After months of searching for Olivia and Tate Maxwell, my private investigator finally got a hit. Tracking down one, let alone two, foster kids wasn’t easy.
They entered the system at ages eleven and twelve. Olivia was lucky to find a decent family, but Tate landed in the worst shitholes.
Several days before I received the letter, Olivia’s foster parents had reported her missing. The police assumed she’d fled with her older brother, and the two were on the run.
Carter leaned forward in his chair and slid a manila envelope across my desk. “This is their last known location. If you don’t act now, you’ll lose them again. From what I can tell, they don’t crash in the same place for more than a few days. The boy is smart. He knows how to cover his tracks. My guess is they’ve survived on the streets this long because of him.”
I opened the folder and flipped through the pages. “And the girl?”
“Book smart. Like you.”
I smirked at his comment. Calling someone with a 182 IQ book smart was like calling a tiger a kitten.
My childhood was strange. I never attended school with kids my age. I was always the youngest in every class. The only normalcy I had growing up was spending time with Marcello and Sonny Cormac on the weekends.
By the age of ten, I was in high school. And by fourteen, I had earned my first degree from MIT. Thankfully, my body filled out, and I didn’t look as young over the years. But I still stood out among my peers.
My father resented me for being different. He never understood how my brain worked, and instead of embracing my gifts, he shamed me for them.
“Was Olivia tested?” I asked Carter. “Her scores are off-the-charts. She could be a senior, at the very least.”
“Her foster parents had their hands full with five other kids. I doubt they noticed she’s gifted.”
“She deserves a proper education.”
I scanned the dossier containing basic information about Tate and Olivia. The files included their most recent photos courtesy of Child Protective Services. The siblings looked nothing alike.
Tate had dark brown hair and eyes. Arms folded across his chest, he posed for the image, donning a hardened expression. At seventeen, he had the build of a football player—thick arms and a beefy chest. In some ways, he reminded me of my best friend Marcello, who never appeared his age.
Olivia’s long, caramel-colored hair draped over her shoulder as she smiled for the camera. A dimple popped on her right cheek. The prettiest green eyes stared back at me.
She flashed pearly white teeth and wore a light yellow dress. You could tell her foster parents had taken care of her, while Tate reminded me of a wild animal left out in the woods. They’d led very different lives since their separation.
I glanced up from the documents. “Is this everything you have on them?”
Carter bobbed his head. “Birth certificates, social security numbers, a list of foster homes, juvenile records, and academic progress reports. It’s all there.”
I closed the folder and leaned back in the leather chair. “You’re missing the most important piece of information.”
“I’m still working on it. Give me more time. Your father was a very private man. He never mentioned Tate or Olivia to me.”
My dad kept his secrets close to his chest. He was cold, devoid of emotion.
I didn’t know him.
No one did.
Thankfully, my mom was warm and loving. Without her, I would have become heartless.
“My dad must have had a relationship with their mother. There’s no other explanation.”
“I didn’t find any connection,” Carter said. “She was a junkie with bad credit and a laundry list of arrests for prostitution and possession of narcotics.”
“We’re missing something. Find the link.”
I said the last part through clenched teeth, furious with my father for burdening me with his problems. He could have given two shits about me when he was alive. Yet, the selfish bastard had me searching for some junkie’s kids.
I wanted to give up, but my sixth sense pushed me to keep going. Finding Olivia and Tate gave me purpose. I needed to understand my fucked-up family. There had to be a reason for this wild-goose chase.
