A monster I would do anything to get back.
Every night is the same. Visions of him dance through my dreams. Memories of our time together. Each time I wake with my hand between my legs, I wonder if there will ever be anyone else or if I am doomed to lust after a man buried six feet under.
A soft reminiscent sigh falls from my lips as I push away the fading desire left by my dreams and ready myself for the day. There are several files that still need to be decrypted, but Mark has made headway on hacking into the Wells Fargo mainframe to find the owner of the mysterious bank account number.
Bank account numbers are assigned based on availability and branch locations. The sixteen-digit account number originated from a branch based out of Boston. A creeping sensation slithers up my spine when he informed me of the account’s origins. There is only one person I know who would have a bank account that originated in that city.
My grandfather.
Libby did her research into Seamus McDonough not long after she encountered him with Elias. The dates go back nearly a year, right after I ran away. Her notes state that she suspected we were somehow related.
The most disturbing part?
My sister managed to link him back to my mother’s abduction.
Unable to acquire Katherine Moore’s case number. Managed to hack crime scene photos, but the evidence has obvious signs of tampering as does the coroner’s report. There are things that aren’t lining up and they all lead back to the man with the silver cross. Detective on case…
Full stop.
It is her final note on the subject, and it isn’t even finished.
“Have we gotten any packages in from the Portland police?” I ask Maksim. He is usually the one who deals with deliveries.
“Nyet,” he answers in Russian. They have taken to saying small words in Russian here and there to assist me in learning the language. Small step, Vas said, to help me connect with the men and women I command.
Not that all of them speak Russian. There are more than a few Italians and Greeks in the mix, too.
“Spasiba,” I murmur, dejected at still not having the shipment the woman promised me. It has been nearly three weeks since she told me she would send the documents and released evidence over and there is nothing. When I tried calling the precinct again, they told me she wasn’t in. Vacation or something like that.
I am calling bullshit.
“What did you order?” Vas queries, his eyes not moving from his cell phone as Maksim drives through the compound and away from the administration building.
“Case file and evidence from my mother’s murder,” I admit with a sigh. “She was supposed to send it three weeks ago and now she is on vacation.”
“Stinks of something foul.”
I nod my head in agreement.
“She mentions that there were some big names who had a hand in my mother’s case file,” I think back to the phone conversation I had with her. “She doesn’t say who. Just that the detective on the case, Jonny Morelli, was as dirty as they come.”
“Why would they send you the files on an open case?”
“According to her the case is closed.”
“Did they ever find out who did it?” Maksim eyes me through the rearview mirror.
“Well—no.”
Now that he points it out, I don’t remember anyone being arrested and charged with my mother’s murder. Nothing. If that is true, how did they close the case?
“Stop the car.”
Maksim growls as he slams on the brakes. Vas grunts, his phone flying from his hands, his body jolting forward with the force of the stop.
“What the fuck?”
My eyes drift out the window as we speak, landing on the capacious grass courtyard that sprawls across one part of the compound. It is eleven in the morning, and it is already crawling with people.
