Page 153 of Heartless Legacy

“Like those throwing stars you promised me, and if that was a lie, then I’m sure I can find something in your knife collection to amuse me. How do you feel about canary yellow?”

He looks torn between telling her she can do whatever she wants with his knives and threatening to stab her with them. I’m sure that was the point. I spin my chair around when she drifts closer to me. “If you unplug my computers, again, you’ll find yourself tied to my bed with the cords.”

“You think so?”

“Iknow, so. So unless you’re interested in acting out a captive kink, leave them alone.”

She chuckles, in that throaty way she has, and leans towards my desk, hand outstretched. She stops halfway, the amusement on her face shifting to shock, disbelief, then anger.

“Why the hell do you have a photo of my mother on your computer screen?”

Thea

I blink, thinking I have to be seeing things, but I’m not. There’s a photo of my mom just hanging out on Holden’s screen. I straighten, putting space between us, waiting for him to answer. “Start talking, Holden.”

He spins in his chair, and has the nerve to ask, “Where?” Like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

“I’m not in the mood for your games.”

“Who’s playing games? Which one is your mother?”

I jab the screen. “Her. The woman holding the paper mache elephant.”

He clicks the read more link under the photo. “Caroline Bochaump?”

“Hailee LaReaux!”

He slides his chair to the side and pulls me closer. “Look. The name on the article says Caroline Bochaump.” He’s staring at my profile as I read it for myself. “That’s your mother?”

He sounds sincere, and a bit confused about the whole thing. Turning to look at him, I ask, “Are you-. Did you really not know?”

Finn’s moved closer. He asks, “How would we know? The only mother of yours we’ve ever met is Moira.”

My anger deflates, just to be replaced by bitter heartache as I stare at my mom’s beautiful face. Touching the screen, I whisper, “Mama.”

I can’t believe I’m looking at a picture of her. The photo was taken after the last time I saw her. She didn’t have that tattoo on her hand before.

“Where is this?” When neither of them answers, I repeat. “Where was this photo taken?”

As always, it’s Holden who breaks the bad news, no matter how painful it might be to hear. “It was at a rehabilitation and treatment facility in Connecticut.”

I grab the mouse, zooming in on the photo. Rock Mountain Rehabilitation and Treatment Facility. The name is a dead giveaway. “It’s a league owned facility, isn’t it?”

“We believe so.” Finn’s knife is out, as if there’s a threat ready to spring out of the computer. “We literally just stumbled across this hospital’s connection to Rockridge, right before you knocked on the door.”

“Can you access patient records to see-” I swallow thickly, and push down the feelings threatening to spill out of my mouth. Now is not the time to get emotional. “Can you see if she’s still there or get a record of her time there?”

Holden clicks through screens and brings up a prompt box. He types so fast and clicks so much, I can’t follow what all the strings of code, numbers and symbols say. “Their files are behind a firewall that seems impenetrable.”

“You can’t get through?”

He looks over at me, a half smile on his face. “I said itseemsimpenetrable. I’ll get in. I just need some time.”

I hate the look in mom’s eyes. So eerily familiar to the one I sometimes see when I look too long in the mirror. The longer Ilook at the photo, the more the reality of the situation sinks in. After my mother left me, she either ran or was dragged to the other side of the country. Either way, at some point, she was in a league facility.

“I’m not getting any hits on the name Caroline Bochaump anywhere in Connecticut.”

I’ve been telling myself she’s dead. I made peace with that. Looking at this photo and being confronted with the possibility that she’s alive opens a crack in my heart. “You didn’t get any hits on my name either. You wouldn’t if someone was intentionally hiding her.”

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