“Your dad did well for himself,” Carter said. “He didn’t make mistakes. If he was hiding something, I will uncover it.”
After he exited my office, I studied the information on Olivia and Tate Maxwell and committed it to memory. You couldn’t tell they were siblings. They didn’t share a single feature.
Olivia was book smart and had excellent grades. Tate had failed every subject but gym. His records also showed a history of violent foster fathers. Tate had defended himself. And the images of his foster fathers made it clear the kid could throw a punch.
The men in the photos had dislocated jaws, broken noses, cuts on their lips, and black-and-blue eyes. Tate would make the perfect bodyguard if he could show some restraint.
On the other hand, Olivia was the model student. She had recommendation letters from her teachers and belonged to several clubs, including the debate team. This girl was going places, but her brother was holding her back.
I wanted to save Olivia.
First, I had to find her.
CHAPTER 3
OLIVIA
I’m going to die.
Knees curled into my swollen stomach, I leaned against the brick wall and stared at the sky, wishing for rain. Even a single drop of water would do. On hot days like this one, my skin ached from all the sunburns. My chapped lips cracked and split from dehydration.
I reached over and grabbed my older brother’s hand. “Tate, we should move someplace shadier. We’re too exposed out here.”
He didn’t respond, so I shook him.
“Tate, wake up.”
Our last decent meal was three days ago, when we feasted on scraps from the dumpster. Restaurants waste so much good food. For months, we survived on whatever we could find. Unfortunately, our last trash haul only lasted a day. By now, the hunger pains had settled deep into my belly, stabbing like a knife.
“Tate,” I shouted when my brother wouldn’t wake. “Please don’t do this to me. Open your eyes.”
We’d been waiting in the alley behind the bakery for hours, hoping they would throw out a loaf of stale bread or even a tube of icing—anything to keep us satiated.
“Hey,” a deep voice boomed.
A shiver rushed down my arms, my heart racing faster as footsteps approached from behind. If Tate were alert, he would have already grabbed my hand and yanked me down the alley. My older brother had been running for so long that he knew nothing else.
I held up my hands. “We’re not hurting anyone.”
Store owners often called the police because they didn’t want us loitering near their businesses. People like us were not welcome in a wealthy town like Beacon Bay. But this was the best place to find discarded luxury items and high-quality food. Trash or not, it was still worth something.
“You can lower your hands.” He hunched down beside me, and I instantly recognized his expensive aftershave. “I’m not a cop.”
My mouth widened in shock.
It was the same rich boy Tate had turned down for the past few months. He had short brown hair styled off his forehead and the biggest blue eyes I’d ever seen.
“Drake,” I choked out, wondering if I was hallucinating.
Everything about Drake Battle screamed money, from his tailored shirt and pants to his shiny black shoes. He carried himself like a man twice his age, yet he wasn’t much older than me. And for some odd reason, he always wore a suit.
The gold cufflinks shone when the sunlight hit them just right. I wondered how much they cost and whether we could pawn them for a decent price. Knowing Drake, they were worth a fortune.
For months, Drake had shown up at abandoned houses and stalked us down dirty alleys, offering to bring us home with him.His kindness seemed genuine. So did those striking eyes that held me captive whenever he stared directly at me.
Tate didn’t trust people with money. Whenever Drake came around, he told him to get lost. Once, he swung at Drake, but despite his pretty-boy good looks, he could handle himself. He got my brother in a headlock and held him until he calmed down.
If Drake were to tell the police about us, we would get split up again. That was our real concern. I wanted a roof over my head, clean clothes, and a decent meal. But the thought of losing Tate again hurt too much. I’d rather struggle on the streets than live without him.
