freaking out and trying to get away. But they hit her and smacked her around enough times to shut her up. By then, fear had firmly gripped her and she went limp, preparing herself for whatever they intended to do. She’d heard about plenty of the sadistic practices that went on. Some were sexual. Some were just plain cruel. She closed her eyes, knowing she was about to become a victim.
With light fingertips, she tenderly felt her face and palpated the swollen cheek and eye. They had smacked her hard enough to nearly knock her out before they robbed her and left her there, sacked out against the wall in the dark, slimy alley.
She staggered out of it. Cold puddles soaked her socks through the holes in her shoes. The tattered hem of the dark pants she wore dragged behind her and in no time, wet lines circled those.
She had to get out of there.
Her pace increased. She had no idea where she was going or what she intended to do, but she had to get out of there, the alley, the block, the city… this horrible life.
She had come too close to losing her life again. Now broke, dirty, hungry, and for the first time, finally scared for her safety, she had to get out of there.
But how?
She glanced around. The streets were mostly empty, but then a taxi sped by. Then a white delivery truck. Otherwise, there were only a few lone souls shuffling around. Doing what? Nothing. But probably more than she was doing.
She stopped short. She had to get out or die. It seemed pretty clear that was where this was headed. But how? Where to go? And what could she do?
Tears dripped over her eyelids. She wiped them, somewhat startled. She hadn’t cried in years. Not since her first few nights alone on the street. She was so scared then. The dirt and grime everywhere offended her. She was too grossed out to let any of it touch her. She soon became hungry, and lacking any skills for living on the street, she started to starve. She wouldn’t have survived, either, not if Jerome hadn’t found her and helped her.
Jerome.
No. She wouldn’t think of him now. He was gone. Like everything else in her life. Everyone else. But he taught her what no one else could, how to survive on the streets.
She closed her hand into a tight fist. Starting now. She’d had less before and managed to make do. It was time to get out of there before she couldn’t and got stuck there forever.
Chapter One
HE WAS A DAMN cop.
She recognized right off that he was in law enforcement.
The uniform. The gun. The commanding but neutral facial expression. The air of something confident and cool around him. She carefully kept her gaze away from his and tried to slink away. Ignore him. Turn into the kitchen. But oh, no. She was called over to serve him because he was sitting in her section. And since it was her first day of employment in this establishment, she had no desire to draw attention to herself by not following orders. Her job, serving at the small diner, was only attained by lying through her teeth and hoping no one would check up on the fake references or other information she had written down on her application.
Damn officer. Why did he have to sit in her section? And during the first few hours of the first day of her employment here? What was he? A sheriff? DEA? What? She couldn’t decide what branch of cop-dom he served in, she just knew he served in one of them.
And she hated law enforcement. All of them.
She had plenty of good reasons too. Cops weren’t known for being sympathetic to runaways that liked getting high and who often stole to survive and sometimes prostituted themselves. She hadn’t met too many she found exactly endearing. They were mostly rough, crass, rude, and one even bribed her into having sex with him. She gritted her teeth at the horrible memory. Yeah, cops were not the patrons she wanted to serve.
Oh, but serve she would. She supposed it was easier than many of the other things she’d done for several years. Sighing, she resigned herself to come closer to him. He slipped into a table all by himself and slid off a khaki hat that was covered in badges before putting it on the table.
Maybe he wasn’t a typical police officer. But he was definitely involved in law enforcement.
He wore dark green pants with several large, functional pockets down the sides, and a standard khaki shirt with emblems that indicated whatever rank he was. He was all tucked in, neat and tidy. Professional as all hell. His belt offered her the first clue that he wasn’t some kind of harmless volunteer. A big, intimidating, black gun was holstered on his side. There was a large walkie-talkie and other gadgets attached to the black belt around his waist. She glanced outside. He drove a beige-colored pickup with the state insignia on its sides. It looked very official with antennas that extended out the top and sides of it. She had avoided him at first, refusing eye contact, and no unnecessary conversation, as she did with all the police. She preferred to avoid authority at all costs after spending too many years on the street hiding from them. She came up to the table, slipping him the menu and pouring ice water into the clear little glass in front of him.
He had long fingers and no rings. She didn’t lift her gaze to look at his face. He had auburn hair, not quite brown, but not red or blond either. Chestnut. So what? His hair was nice. Might be the only thing to redeem him, she sneered silently.
“Hi. Today’s special is a tuna melt with a side of fries and cole slaw. I’ll give you a minute to look at the menu,” she said, speaking quickly while staring directly into his water glass. She turned t
o flee.
“Wait. I don’t need a minute.” The deep, even, commanding voice followed behind her.
Great. She took in a long breath to conceal her annoyance and keep her facial features pleasant and neutral. As neutral as his. She turned back to him and stepped over to the table, pulling out the small tablet the owner—a pretty, African-American woman named Chloe—had given her when she started this morning.
“You’re new.” The voice addressed her again. He was staring up at her, and she could feel his gaze. Still, she refused to make eye contact.
She nodded and mumbled, “Mmm-hmm.”
“When did Chloe hire you?”
Okay, this cop was a regular, obviously. She frowned and restrained a long sigh. Tapping the pen on her pad, she was trying to give him a nonverbal hint to hurry it up, anything, so she could slip away from him. “A few days ago.”
“I’ll have a hamburger, fries and a side salad, Italian dressing. I get in about now most days for lunch. Chloe didn’t mention me?”
She bristled. Oh great, a cop who felt so entitled, he believed she should know all about him. Perhaps she should have bowed down to him too. “No.”
A hamburger every single day? What a boring ass. She bit her lower lip to prevent any sarcastic statement from popping out of her mouth. No. She refused to lose this job. After spending the last few years doing things… too many things to get off the streets, this, finally, was her best shot at legitimacy. She wanted, craved, and longed to be mainstream, normal, and ordinary… To contribute as a real person in society. Now she was legit and she desperately wanted to find out what that meant. She couldn’t really remember anymore.
“Noted. I’ll go now and put your order in.” Your Highness.
He nodded at her but she only noticed from the corners of her eyes. Nope. Still refusing direct contact. Turning, she slipped away and rushed over to the cook. She was Chloe’s aunt and she waved at Tara, saying, “I saw him come in; it’ll be ready in a few.”