Page 43 of Crude Heir

Hey, bro. Sorry to take so long to get back to you. I’ve been tied up with a student.

I scan past it quickly, needing to get to the meat of the email.

I checked into Nicole, and it looks like you’ve got trouble on your hands.

The certainty I felt tangles into a knot in my stomach, sinking to the bottom as I scroll down, continuing to read.

Nicole Fuentes. Age twenty-one.

She has a year-long lease on a low-rent, one-bedroom apartment in a predominantly Hispanic, neighborhood in Pasadena.

According to the IRS she’s working for a staffing service coming up on a year. Worked at Stewart and Villagran Accounting Services prior to that.

She was going to college part-time while she was there but dropped right before switching jobs. That coincides with the death of her parents in a single-car collision. I included a link to the story in case you want more details there.

Fatal Accident Claims Two Lives.

The link sits in the middle of the screen. It’s one more way for me to intrude into her life, learn what she hasn’t brought up in the short time we’ve been together. I stare at it for an interminable moment then continue.

She’s clean, as in squeaky clean. And you know how I feel about that.

Yeah, Chase finds people like that a challenge. Believes if they’re that clean, they probably have something to hide. An icy shiver creeps down my spine as I continue reading, a wave of dread filling me with surprising speed.

So I went looking farther back.

Fuck. I should have gone with my gut, stuck to the suspicion I started out with. Instead, I brought her home and fucked her into unconsciousness.

Born in League City, Texas.

Went to school in Dickinson. Exemplary student.

Took some time off between graduating and starting the accounting job.

She has one credit card, which she pays regularly. Her biggest overall expense has been a secondhand car. Her purchases are primarily groceries, gas and maintenance on the car, and a ridiculous amount of romance novels.

After everything is paid, she withdraws the money from the bank, keeping a running balance at about one hundred dollars.

Now for the interesting part. She’s turning twenty-two on September nineteenth, yet the state records show Nicole Fuentes died when she was three.

What? I tighten my grip on the phone. Anxiety gnaws at my insides as I reread the last paragraph. While I don’t think it could have happened, I need to make sure I didn’t misunderstand anything.

The state records show Nicole Fuentes died when she was three.

No, it’s exactly as I read it the first time. In other words, she lied about who she is.

What else did she lie about?

Her fingerprints are on file. I sent them to a contact who has connections at Interpol, nothing popped up right away, but he’s going to do some digging. I don’t think we’re going to find anything. Either she’s been masquerading as Nicole for a long time, or she has great connections.

Be careful, man. Whoever you’re looking at is a ghost, in every sense of the word.

I stare down at the screen, struggling to draw breath in the steam-filled room. How could I have missed this? Nothing she has on her computer raised any flags. I brought her into my home, into my bed. And I left her alone with a link directly into the company’s payment program.

I’m an idiot!

Determined to confront her, I yank open the door and stalk through the bedroom. I’m not at the doorway yet, but from this angle, I can see she’s not at the table. Where the hell did she go? I need answers. I need the truth. And I need to hear it from her.

I come to an abrupt stop. Nicole is at the counter, rummaging through her bag, a curtain of dark hair hiding her face. She pulls out a hair tie, pulling it across her knuckles, then gathers the silky locks at the back of her head. She looks up, her eyes meeting mine.

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