The Perfect Sister (Sister #7)

by Leanne Davis

  And in the end, when Ally failed them all, and they discovered she was sick, they all supported her. They were there for her and no one judged her. They were her family, no matter what.

  She hugged her middle. Her life seemed like a long quest seeking perfection in everything. This degree. Her grade point average. It was how she eventually defined herself. By continually seeking approval and validation from other people. When all she had to do was look around and embrace the ones who truly cared about her. She was many things to many people. But mostly she was a recovering bulimic. It was a tough reconciliation for her to make with herself. She wasn’t perfect, and no one else had ever expected her to be. She had expected herself to be. And when that desire made her sick? Her family was there to help her pick up all the imperfect pieces of her life.

  Nate’s arms wrapped around her. “Are you okay? With Micah, I mean?” His whisper felt warm on her ear. She turned, wrapping her arms tightly around him. “I’ll tell you all about it, but later, okay? Right now, let’s just enjoy everyone… and let me enjoy you. This feeling of just being right here and in the present is quite new for me. I’d like to savor it.”

  “Okay.” Nate smiled as he took her hand and they wandered over to her sister, Olivia, Tristan, and Julia. They were starting to play a game of cards and Ally realized they were playing Thirty-One. That was the game she always played with her sister… and Micah. Always. She played it with her dad.

  And her dad was right there.

  For the first time in a decade her father was accessible to her. She glanced back toward Micah, then got up and asked if he’d liked to play with them, for old times’ sake.

  For the first time in over ten years, they were including her dad. Ally smiled at Micah. It was more like a soft, weary tilt of her lips. Micah smiled back, just as wearily, but there was something hopeful in his expression. Nate leaned over and took Ally’s hand, squeezing it in a tight embrace of support. Ally sighed, and turned to play the game. Amidst the banter, and the total lack of solemnity, Ally thought perhaps the most important emotional recovery of her life might have started today. Sometimes, the passage of time and letting things alone were much better in the end than trying to control or fix them. Maybe Ally could just accept Micah again as her dad and see where that took them.

  Perhaps it was okay to just let things happen naturally. At that revelation, Ally leaned forward and laid her cards down: an ace of spades, a jack and a king. She won the pot. Smiling brightly, Ally remembered how much she loved to win, while everyone rolled their eyes at her victorious laugh of success. Ally scooped up the pot of quarters before Kylie dealt the next round, and everyone groaned as Ally gloated with glee.

  Glancing around, at her family, and Nate all there together, a warm joy slid through her entire body and she acknowledged the world in that moment, felt kind of a perfect, and really sometimes the word just worked.

  ###

  Dear Reader

  I would be so grateful if you took a few moments to leave a review of The Perfect Sister. It widens my funnel of readers, and I really do appreciate any effort.

  Read on for Chapter One of The Lost Sister. Refer to my website for its release date.

  Otherwise, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this story enough to try another of my novels.

  If you would like to keep up on my releases, please go to my website and sign up for my email distribution list or contact me directly at dvsleanne@aol.com.

  Here is a preview of my next novel.

  Sincerely,

  Leanne Davis

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  Book #8

  A miserable home life makes seventeen-year-old Tara Tamasy run away. Wearing just the clothes on her back, she flees her upper-crust, dysfunctional family. She is instantly drawn into the dangerous, unforgiving world of the streets, and unending hunger eventually forces Tara to turn to any means necessary to ensure her survival. Years later, she manages to escape. and starts a new life, but she desperately wants to bury the memories of her former life. Concealing her history from everyone decent, Tara continues to do all that is necessary for her to survive.

  Tara moves to a small town and gets a job working in a diner. That’s where she meets Fish and Wildlife Officer Ryder Kincaid and his young son, Wyatt. Instantly, she is drawn to them and soon becomes convinced there is something more between them than just friendship. It sort of resembles what a family could be.

  Ryder also suffered from years of dysfunction owing to the whims and quirks of Wyatt’s mom. He swears off all relationships after she finally disappears. The only drama he has in his life comes from raising his son. But when Tara manages to penetrate his carefully guarded defense wall, Ryder can only hope he has something real and lasting with her. It seems that way until her long-lost brother finds her. Now, the very same family that sent Tara fleeing into the streets attempts to draw her back into it, mercilessly exposing her past and her secrets to the one person she would do anything to keep them from.

  The Lost Sister

  Prologue

  Eyes opened. Smashed shut. Eyelids blinked. Grit scabbed in the corner of her eyes. Vomit dried to the side of her mouth. Moaning, Tara Tamasy stared up at the dark metal-gray clouds above her. Alive. She was alive. Her breath nearly stopped again as the shock entered her brain. She had survived.

  Relief. Stronger than she imagined. Before tonight she might have thought she didn’t care much either way if she lived or died. Turns out, when that theory was tested, she cared a hell of a lot.

  She didn’t want to die.

  The problem was she had no idea how to live.

  But she was alive. Slowly, she leaned forward so her back arched off the side of the concrete she leaned against. Glancing up, the building she’d been dumped against loomed up several stories. In front of her was the green of a dumpster. She sniffed, her nose wrinkling as the heavy, acrid, foul smell of garbage seemed to singe her nose hairs. She took in a long deep breath letting it fill her lungs and reaffirm she was still alive.

  She slid her sleeve over her dirty, grubby hand and rubbed at her chin and cheek getting rid of the dried-on vomit. She rose to her feet, arthritic feeling in the cold, dawn light. They had left her. Dumped her. Literally threw her out with the garbage. Perhaps she should be grateful they didn’t toss her actually into the dumpster. They’d almost kindly left her sitting up so she hadn’t choked on her own vomit and died.

  It had been close. Way too close this time.

  She shook off the vice of the drug-out feelings. She glanced down, patting her chest, stomach, hips and pockets. Everything was gone. They’d stolen the measly change she’d had. They had left her clothed at least. Did they do anything to her while she’d been out? Who knew? Some friends. What did she expect?

  It wasn’t anything she hadn’t done to others. Stolen their shit while they were passed out on drugs.

  Damn. The few dollars she’d scrounged together were gone. Her tongue came out tapping at her dry, cracked lips as if reliving the experience. Though it was all misty and gray in her memories. She shuddered, at least she’d been tossed up on that little white pill so remembering the experience was only vague imagines and memories.

  All of it would become vague memories and images, as new ones perhaps worse ones happened to her. Added to the last three years’ worth of it. She stared down at her toes, in the canvas shoes she wore that had a rip through the front, over her big toe, and the heel was falling off the left side’s sole. She was down to the clothes on her back. Even her back-pack was gone. It had the few items she had in this world. Scraps of clothes, some candy, a left over joint, and… a picture. A picture of her family.

  She shook off the disappointment. As if she needed a reminder of them. The irony was if they walked passed right this moment, they’d never, ever recognize her. They could stop, look
her in the eye, stare at her for ten minutes, hear her voice even and she was sure not a one of them would recognize her.

  Except maybe Tristan.

  She shut her brain down. No. No use thinking about them. Any of them. Even Tristan. He was old now, probably all up in their grandfather’s ass being the perfect mannequin and becoming their grandfather as he started to run Tamasy Industries. Though he’d been the most decent of her spectacularly indecent family. Tristan, if a little self-contained, busy and keeping to himself, he had a kinder heart than any of them. Even her. Besides he’d most likely recognize her but he’d never accept her. Not like this.

  Then again, what decent person would?

  Her hair was dirty blonde and long. The dirty color was half due to actual dirt. She hadn’t bathed in days… okay, maybe a few weeks. She scratched at her scalp. Once doing so it made the itching increase so she was nearly pulling the hair follicles off with her short, stubby fingernails. She yanked up the hood of her dark, generic hoodie trying to forget about the itching. She almost laughed, picture mother seeing her now. Her mother would disown her, wish she had died last night rather than admit that this dumpy, bedraggled, dirty, filthy-really girl could be her daughter.

  Tara shook her head. Didn’t matter anymore. None of them did. She wasn’t Tamasy anymore. She was Aderly. Tara was all she was known as around the streets. At most she claimed Tara Aderly as her name if hard pressed to admit one. It was her mother’s maiden name. Stupid perhaps as an alias, but it was something she could respond to. She wasn’t ready to totally cut all her identity out of her. Though she doubted anyone was looking for Tara Tamasy. Tamasy was a name for northern California, not Seattle, Washington, where she’d hitchhiked to and finally settled, maybe two years ago now. It all kind of blended together. The day, week, month or year, were all vague to her. It didn’t matter to her like it used to. She was no longer a functioning member of society. So what did it matter what day it was? The time? Not like she had to be anywhere doing anything. She had dumpsters to hit. She had a pretty good routine now, some decent restaurants she could dig in. She thought she was about twenty now. She’d left home six months after her seventeenth birthday. So she might be close to twenty-one now.

  She’d hit the south first, going to Los Angeles, then slowly worked north again, avoiding anywhere close to her hometown of Marsdale. She had stayed in Portland for a while, before coming to Seattle. They had their tent cities which first drew her. Homeless lived all over the city and under the overpasses. She’d lived under two or three in a small one person tent over the last few years.

  Of late, she’d been hitting the drugs too hard. Last night she’d gotten cornered by a group of four; three guys and a girl, she was younger than Tara. Some stupid runaway bitch who had been meaner than all three boys combined. They caught her, high as a freaking kite, and had taken advantage of her inebriated state. One had pulled a knife on her. The others had grabbed at her, holding her hands behind her back. She tried to shake them loose, but weak and high weren’t a good position. She recognized one of the guys, a kid named George, most likely fake, who had cuddled up to her one night. They might have even fucked. She didn’t know for sure. Still, that was in the past. Not today.

  She struggled and swore at them, freaking out and trying to get away. But they’d hit her, smacked her around enough to shut her up. It had been then, fear had finally gripped her and she’d gone limp, prepared for whatever they were going to do. She’d heard of the sadistic things that went on. Some sexual. Some cruel. She closed her eyes, knowing she was next to be a victim.

  She pushed at her face now, feeling the swollen cheek and eye. They had smacked her hard enough to almost knock her out, rob her, and left her there, sacked out against the wall in the dark, slimy alley way.

  She staggered out of it. Puddles soaked her socks through the holes in her shoes. The tattered hem of the dark pants she wore dragged behind her. Soon wet lines circled those.

  She had to get out of here.

  Her pace increased. She had no idea where she was going or what she was going to do, but she had to get out of here, this alley, this block, this city… this life.

  She had come close to losing her life again, and now broke, dirty, hungry and finally for the first time scared for her safety she had to get out.

  But how?

  She glanced around. The streets were mostly empty. A taxi sped by. Then a white delivery truck. Otherwise, there was a few lone souls shuffling around. Doing what? Nothing. But probably more than she was.

  She stopped up short. She had to get out or die. It seemed pretty clear that’s where this was headed. How? Where to go? What did she do?

  Tears, dripped over her eyelids. She rubbed at them, startled. She hadn’t cried in years. Not since the first few nights alone on the street. She’d been so scared. The dirt and grime had offended her. She’d been grossed out to let any of it touch her. She had grown hungry and useless in skills of the street, she’d started to starve. She wouldn’t have survived. Not if Jerome hadn’t found her.

  Jerome.

  No. She wouldn’t think of him. He was gone. Like everything else in her life. Everyone else. But he’d taught her what no one else had, how to survive.

  She fisted her hand. Starting now. She’d had less before and made due. It was time to get out of here before she became stuck there forever.

  Chapter One

  He was a damn cop.

  She recognized right off he was law enforcement.

  The uniform. The gun. The commanding neutral facial expression. The air of something confident and cool around him. She’d kept her gaze pinned away from his. She’d tried to slink away. Ignore him. Turn into the kitchen. But oh, no, she was called over to serve him because he was sitting in her section. And since it was her first day of employment—her very first valid employment too—she had no desire to raise attention towards herself by not doing as ordered. She’d gotten this job, waitressing at the small diner, by lying through her teeth and hoping no one would check up on the faked references or information she’d put on her application.

  Damn officer. Why did he have to come to her section? The first few hours of the first day of her employment here. What was he a Sheriff? DEA? What? She wasn’t sure what branch of cop-dom he served, she just knew he served one of them.

  And she hated law enforcement. All of them.

  For plenty of good reasons too. Cops weren’t too sympathetic to high, runaways who sometimes stole and sometimes prostituted themselves. She hadn’t known too many who were exactly endearing to her. They were often rough, crass, rude, one bribed her into having sex with him. She gritted her teeth at the memory. Yeah, not who she wanted to serve.

  Oh but serve she would. She supposed it was easier than many of the things she’d done for many years. Sighing she had to then come closer to him. He slipped into a table, all by himself. He slid a khaki hat covered in badges onto the table.

  Maybe he wasn’t a typical police officer. But he was something.

  He wore dark green pants with several large functional pockets down their sides, and a standard khaki shirt with embalms indicating whatever he was. He was all tucked in neat and tidy. Professional as all hell. His belt clued her in he wasn’t some kind of harmless volunteer. The big, intimidating black gun was tucked on the side of him. There was a large walkie-talkie and other gadgets attached to the black belts around his waist. She glanced out. He drove a beige colored pickup with the state insignia on the sides. It looked all official with antennas coming out of the top and sides of it. She avoided him at first, no eye contact, no unnecessary conversation, as she did with all police. She avoided authority at all costs, too many years on the street avoiding them. She came up to the table, slipping the menu down and pouring ice water into the clear, little cup in front of him.

  He had long fingers, no rings. She didn’t lift her gaze to take in his face. He had auburn hair, not quite brown, but not red or blond either. Chestnut. So what?
He had nice hair. Might be the only thing of worth about him, she sneered silently.

  “Hi. The special is a tuna-melt with a side of fries and Cole Slaw. I’ll give you a minute to look,” she said, speaking quickly staring directly into his water cup. She turned to flee.

  “Wait. I don’t need a minute,” a deep, even commanding voice followed behind her.

  Great. She took in a deep breath to balance her annoyance and keep her facial features pleasant and neutral. As neutral as he was. She turned back to him and stepped to the table. She pulled out the small tablet the owner, a pretty, African American named Chloe had given her when she started.

  “You’re new.” The voice said to her again. He was staring up at her, she could feel his gaze. Still she didn’t make contact. She nodded and mumbled, “Mmm hmm.”

  “When did Chloe hire you?”

  Okay cop-man was a regular, obviously. She frowned and restrained the sigh. She tapped the pen to her pad trying to give a nonverbal hint to hurry it up, so she could slip away from him. “A few days ago.”

  “I have a hamburger, fries and side salad, Italian dressing. I’m in about now most days for lunch. Chloe didn’t mention me?”

  She bristled. Oh great, an entitled cop who believed she should know all about him. Perhaps she should bow down to him too. “No.”