The Lost Sister (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 7)

by Elle Gray

  I ran back downstairs, tears rolling down my face and on the verge of hyperventilating. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, just looking at the still, lifeless bodies of my parents. The strangest details stood out to me—the fact that their hands were bound behind their backs using a clove hitch knot. Having spent time at summer camps, I was pretty familiar with a lot of different knots. I recognized the knot used to bind their hands, and for some reason, that detail stood out to me.

  More than that, though, was the pool of blood on the marbled tile. It was such a vibrant shade of red against the flooring that it almost didn’t seem real. I couldn’t stop fixating on how vivid the color was. It seemed so intensely bright I had a hard time believing it was genuine. But in my heart, I knew it was. The thick, viscous pool had already started to congeal which told me my parents were a couple of hours dead already.

  A soft squeak issued from somewhere deeper in the house. I knew the entire place was empty—I’d been through every room looking for Kit. But the sound still sent a jolt of terror coursing through my veins anyway. My imagination told me whatever monster had slain my parents was still in the house with me. Lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. It was coming for me, and if I didn’t move now, it was going to devour me.

  With a choked sob combined with a squeal of fear bursting from my mouth, I turned and ran out of the house, sprinting for Mrs. Castaneda’s place.

  Wilder Residence, The Emerald Pines Luxury Apartments; Downtown Seattle

  “We’re here,” he says.

  The driver’s voice cuts into my thoughts, and I realize the car has come to a stop in front of my building. I’ve been so caught up in the memory of the most terrible and traumatic day of my life, the trip home from Sea-Tac passed in the blink of an eye.

  “Right. Sorry,” I reply. “Long flight.”

  “No sweat. Let me get your bags.”

  “Thank you.”

  I get out of the car as my driver goes to the trunk and pulls out my suitcase. He sets it down on the sidewalk next to me and raises the handle and I hand him a twenty-dollar bill.

  “Appreciate it,” he says.

  “No problem,” I reply as I pull out my phone and give him a five-star rating. “Have a good night.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  He drives away, leaving me standing there feeling anxious. Part of me wants to rush right upstairs to see Kit. We’ve barely had a chance to talk since she mysteriously showed up at my Aunt Annie’s place the night of the raid out at Haven. And since then, things have been hectic, to say the least. There’s a lot I still want and need to talk to her about. For eighteen years, I haven’t known what became of my kid sister and now she’s suddenly here. I want to embrace her. Catch up with her. I want to know what happened to her. Where she was. I want to know everything that’s happened over the nearly two decades she’s been gone.

  But I’m holding myself back. There’s that other part of me that’s hesitant. There’s part of me that’s still uncertain that’s actually my kid sister in my apartment. After what happened with Mark and knowing the Thirteen might still be trying to insert somebody into my life, I’d be an idiot to let my guard down. I really hate to think it, but the timing of her arrival is really suspicious to me. As fantastical as it sounds, it’s actually not outside the realm of possibility the woman in my apartment is not, in fact, Katherine Wilder. I just haven’t had a chance to really put her to the test yet. Now that I’m home though, I intend to do just that.

  I have to know who she is. Have to know if she’s really Kit or a clever imposter. She’s got the same strawberry-blonde hair we both inherited from our mother. Her skin is like alabaster, and her eyes are as vibrantly green as our mother’s used to be, too. She’s very fit and athletic, but she’s as lean and lithe as I remember. Outwardly, she looks like my sister—or at least, what I imagine my sister all grown up would look like.

  Questioning whether it’s actually Kit up there in my apartment or not makes me feel paranoid. Like I should be wearing a tinfoil hat and a paper robe or something. But given everything that’s happened, I’d be completely naïve and foolish to not consider the possibility. I’m a lot of things, but naïve and foolish are not among them.

  I know I need to be on my toes. I can’t afford to let my guard down. Not now. And not until I can verify without a single doubt in my mind that the woman in my apartment is who she’s telling me she is.

  And maybe not even then.

  Two

  Wilder Residence, The Emerald Pines Luxury Apartments; Downtown Seattle

  I let myself into my apartment then close and lock the door behind me. I drop my bags next to the table in the entryway and my keys in the bowl on top of the table. The sound of classical music—Brahms, I think—fills the air around me. It’s not my style of music—I’ve always preferred the jazz my father turned me onto—but I have a certain appreciation for it.

  I walk into the living room to find Kit curled up on the couch. The lighting in the room is dim, but she’s got a book in her lap anyway. She looks up and smiles as I walk in. I drop down onto the loveseat across from her and let out a long, tired sigh.

  “How was DC?” she asks.

  “Exhilarating,” I reply. “There’s nothing quite like being grilled by politicians who’ve got no skin in the game but enjoy sitting back and judging every move you make after the fact.”

  “Monday morning quarterbacks are always fun to deal with.”

  I laugh ruefully and nod. “So true.”

  I look at my sister and can’t help but feel a sense of wonder again. For almost twenty years, she was just—gone. And now she’s back. But that wonder is tempered by the fear that permeates every facet of my life now. Fear that’s turned to paranoia. Other than my immediate circle, I don’t know who I can trust. Most days I feel like I can’t trust anybody but my team, Paxton and his team, and my cousin Maisey and Aunt Annie. I know them all and I’d trust them with my life.

  When new people enter my world, I look at them with skepticism and the belief they’ve got an agenda. That they’re there to keep tabs on me. Or perhaps even to eliminate me. After all, three people who had contact with me are now dead—Mr. Corden, Gina Aoki, and now Mark. All of them were murdered because they’d interacted with me. Well, Mark was inserted into my life, tasked with developing a romantic relationship with me. And he did his job all too well. Even though I know what he was, if not who, I can’t deny there is a piece of me that misses him. I wish I could.

  The truth was that he worked for the Thirteen as a spy. That’s the only conclusion I can draw after Paxton’s tech genius buddy Brody found that Mark Walton was a cover. He had his information backstopped for ten years, making him look totally legit—until you dug deep enough to find that Mark Walton never existed. He was really nothing more than a long-term honey trap. And it galls me that I fell into it.

  I don’t know why he was killed—or by whom—but I assume he failed to do something and that earned him a bullet from his employer. My theory is that he was given orders to eliminate me, and because he didn’t, he was killed. I think deep down, he actually did care for me. He was part of my life for a while, and whenever he told me he loved me, I believed him. The look on his face and the tone in his voice was sincere. And I think maybe he couldn’t bring himself to kill me when he was ordered to. That led to him taking the bullet meant for me.

  Which is why I’m skeptical about Kit—or whoever she really is—popping up in my life all of a sudden. I want to believe it’s her more than anything. But I have my doubts. And I really hate that I do. It’s just that the timing of it all is really suspect to me. And if I’m being really honest, I have my questions about whether she killed him or not. If she’s an agent of the Thirteen like part of me believes she is, it’s not outside the realm of possibility.

  “So, are you in trouble over this whole raid thing?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know yet,” I reply. “Heads are already roll
ing and it’s clear they’re looking for a scapegoat. I just don’t know if I’m going to be one of them or not.”

  “Ruby Ridge, Waco—the folks at the top who ordered these debacles never pay the price,” she comments. “It always falls on people like you, who do the actual work.”

  “That’s the thing though. I had nothing to do with this,” I tell her. “This was all Hedlund. She took my intel and used it to slaughter those people.”

  “Making my point even more true.”

  I sigh and lean back on the loveseat, pinching the bridge of my nose as I feel a headache coming on. Probably the stress of all this garbage.

  “Hey, you remember that time Mom and Dad took us to that petting zoo—”

  “I know what you’re doing,” she cuts me off. “For an FBI agent, your interrogation skills suck, Blake. Probably something you should work on.”

  “And what is it I’m doing?”

  “The same thing you’ve been doing since we talked at Aunt Annie’s that first night,” she replies. “Dropping little stories here and there to see if I remember them. You’re subtly grilling me because you don’t think I am who I say I am.”

  “Kit—”

  “I’m not stupid, Blake. I can see it in your eyes.”

  She looks at me sharply. I can see the pain in her expression. Hear it in her voice. It drives a lance of guilt through me, but I can’t help it. Nor will I apologize for being cautious.

  “Do you really think I’m an imposter? That I’m just some random person pretending to be your little sister? Seriously?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say that,” I tell her, even though it’s exactly what I’m thinking.

  “You didn’t have to,” she says. “It’s written all over your face.”

  I let out a frustrated breath. “If you’ve gone through what I have recently, you’d understand why I’m feeling a little—cautious—right now.”

  “Cautious? You’re bordering on paranoid.”

  “Maybe so. But it’s not without reason.”

  “What reason could you possibly have to doubt that I’m your sister, Blake?”

  “The fact that you show up out of the blue almost twenty years after you disappeared?” I reply. “And at a time with things in my life are—complicated.”

  “Then talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help dispel that paranoia and prove to you that I am who I say I am.”

  “I mean, you look like what I imagined you would have looked like as an adult. But I honestly don’t know how you prove that,” I say honestly.

  “Just talk to me, Blake. Tell me what’s happened that has you acting like this,” she presses. “Tell me what I can do to put your mind at ease.”

  I don’t think there is anything she can say to put my mind at ease, to be honest. And that’s the dilemma. I won’t really open up to her until I trust her, but I can’t trust her until I know if this is really Kit I’m talking to. My heart is saying yes, this is my kid sister, but I know how unreliable my heart can be—case in point, the man I knew as Mark Walton. So, while my heart is telling me one thing, my brain is telling me the opposite. It’s telling me to tread lightly and be wary.

  “Why now?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you choose to make a grand reappearance now?” I press. “It’s just—with everything that’s going on, it seems really strange. So, why now?”

  Kit purses her lips and looks away for a moment, seeming to be collecting her thoughts—or making up a story. I can’t tell which at this point.

  “It just seemed like the right time,” she finally replies.

  “That’s it? It just seemed like the right time?”

  “Yes, Blake. I wish I had some grand answer for you. But I don’t,” she says. “For a long time—most of my life, honestly, I… haven’t been free to do what I want. I finally got out from under that then hid out for a little while. Then I found you and made my way here.”

  It’s not much of an answer and does nothing to alleviate my fears. But there is a sincerity in her eyes and in her voice that gives me pause. I’ve always believed those things were hard to fake. But thanks to Mark, I’m second-guessing myself about everything. I hate that I can’t trust my own instincts right now, but I can’t. Not after Mark. When emotions are involved, it’s obvious my instincts are skewed and lead me down the wrong path. And there is no bigger emotional trigger for me than my sister.

  “Where you have you been all this time, Kit? What happened to you after you were taken?” I ask. “I honestly thought you were dead.”

  Her face darkens and a frown creases her lips. She looks down at the book in her hands for a moment, then closes it and sets it aside.

  “Where have I been? Somewhere I never should have been,” she says quietly. “Doing things nobody should ever be asked to do.”

  There was such a pain in her voice that even with my faulty instincts, I was certain it couldn’t have been faked. It was just too real and too raw for it to be faked.

  “What happened to you?” I ask again.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it, Blake. Not right now.”

  I nod and don’t press the issue. The idea that she was being trafficked is one that’s been in my mind for years. I’ve always hoped she didn’t have to endure that sort of suffering, but hearing her voice just now makes me think maybe that’s exactly what happened. And my heart breaks to think of the sort of degradation she might have suffered at the hands of those who took her all those years ago.

  “Do you know who took you, Kit?”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she snaps, her voice hard.

  A long moment of awkward silence stretches out between us. Neither of us seems to know what to say to the other right now. It’s killing me not knowing if this is really Kit sitting in front of me. But even if it is, I still have to question the timing of her arrival. I so desperately want to believe this is Kit and embrace her. For eighteen years, I have missed my little sister every single day. The thought that it might really be her, and I’m still keeping her at an arm’s distance, is painful beyond measure for me. I need to know the truth.

  I look up and she meets my eyes. There’s a moment there, just a brief flash, when I see the girl she used to be in the face of the woman before me. It’s gone as soon as it came, though. I want to believe, but I can’t be sure it’s not simply my own wishful thinking. My own hopes and desires making me see things that aren’t really there. The stress of everything going on, combined with the exhausting trip to DC, is taking a physical, mental, and emotional toll on me.

  I know I should go to bed, get some sleep, and try to sort this all out when I’m thinking more clearly. I can’t let it go though. I need answers, so I scroll through my memories, looking for something innocuous. Something so subtle and small that nobody would have thought to ask my sister about it. It can’t be a major life event—not that she had many at nine years old—or anything too obvious. Nothing too memorable. Something so minor nobody would ever think to ask about it. And then it hits me.

  “Hey, do you remember the special present I gave you when you were six?” I ask.

  She arches an eyebrow at me. “Still testing me?”

  “Come on, give me a break. Put yourself in my shoes,” I protest. “What would you be thinking? What would you do if I showed up in your life with no explanation after almost two decades?”

  She blows out a long, frustrated breath. “Fine. I’ll play your game,” she says. “But only because we need to put this whole ‘am I Kit or am I not Kit’ business behind us and get on with catching up with each other. I’ve missed you, Blake. Like, a lot. I went through a hell of a lot of crap to get back here to you.”

  I give her a small smile. “Good. Thank you,” I reply. “So, the gift I gave you when you were six? What was it?”

  “I was seven, actually. Not five. And it was a necklace with a charm of St. Vitus—patron
saint of dancers. I thought I was going to be the prima ballerina of the New York City Ballet Company at the time,” she replies evenly. “I don’t wear it anymore because I’m afraid of losing it—it’s the last connection I have to you. But I still keep it on me at all times.”

  She gives me a smirk then reaches into her pocket, and when she pulls out the chain with the charm of St. Vitus and holds it up, my eyes immediately well with tears. I bite back the gasp that threatens to burst out and cover my mouth with my hands. I stare at the charm for a moment, then shift my eyes to hers.

  “Do I pass the test?” she asks.

  Three

  Office of SSA Wilder, Criminal Data Analysis Unit; Seattle Field Office

  “Not to be the wet blanket here, but if she is an imposter, they could have grilled the real Kit about the necklace, you know,” Astra notes.

  I nod. “I know. It’s possible,” I acknowledge. “But I’m certain that’s not the case. I’m positive it really is Kit.”

  Astra leans back in her seat and takes a swallow of her coffee. She looks away and I can see her mind working as she lets my words sink in. She’s taking Mark’s betrayal almost as hard as I am and questioning her own judgment. She prides herself on being a human BS detector, and the fact that Mark slipped through the cracks and fooled her left Astra a little shaken. I know the feeling all too well.

  After Kit revealed the necklace—and I got my emotions back in check—we spent most of the night talking. Or at least, I did while she listened. She told me very little about her life over the past couple of decades. I didn’t want to press her too hard yet, simply because when I poked around the edges, I could see how emotional it was making her. I saw anger and guilt, but more than that, I saw real shame in her eyes. It broke my heart to see it. She’s the victim in all of this. She was abducted and had God knows what done to her.