Page 5 of Ace

I know I have separated myself from what's going on here. Before, I felt a little territorial because I wanted this to work so badly, but sticking my nose where it doesn't belong is my own character flaw. It's the cracks in the hard outer shell I've worked to form for decades. I can't care for these people past wanting them to work their cases and get out safely.What kind of hypocrite would I be if I let myself get emotional over the choices they were willing to make?

I stare down at his hand for the briefest of seconds before offering mine as well. The handshake feels like a truce, telling me that even though we may not see completely eye to eye, we're both in this for the right reasons.

Chapter 2

Cora

I don't want to fucking talk to you. Isn't that obvious?

The first time I heard my sister's voicemail memo, I cringed. She should know better than to have such a vulgar recorded message.

Now that I've been hearing it automatically when I call her phone for weeks now, it makes me want to cry.

"Still no answer?"

I dash away the tears forming on my lower lashes before turning around to face the youngest Preston of four.

I pull in a deep breath as I offer him a kind smile. "She's probably still mad at me."

"She's stubborn," he says, probably something he's heard nearly every day of his nineteen-year-old life.

Sadie, the second youngest, has been causing problems for longer than she hasn't, it seems, and, at twenty-three, she has the ability to do it with absolutely no oversight. She never saw our late father's political career as a reason to act right and behave like us other three kids. If anything, she saw it as something to destroy. She spent a lot of time doing just that up until his death five years ago, but it didn't stop there. William, the oldest male child, also has political aspirations and Sadie seems determined to continue to ruin the family name.

That was until a couple of weeks ago when a dose of very tough love, the first administered by me, left her leaving here and cutting all ties.

At least that's what I want to believe, although my head has conjured up all sorts of scenarios as to why she hasn't called or come by the house, either to beg for money or steal something she can trade for drugs.

Sadie was seventeen when our father, Senator William Preston Sr. washed his hands of her after her shenanigans, including video proof of just how wild she is, went viral. That didn't stop me from helping her every chance I got. She's family, and although my dad was done with her, I knew I couldn't be.

She was young and immature. She just needed to grow up. I was grown when our mother died, although it was still hard at twenty-five. Sadie was only eleven when she suffered that blow, and although she was already acting out some before our mother's death, it really ramped up after. She was fifteen the first time she took off and was gone for five days.

So, although it isn't unlike her to be gone without a word, I can't help but think I've seen my sister for the last time after being so hard on her.

"She'll be back," Chris says as he grabs an apple from the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island. "She always comes back."

I dip my head in agreement, not wanting to worry him any more than I have to. He's in college, and I don't want his grades to suffer because our sister can't get her life together. She's caused enough damage to our family, something I reminded her of the last time I saw her.

Chris squeezes my hand before leaving the kitchen. He's the kindest of us all. I think that him being only seven when our mother passed, after losing a brief battle with cancer, made it a little easier for the void of her loss to be filled in.

At that time, I'd already moved back home, even though I was still working on my master's degree, to help my mother and father. After her death, I never left again. When our father passed away from a heart attack, I just sort of took over.

As the oldest, I felt like there needed to be someone for the others to come home to. I couldn't see selling the house we all grew up in. After the loss of both parents, it felt too big of a thing to give up.

I feel every one of my thirty-seven years as I leave the kitchen and go to the home office. It was my father's, and I can recall many closed-door meetings that took place in here while he was at the height of his numerous campaign runs for the United States Senate.

William Jr. got an earlier start in politics than our father did, and now, at thirty, he's on his way to becoming a great leader. Someone the great state of South Carolina can be proud of.

I don't know if it was guilt or some sixth sense, but after eight days of not hearing back from Sadie, although I've left numerous messages, I reached out to a friend of my father, retired senator, Robert Dyer.

I've been waiting for a return email since I hit send on the one I sent to him, and luckily, I've got my response.

The email doesn't provide as much relief as I hoped it would, but at least he provides me with the name of an organization I can call.

It reads…

I have a friend who runs an organization out of New Mexico that is very good with locating missing persons. They don't normally work domestic cases, but I can call in a favor.

I respond back, letting him know that I appreciate his response and would be very grateful for any help he could offer in this matter. I realize when I hit send on the second email just how formal it all sounds.

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