Page 7 of Haunted

“I can give you a little money; help with whatever you need.”

“Rita, you already do. Knowing Henley is loved and cared for is the only thing that matters.”

“I love you both, Shannon. I can’t imagine the struggles you’ve been through, but I thank God every day for bringing the two of you into my life. We don't judge in my family and that’s what you are…family. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I swear it.”

It was a bullshit promise, one I never let on I’d heard until the day she was found beaten and bloodied in a motel room. Nana and I sat at her bedside for three days, staring at the ugly bruises around her neck, praying for her to regain consciousness. It was then I told the woman who’d become my surrogate grandmother about the conversation I’d overheard; that I knew precisely what it was my mother did for a living.

She held me up when all I wanted to do was rail against a system that had forced my mom to sell her body to keep a roof over our heads. Then she held me tighter when we buried Mom less than a week later, six months before my eighteenth birthday.

The rumble of the approaching bus brought me back to the here and now. Reaching into my purse, I grabbed my wallet, thankful no one had robbed me while I’d been unconscious, and pulled out five one dollar bills for the fare. As I went to shut the clasp, the empty slot in the front drew my attention. My license wasn’t there.

A loud hissing filled the air when the bus came to a stop a few feet in front of me. Scrambling off the bench, Irushed up the steps, handed the driver my money, then made my way through the crowd to a seat in the back.

Panic began to set in as I searched inside my bag. I always kept it in the same spot, but hoped in all the confusion of the last twenty-four hours, it had merely fallen out. However, luck was not on my side. It was gone.

Blowing out a breath, I closed my eyes, letting the hum of the engine and the chatter of the other passengers calm my racing heart. The noise grounded me, reminded me that even in the midst of chaos…I would survive. There was no other choice.

The skies had darkened when I reached my destination a little over an hour later. I sighed in relief at the sight of my crappy blue Ford Taurus in the same spot where I’d left it the day before. It wasn’t much, but it was home…literally.

If Nana Rita had any idea I’d been living out of my car for almost two months, she’d blow a gasket. I hated lying to her—abhorred it, really—but telling her the truth wouldn’t make any difference in the end. What was done was done and there wasn’t anything either of us could do to change it.

He’dwon. Plain and simple.

Crawling into the back seat, I pulled a bottle of water, along with a small jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread from the cardboard box I kept on the floor. The protein would help to slowly increase my blood sugar levels without the risk of it crashing back down too quickly.

When I was a student, I had access to the school's health clinic and could get my medication at a discounted cost. Since that was no longer an option, I had to get creative when managing my diabetes. “A well balanced diet is the key to glycemic control,” my doctors used to say, however when your funds were limited, peanut butter was the next best option.

Once my sandwich was finished, I turned on my side and stretched my legs across the seat, covering my body with the plush throw blanket I’d bought at Goodwill. The nights weren’t horrendously cold yet, since we’d just entered the fall season. Hopefully I'd be able to save enough money before winter commenced to rent a small apartment. Hell, at this point I’d settle for renting a room. I might be strong, but there’s no way I’d last the winter in West Virginia living out of my car.

With those depressing thoughts in my head, I fell into a fitful sleep.

2MONDAY’S SHOULD BE OUTLAWED

Keaton

“Still no luck, huh?”

My partner and all-around pain-in-my-ass, Noah Anderson, questioned when I strolled into the small satellite FBI office Monday morning. I ignored him, tossing my keys on my desk and hanging my leather briefcase on the back of my chair before making my way across the room with only one goal in mind. Coffee. I needed a vat of the stuff in order to have this conversation.

It had been over a week since I’d literally stumbled upon Henley Graves on the sidewalk and, for some unknown reason, I couldn’t get her out of my head. There was also the fact her driver’s license was still in my possession. If I were being honest with myself, it was merely the excuse I was using to track her down.

Something about her piqued my interest, which should have sent up all sorts of red flags. Instead, I’d damn near turned into a stalker.

As I took my first sip of liquid gold, the remainder of our motley crew began to trickle through the front doors.

At first glance, Nelson Travers reminded me of one of those guys who lived in their parents’ basement, playing video games with his online buddies for hours at a time. The man was a fucking genius with computers though; one of the best hackers I’d ever met.

“Did you find her?” Sammy, Nelson’s wife, asked quietly as I sidestepped to give her access to the pot.

The couple had joined our team a little over a year ago and gave new meaning to the phrase opposites attract. Nelson, while not a bad-looking guy, wore bow ties and sweater vests, while Sammy dressed like she’d just stepped onto the runway at a fashion show in Milan.

“Not yet,” I responded, leaning my ass against the counter.

“Mondays should be outlawed,” Koen Banks, the youngest of our group at twenty-five, announced with a grunt, his black Ray-Ban sunglasses still perched on his face despite the cloudy sky outside.

“If you didn’t party all weekend long, you wouldn’t be hungover ’til Tuesday.” Lanie elbowed him in the ribs as she passed him on the way to their shared desk.

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