Page 41 of Heartless Legacy

I can understand the allure of it. Of having someone caring about you. Showering you with gifts and the love you’re missing. Validating your worth when no one else does. I’ve seen lots of girls get pulled into that trap. I could have been one of them, but Sasha and the love of boosting cars got their hooks into me first.

“It took some time to get close to the daughter, but I did. I pulled her out, and the District Attorney convinced her to testify. This guy’s family was connected, and I didn’t trust that the police or DA would keep her safe. I had an emergency contact number for the shadowy men. I’d never used it before, but I did that time to get the family to safety.”

He pauses, finishing his coffee, then sets the mug on the coffee table. “About five or six months after that, I received a postcard of Jackson Square in the mail. It had a date, time, and location to meet. I went out of curiosity and had a lovely chat with a man, who was a curator for the New Orleans Museum of Art. He believed three paintings hanging in the gallery were forgeries, but didn’t want to alert the public or his bosses without proof. I took the job. Tracked down two of the paintings and earned a nice little reward. The work kept rolling in.”

I pluck at the plush pillow next to me while he continues. “I took a lot of legitimate jobs, but those didn’t always pay the bills. Working that forgery job got me into art history. I realized there were lots of missing artifacts and artworks from war-ravaged countries, and stolen high value items from museums or banks that were never recovered. The insurance paid out, but what people don’t know is the return of those items came with a monetary benefit as well.”

Now, that sounds fun. Tracking and stealing for a purpose. Helping people. It’s a good use of the skills he developed in The League. “You became a treasure hunter?”

“Treasure re-homer.” He smiles. “And sometimes the treasure being re-homed is a person. I did some skip tracing for law enforcement and eventually hired a small team. A secretary to take calls and prep files, and a couple of ex-military to help work cases. They were all people starting second lives, if you will. One day, an employee from a government agency approached me. They needed help tracking someone and needed it quiet. I took the job, but I knew I also needed a layer of protection between what I was about to do and my main business.” He gestures towards the walls. “The first team of the Phoenix Foundation was born.”

“What happened to the PI business?”

“It’s still very much operational in Louisiana. The location of our offices changed, but we’ve been serving the parishes for over thirty years. I like being able to offer affordable services to the mom who’s worried about her daughter, the daughter who thinks the mother is being abused by her care provider, husbands whose wives are screwing the pool boy, and defendants who skip out on bail.”

I consider my surroundings again, trying to imagine a twenty-something Alexz scrapping together cash to put his first team together. It’s possible. I have a nice little nest egg built up. I think of the jobs I did to amass my earnings. It was enough that I could maybe add another person to our team, but neither Sasha nor I could think of anyone else in Nags Creek we could trust.

Someone knocks twice, then pushes the door open. “Sir, the team is on site, ready to execute.”

Alexz stands. “I’m sorry Thea. I’m needed in the command center. We’ll have to finish this conversation later.”

I follow him out of his office and slowly make my way back to my room. Keeping to the walls of the passageways so I don’t accidentally brush up against anyone.

I’m getting used to seeing people, but touching is still a no-go.

Chapter 26

Finn

The mansion in the middle of nowhere was being used as a hospital before someone turned it into a pile of kindling. It was an unmonitored medical facility, licensed and accredited by absolutely no fucking one. Whoever was in charge of the place abandoned it, the patients, and employees, and left them all to be incinerated in the fire.

Holden and I have read the Fire Marshal and police reports. The staff has been less than helpful in both investigations. Ordinarily I wouldn’t give a shit about a burning building, but it’s in the dead camera zone, and it’s one of the locations pinged on the waste removal van’s GPS. That makes it a clue. To what? We do not know, but it feels important. That’s why I’m here at Canyon Falls General, talking to a woman with skin so translucent that I know it’s been years since the last time she’s seen sunlight.

She’s having trouble keeping her thoughts straight, but there are two things she’s said repeatedly. She’s only thirty-three (but looks like she’s every bit of fifty plus), and when I asked her name, she keeps muttering something about how they took them so they don’t exist. None of the other patients have anything to say at all. They’re doped up or too catatonic to talk.

Exiting her room, I head to the nurses’ station. It might be easier to sweet talk one of the nurses into sharing some details. As I’m approaching the desk, I spot two men poking their heads into the patient rooms further down the hall.

I pull out my phone, and hit record, while pretending to type something. They stop at the nurses’ station and one of them asks if any patients from the fire are on a separate floor, quickly explaining that he’s looking for his sister.

Whoever the girl is, she’snothis sister. The frown on his face, and the worry in his voice are as fake as the lashes on the nurse’s eyelids, and just as unbelievable. But the nurse doesn’t seem to notice or doesn’t care. She asks for the sister’s name and date of birth.

“Marcy Glover, and to be honest, I’m not sure of her birthday.”

She looks up from her computer and repeats, “You don’t know your sister’s birthday?”

“I do, but you see, she’s had some medical issues her whole life. I’ve been deployed overseas and just got back into town. I’ve been dealing with the passing of our grandmother, who raised us, and to be honest, I’m not even sure if granny had all her dates and things straight. So I’m not sure what birthday she would have listed for my sister. Sometimes she mixed up our dates. Can’t you just look it up by her name?”

He’s spinning his lie and I’ve moved to sit in a chair, zooming in on the two. The nurse types something and looks up at him, repeating the name, “Marcy Glover?”

“That’s right. With an e. M-A-R-C-Y-E.”

Marcy,with an e. Okay, thanks for the clue buddy. I know before the nurse answers that this Marcye isn’t here, and if she was a patient at the burned down hospital, sheshouldbe here. This is where the police report says all the patients were transported to.

I’ve been here all day andMarcyeis the first person to have a so-called family member come searching for her. I’m here, but I didn’t pretend to be a relative. My disguise was a delivery guy, and I came loaded with flowers and balloons for the patients. I look back towards the room where the young grandmom is, her words echoing in my head.They took them so they don’t exist.

I leave the waiting area before the two guys do. I’m in my car in front of the hospital, when they exit the building. Judging by the set of their shoulders and the grim looks on their faces, whoever it is that they’re looking for is a problem, and they’re on a mission to silence her. They cross to the employee parking lot, jump into a black SUV, and exit the hospital campus.

I keep a reasonable distance as I follow them through town. Our trip leads me deeper into the Southside than I’ve ever ventured before. I keep checking my rearview mirror to make sure nobody’s following me, following them. I’m pretty sure I haven’t been spotted, but you can never be too careful.

---