“Nope.” Zane came out of the forest and wrapped his arm around Blaze’s neck, giving her a kiss. “She’s mine. Thanks for cleaning up after me, babe.”
“At least he appreciates it,” Rebel said.
Thorne looked warily around. “Where the hell did those come from?”
Rebel could think of only one answer. “Someone has this place staked out,” Rebel said. “They knew where it was, and they knew we’d come here looking for the Seal.”
“That can’t be good,” Blaze murmured. “Do you think there’s more?”
“Let’s not stay to find out,” Thorne said. They piled into the SUV, and he turned it around and headed for the road. Rebel’s stomach stayed clenched until they were out of the woods.
“So what now?” Zane asked. “The Seal isn’t here, and someone is keeping tabs on us, hoping to get to us before we get to it.”
“What I want to know is how they found this place,” Thorne said. “It took us weeks to find it.”
“Someone hacked into our computer system?” Zane suggested.
Thorne swore. “I hope not.”
“Or maybe someone knows more about me than I do,” Rebel said. “That wouldn’t be hard.”
“So what next?” Blaze asked.
“I think we should go back town,” Rebel said. “Wasn’t there a cemetery there? If my mother—if she died with the Seal, maybe it somehow managed to be buried with her.”
“Unless the coven stole it,” Blaze said darkly.
“It’s supposed to be freely given,” Zane reminded her. “But I don’t know what would have happened if she died without passing it on. Maybe it would go dormant? Waiting?”
“All the more reason to try the cemetery,” Rebel said. “And besides, I’d like to lay some flowers on my parents’ grave.”
The cemetery was next to an old stone church, its arched red door standing open as if inviting people in.
They walked around the side of the church, under a green canopy of leaves from the huge old trees that shaded the grounds. The leaves rustled in the slight breeze, and dapples of sunlight danced over the well-tended grass and neat gravestones.
It was the middle of a weekday, and there was no one around except an older man sitting on a stone bench on the other side of the cemetery, his head bowed as if in prayer.
Her parents were in the back. They shared a simple gravestone, with nothing but their names and a single date.
No one had known who they really were, or when they were born. But someone had paid for the gravestone, she realized.
And for the flowers that had been planted on either side. As she added the small bouquet she’d bought from the local florist, Rebel wondered who had done that.
Blaze and Zane, after exchanging a glance, wandered off. Giving her privacy, Rebel realized. Thorne stayed with her, a little behind her, his hand on her shoulder.
“Do you want to be alone?” he asked.
Rebel thought about that, looking at the memorial to the last people who’d loved her, who’d died trying to protect her.
Whose loss had shaped her whole life.
“No,” she said finally. “I think I’m tired of being alone.”
Thorne moved in behind her, his arms sliding around her waist. She leaned back against his strong, warm chest, soaking in his strength. He kissed her temple softly.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She thought about that too. “No,” she said. “I just want to think about them.”
So she let the memories flow through her, there under the trees in the dappled sunlight, while Thorne held her.
She was startled out of her reverie by the older man who’d been sitting on the other side of the cemetery. “Pardon me, but…”
He was looking at her strangely. She felt Thorne tense, and saw Zane and Blaze, across the grounds, come to attention as well.
“Ellie?” the man said. “Eleanor Miller?”
Rebel stared at him. Thorne let go of her, and she turned to face the man. He was about sixty, ordinary-looking, balding with a slight paunch. Not exactly a threat, but Thorne remained wary.
“Ellie was my mother.” She indicated the gravestone.
“Of course. I’m a fool,” he said. “But you look enough like her—”
“To be her daughter,” Rebel said. “Rebecca.” She stumbled over the name.
His eyes went wide. “Of course you are,” he said. “Imagine you back here, after all this time.” He shook his head. “I was real sorry about what happened to your Ma. She was such a nice lady. So sad for her to go like that.”
Rebel felt excitement washing through her. This man knew her mother. “How did you know her, exactly?” She smiled at him. “My parents didn’t socialize very much.”
Like, at all. They were hiding out, far from town.
“Of course, you wouldn’t have known. I was her banker. John McHenry.” He held out his hand, and Rebel shook it automatically.
“There was money from a trust, you see. It used to get wired into her account every quarter, and she’d come to get the cash.”
Rebel remembered that now. Her mother going to town alone, every few months. And coming back with treats they usually couldn’t afford.
She exchanged a glance with Thorne. Money left a trail. “Do you know who it was from?” Rebel said. “I’m trying to track down my mother’s family. No one could find them at the time, and my sister and I went into foster care.”
Mr. McHenry’s face looked stricken. “I never knew that. The money came through a law firm over ‘t’other side of the state. I told the lawyers about her passing, and I figured they’d see to you young ones. If I’da known you had no one…”
He shrugged, fiddling with his handkerchief. “Well, your mamma was something special. I always felt bad she died so young, with no family around.” He looked uncomfortable. “Me and my wife set up the stone, and planted the flowers. Least we could do.”
Rebel felt tears starting in her eyes. She’d always thought no one cared about her, or her family, and here this man, practically a stranger, had cared enough to do this for them.
Thorne broke in. “Excuse me,” he said, “but you mentioned that a law firm administered the trust? Do you happen to remember the name? They might know how to contact the rest of her family.”
“Well, now, I can’t recall it off the top of my head,” he said. Rebel’s heart sank. “But it’s all in my files, of course, over to the bank. It’s just down the block.”
They looked at each other again. “Thank you,” Rebel said. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Well, it’s no trouble.” He pulled his cell out of his pocket and hit a couple of buttons. “Tiana?” he said, when someone answered the call. “Can you go down the basement and pull the Miller file? It’s from about oh, fifteen, sixteen years ago.”
There was a silence as the other person spoke.
“Yes, I know, but a few cobwebs never hurt no one.”
Rebel saw Blaze smiling and shaking her head, and they exchanged glances. Yeah, sure, no trouble, except for the poor assistant who had to root around in the basement among the spiders.
But she wasn’t about to object. This could be the clue they were looking for. Thorne squeezed her hand, and they walked off down the street.
The bank was an old-fashioned one, with a dark wooden tellers’ counter and marble floors. It was cool inside. Tiana had already made a copy of the contact information for the law firm, and Rebel made sure to thank her for her trouble.
“You have a cobweb caught in your hair,” Blaze said to her innocently.
Tiana rolled her eyes. “If John wasn’t such a sweetie, I wouldn’t set foot down in that place,” she muttered. “Anything could be down there.”
Rebel thanked her again, trying not to laugh.
Thorne was shaking hands with John McHenry. “Is there anything else you can tell us?” he was saying quietly. “About the night her parents died?”
M
r. McHenry shook his head regretfully. “I wasn’t in town when it happened. Wife and I were off visiting my daughter. Second grandchild.” He shook his head. “She’s in high school now. Time sure flies.” He frowned, then brightened. “Sheriff would know, though. Damien Shore. He was only a deputy then, but he was there that night. Heard him tell about it.”
They said their goodbyes, and Rebel put a hand on John McHenry’s arm. “Thank you,” she said. “And thank you for the headstone, and the flowers. My mother would have liked that.”
“She was a real special lady.” He patted her hand, and they left.
Chapter 36
Once they were outside of the office, Rebel noticed Thorne was looking grim.
“What?” she asked.
Thorne had been leafing through the paperwork. “I recognize this law firm—Farnham & Peabody. By reputation, anyway. They’re sorcerers.”
“Sorcerer lawyers?” Rebel said. “That can’t be good.”
Thorne shrugged. “No worse than any lawyers, as far as I know. But they work with a lot of covens. Witches and vampires. Which means that your mother’s trust fund probably came from her home coven.”
Rebel was back on ‘vampires.’ “That nice man is sending me to a vampire lawyer?”
Thorne grinned. “He probably doesn’t know about that part. And anyway,” he slung his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple, “I’ll be with you.”
“Careful,” she said. “I hear dragon blood is very valuable. Better wear a turtleneck.”
They left Blaze and Zane getting ice cream while they talked to the sheriff. Rebel figured that four people crowding into his office would seem suspicious.
He seemed suspicious anyway. He ushered them into his office and offered them coffee, which they declined. He looked to be in his late thirties, with short brown hair that had a hint of gray at the temples, and piercing blue eyes.
“I remember that case,” he said, his gaze fixed on Rebel. “I was a rookie deputy. It wasn’t me that picked up the kids—it was Roger Bart. He’s not with us anymore. But I remember those two girls, big one and a little one, sitting in here looking so lost.”
Rebel didn’t remember him, but she remembered this office. It looked almost the same as it had that night, when she and Tempest sat here, wrapped in blankets, drinking watery hot chocolate.
“Hard to believe that was you.” He almost sounded like he didn’t believe her. “We were going to turn the girls over to the state welfare agency, but then that government guy came in and just swept you all away.”
He gave a short laugh, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Honestly, we thought you were in some kind of witness protection.”
“Government guy?” Rebel said. She didn’t remember that.
Sheriff Shore narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Suit, black car, the whole works. What was his name? Jackson?”
He was gazing at her like she was a suspect and he was waiting for her to incriminate herself. Rebel opened her mouth to say she didn’t remember, and another memory slammed into her so hard her temples throbbed.
“Johnson,” she said slowly. Images filtered into her mind. “Black hair, black suit, black shirt. Red tie. Smelled like mints.”
Thorne raised his eyebrows. The sheriff leaned back in his chair. “Well. You surely do have a good memory, Miss… Smith.”
What Miss Smith had was a raging headache. She felt like someone was pounding her head with a jackhammer.
She suddenly got the feeling she wasn’t supposed to ever have remembered Mr. Johnson.
Thorne leaned forward in his chair. “Here’s the thing, Sheriff,” he said. “My fiancé was in foster care for years. Her parents may or may not have been in Witness Protection—she has no knowledge of that. Now that we’re about to be married, and maybe have a family of our own, she has a renewed interest in trying to track down her biological relatives. Any information could help. Is it possible to get a copy of your case file?”
The sheriff gazed at Rebel thoughtfully, turning a pen over and over in his hands.
“Well, now, that would be against regulations, without proof you are who you say you are. Can’t be handing people’s case files out to just anyone.”
Rebel’s heart sank. “I don’t know how I could prove it,” she said. “It’s not like I was carrying a driver’s license. I was twelve years old.”
He frowned. “I coulda sworn you were eleven.”
“I lied about my age,” she said.
He gave a huff of laughter, but again, it didn’t reach his eyes. “You must’ve been quite a kid. Tell you what, though. We took fingerprints of you and your sister, to see if they matched any missing children. All you have to do is press your finger on our scanner, and presto! If the prints match, then you’re our little Rebel. You can have the file.”
Rebel exchanged glances with Thorne, really wishing they could talk mind to mind when he was human. She didn’t like the idea of giving up her fingerprint, but there wasn’t much risk attached. She wasn’t in any of the databases—Thorne had checked that when they first started their search.
“I don’t see the harm in it,” he said.
The prints matched. Not that Thorne had expected them not to—it was more that he’d have expected whoever erased the real story to have erased the prints too. Sheriff Shore had a copy of the file made up, and they went to meet Blaze and Zane.
“So who’s this Johnson guy?” Zane spooned the last bit of hot fudge brownie out of his sundae. Of course he couldn’t have any kind of dessert that didn’t involve cake. “You don’t seriously think he was a Fed, do you?”
“There are a few federal agencies that know about shifters and magic users,” Thorne pointed out. “Maybe he was working with one of them.”
“He sucked at his job, then,” Blaze said. “Because he lost Rebel and Tempest in the system, didn’t he? Otherwise he’d be all up in their business.”
“That’s why I ran away,” Rebel said. “The wrong people all up in my business.” Blaze bumped fists with her.
“Do you think he knows about the Seals?” Blaze asked.
“He never asked about them.”
“How do you know?” Thorne asked her. “You can’t remember.”
Rebel gave a sudden start, and then put her hand to her head, wincing. Another memory coming back? “He did that,” she said slowly. “I remember Tempe and me being in a room with him, all by ourselves. And he told us we should just forget, that we’d feel better if we forgot everything that happened.” She sucked in her breath. “And Tempe did.”
“But you didn’t,” Zane said.
“I forgot the important stuff,” she said. “Like where we lived. And I forgot about him completely, until now.” Thorne could feel the rage rising up inside her. “He tried to make us forget our entire lives. And then he separated us. He’s the one who put us in foster care. He drove us to Portland, and put Tempe in that hellhole where they tried to abuse her.”
“And he must have been the one who erased your records,” Thorne said. “The news stories, everything. He knew who you really were, and he knew who was after you. And why. The question is, did he hide you to protect you? Or to use you?”
“I want to find this guy,” Rebel said. “Thorne, can we find him? And maybe torture him?”
“Maybe,” Thorne said. “If he was working for a government agency, there’s a record, and if there’s a record, I can get it.”
Agent Johnson had ripped Rebel away from her sister. Knowing his mate as he did now, he couldn’t imagine what that must have done to her. To both of them.
Not that that had stopped Rebel. She’d resisted Johnson’s memory-blurring spell—probably because of her ability to manipulate magical fields. She’d found ways to stay in touch with Tempest, and when she found out what her sister’s foster situation was really like, she’d gotten Tempest out, and managed to scratch out a living for both of them on the streets. Fourteen years old, for fuck’s sake. Alone, underage,
human. He had no clue how she’d done it.
Agent Johnson had a lot to answer for. Thorne was going to find him, all right. As far as torture—he didn’t usually go in for that.
But he was very, very tempted to make an exception.
Down the street, Sheriff Shore had just sent an email to an address that had been in his files for a very long time. It contained a photo of the woman who’d just been in his office, courtesy of the station’s security system.
And two fingerprints, that were an exact match.
Chapter 37
As they walked back to the car, Zane checked his watch. “We need to book it back to Portland,” he said. “Don’t forget, Blaze and I have an appointment with Jean-Claude tonight.”
“Dammit,” Rebel said. “What about the lawyers? I want to go see them. Like, now. We may never find Johnson, but he’s not the only one who knows who I am. They do too. And if someone left the Seal for me to find, they might know where.”
Thorne was looking up the lawyers’ address on his phone. “It’s the opposite direction,” he said. “By several hours. No way we can make both.”
“Blaze and I will fly back to Portland,” Zane said. “We’ll keep the appointment with Jean-Claude. You two go on and talk to the lawyers. If somebody has hellhounds tracking Rebel, there isn’t any time to waste. They could get ahead of you.”
“On it,” Rebel said. “Where’s the lawyers’ number?”
Thorne held onto the file. “Oh, no. I’m calling them, not you.”
Rebel rolled her eyes. “Stop being so overprotective. It’s not like they’re going to reach through the phone and kidnap me. But there may be information they’ll only give to me. Who my parents really were, what coven they came from, maybe even why they were killed.”
“They could also have been the leak that got your parents killed,” Thorne pointed out. “They were the only link to your parents’ former life. So can we just keep a layer of anonymity between them and you for a little longer?”
Rebel sighed. “Okay, worrywart,” she said. “Besides, if they won’t give you any information, I can always break in and steal their files.”
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