A Beautiful Lie (Unlocked #1) Read online

  A Beautiful Lie

  Unlocked #1

  Amelia Rowe

  Contents

  1. Luke

  2. Nina

  3. Luke

  4. Nina

  5. Luke

  6. Nina

  7. Luke

  8. Nina

  9. Luke

  10. Nina

  11. Luke

  12. Nina

  13. Luke

  14. Nina

  15. Luke

  16. Nina

  17. Luke

  18. Nina

  19. Luke

  20. Nina

  21. Luke

  22. Nina

  23. Luke

  24. Nina

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2017 by Amelia Rowe

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. All elements of this story, including but not limited to names, places, and events are made up by the author. Any similarity to real-life people or circumstances is coincidental.

  Cover Design: Deranged Doctor Design

  Editor: Serena Clarke

  ISBN: 978-1544027227

  For my favorite liar.

  1

  Luke

  That winter, redemption came in the form of three dead girls.

  My stomach did flips as I sped down the interstate Christmas Eve morning. I’d left Manhattan at eight o’clock, once we confirmed that the most recent victim held previous employment with the Jasper Hotel. The three girls, who had each worked for hotelier Patrick Blake at one time, had all turned up pregnant and dead within weeks of each other.

  “Are you almost there?” my colleague Carter Moreno asked on the other end of the line.

  “Ten minutes out,” I replied.

  For years, the case of my best friend’s missing family had lain dormant and unsolvable, and now a breakthrough. I smoothed my facial hair, realizing I might have left without bothering to make sure I looked put together. The things that slip the mind when your career is on the line. Thankfully, a quick glance in the rearview mirror reassured me.

  “Jesus, I can’t believe Adam isn’t here for this,” Carter said.

  It was unbelievable. I’d spent the last week so focused on connecting clues from the three dead girls that I never paid attention to the bad timing. Nobody had heard a word from Adam for six months, after the incident at the gala in June. Less than a month after he’d dragged me from Chicago back to New York to work for him, he was just gone. Still, it didn’t mean our work stopped. Against his better judgment, my best friend had hired me to do this one job, and now it was up to me to see it through.

  “He’ll be back eventually,” I responded. The billionaire philanthropist – my best friend since college – did this from time to time. Some public humiliation would send him into hiding, until the whole thing blew over. Though he’d never been gone for this long.

  I pulled off the interstate as I approached the perimeter of Bucks County. The meditative hum of the car’s engine was the only thing to calm my excitement. No, I’d never get my job with the FBI back. But if I was right, Adam wouldn’t regret acting on his crazy notion to hire me. If I was right, the previous six months of searching wouldn’t be wasted. If I was right, the deaths of three girls wouldn’t be in vain.

  My gaze fell to the picture I still kept taped to my dashboard, the one of my former team in Chicago. The men and women of the Violent Crimes Against Children Task Force were the best of the best. My entire life had been spent studying and training to work in that capacity. All it took was a string of fuck-ups to make that dream disappear.

  I didn’t intend to fuck this one up. My plan had been to use the two-hour drive from Manhattan to figure out what the hell I was supposed to say, but everything that I practiced in my head sounded stupid.

  Hi, I think you’re my best friend’s long-lost mother.

  Hello, nice to meet you! I’m Luke and your son wants to know why you abandoned him.

  Hi, is it true that you had a fling with your boss twenty years ago that resulted in a pregnancy?

  Instead, I had spent most of the drive cursing Adam for missing this. He should have been the one to talk to his mother. With only a few miles to go, I had nothing. I told myself I was better thinking on my feet anyways, that plans never worked out how you wanted them to.

  The small neighborhood I’d tracked Rachel O’Leary to was blue-collar, bordered by a strip mall on the north end and a cluster of schools on the south. It was generic, like every other small town littered across the country. Places like that always made me feel claustrophobic and stuck. The collapse of the steel industry was still felt in the subtle aggressions of empty plants that took up giant chunks of land. Remnants of snow were scattered throughout yards as I wound my way up the street. To the right, the plastic of a deflated snowman lay limp on a lawn. To the left, a finely dressed family of five shuffled into a minivan, perhaps beginning their Christmas celebrations early.

  I pulled up to 1810 W. Carpenter Drive at eight minutes past ten. The blue house was run-down, though others would probably argue that it was well lived-in and loved. Small candy canes lined either side of the path to the front door, where a large wreath was hung. It was the kind of place I’d spent my childhood dreaming about living in. Homey. Average. Nothing about the façade screamed Secrets lie within. The only evidence of children was the abandoned basketball lying in the driveway.

  Willing myself, I stepped out of my SUV, walked up the front path to the door and knocked. Rumbling sounded from the inside. Two childlike voices bounced off the walls, screaming back and forth at each other. When the door was finally thrown open, I came face to face with a brown-haired boy of about twelve, holding a game controller. The sides of his mouth were stained green, as though he’d been eating Christmas cookies. I searched his face to see if he resembled Adam, but he was much too young to be the sibling I was looking for.

  He regarded me with the skepticism that children are conditioned to have toward strangers. “Hi.”

  “Uh, hi. Is your…mom home?”

  “My mom’s dead,” he said, deadpan and emotionless. Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, as if just remembering his manners. “My stepmom is here.”

  The kid’s surprising bluntness sent my mind into a tailspin.

  “Caleb, who’s at the door?” a woman shouted from within. A moment later, she appeared from around the corner and came to the front door. Satisfied that an adult had taken control of the situation, Caleb disappeared, presumably back to his game.

  I hadn’t expected someone so young. I did a quick study of her profile, gauging that she was in her late forties. Adam had turned twenty-nine in September…meaning she’d given birth at a young age. She glared at me with cautious eyes. I was startled at this woman’s averageness.

  “Yes?” she asked, shielding herself behind a screen door. “How may I help you?”

  Goddamnit. Why didn’t I come with a plan?

  “Hi, uh, I’m Luke Nolan.” I performed a quick scan of her world, taking in the family portrait hung in the foyer, and detected the smell of bacon lingering in the air. Then, my eyes fell to the Mrs. Claus apron she was wearing. She didn’t seem to be a mother haunted by the absence of her two children from her life. “I’m looking for Rachel O’Leary.”

  Her entire body froze. The way her eyes darkened told me it was a name she hadn’t expected to hear ever again, one that she’d tried
in vain to escape. And here it was, greeting her once again after being dormant for years. In an instant, she stepped out onto the front porch, pulling the door shut so that the inhabitants of the house couldn’t hear us.

  “What did you say?” she whispered, nearly falling back onto the wrought iron bench perched against the siding.

  “I’m here on behalf of your son,” I said, hoping she’d understand.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” She looked at me, her face flushing with panic. “My, uh, stepsons are inside. What do you want with them? What name did you call me?” Her eyes narrowed in concentrated disbelief. She looked as though she’d just awoken from a nightmare.

  “We’ve been trying to find you for years,” I continued, keeping my voice as even as possible. Keeping my potential informant calm was a field tactic I’d picked up working undercover investigating crimes against children back in Chicago.

  “My name is Audrey. Audrey Daniels.” The color had drained from her face.

  I’d learned her adopted moniker when I traced the complicated record of her name changes since the mid-nineties. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to stay hidden.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Daniels, I don’t mean to intrude. I’m here on behalf of Adam.”

  “Adam…” She could only whisper her firstborn’s name. “Adam?” She said it with a strange fascination and sadness, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to her in years. I wondered when was the last time she thought about him. Adam had always been haunted by the fact that he couldn’t remember anything about his mother, though his father had always claimed that she’d died. Once we found the letter, we knew otherwise.

  Laughter erupted from inside of the house. With a confused, pleading look, she pushed the front door back open and leaned inside. “Boys, I’ll be back in just a moment. If you need anything call my cellphone.”

  She shut the door and motioned for me to follow her. In her anxious state, she walked, ignoring the frigid morning air. We veered onto the sidewalk and walked in silence. If she was trying to be inconspicuous, the red apron with the cartoonish face wasn’t helping. Across the street, a neighbor stopped to regard us as he carried in groceries from his car.

  “How does he know about me?” Her whisper cut deep.

  “He doesn’t…I mean, he knows of you,” I responded. “Adam spent his entire life thinking you were dead. After his father passed away years ago, we discovered there was a possibility that you were alive and well.” I recalled the trip I took with Adam to London to sort out his father’s affairs. “Going through his things, we found a letter from his acquaintance Patrick Blake that said Adam’s mother…you…were pregnant with his child.”

  She froze, her emerald eyes wide with fear.

  “You used to work for Blake,” I continued, recalling the connection the three dead girls had to the hotelier. Up until recently, I had only looked into women Patrick Blake had known relationships with, or at least was seen with socially. Only once three of his ex-employees showed up dead, pregnant, with small silver keys tattooed onto their wrists, did my previous training kick in. “Back in the early nineties. You worked in the Jasper Hotel gift shop.”

  Rachel’s hands covered her eyes as she collapsed onto the sidewalk in full-blown panic. “Get the fuck away from me,” she screamed when I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I knew he would find me.”

  I knelt beside her, trying to take back control of the situation. “Who? Adam?”

  Rachel shook her head. Her heart was beating so fast that I could feel her entire body pulse beneath my hand. “Blake,” she whispered. Her voice was meek.

  “I think you’ve misunderstood,” I told her. “I don’t even know him. As far as I know, he has no idea where you are. Adam started this organization called Watchtower—”

  “I don’t believe this.” She lifted her head toward the sky, taking in a deep, defeated breath.

  “Adam is just trying to find his family,” I reassured her.

  She stood up on her own, but she’d been transformed. By coming here, I’d obviously taken her bubble of safety and popped it.

  “I left Blake’s child at a police station just outside Trenton the day after she was born. She’s not my daughter. I don’t know anything about her. For all I know, she’s dead.”

  She. Adam had a sister.

  Rachel brushed herself off and smoothed her hair before starting to walk back toward her house. “As for Adam, he should know that family is more trouble than it’s worth. My husband will be home any minute. You need to leave and never come back here.”

  Except I couldn’t leave, not without getting something that could lead me to his sister. The thought of having to relay this cruel scene to my best friend was enough to get me thinking. It was clear that Rachel harbored fear about something. As much as I hated to do it, I had to use that to my advantage. “Look, we can go about this two ways. Either you decide not to help me, giving me no incentive to help you, or you can give me your daughter’s birthdate and I’ll make sure nobody comes looking for you. It’s your choice.”

  She crossed her arms, refusing to look at me. Of course I’d never put this woman in any danger, but she didn’t have to know that. When she met my threat with immediate silence, I thought my shot was blown. But then she smoothed her apron, cleared her throat and said, “November eighteenth, nineteen ninety-four.” Without looking at me, she started back up her front walk. Christmas music was filtering out into the street from a nearby house. “If you’re smart you won’t go finding her.” The words were drenched in warning.

  I watched her walk through the lane of candy canes. Just when I thought she was gone, she stopped and called to me over her shoulder. “Don’t tell either of them where you found me. I don’t want anything to do with them.”

  Even though I had gotten exactly what I came for, I left with more questions than I started with. What kind of mother wanted nothing to do with her children? And why, after all these years, was Rachel O’Leary still terrified of Patrick Blake? The connection between him and the dead girls suddenly seemed more sinister.

  Ever since Adam and I had discovered that he had a long-lost half-sibling, one of his favorite pastimes had been imagining what he or she would be like.

  “I bet they’re a doctor,” he imagined aloud one night during senior year. “Or maybe a lawyer.”

  “They’re younger than you,” I reminded him. “They wouldn’t be old enough to be either of those things.”

  “Fine, then future doctor or lawyer,” he said, a clip of irritation slipping through his voice.

  In any case, he’d had big ideas about who his sibling would be and what they might do. I could only assume that he hadn’t planned to find her performing in a burlesque lounge in a seedy part of Brooklyn. Armed with the details from Rachel, finding her was the easy part. A simple Internet search led me right to a news article from February nineteen ninety-five about how the lieutenant of a small police department in New Jersey and his wife had adopted a baby after she was abandoned in his arms while he was on duty. That nameless baby – Adam’s sister – became Nina Parker.

  Last year, she’d graduated from NYU with a degree in theatre. After a stint at Starbucks during college, she was hired by a local burlesque troupe right after graduation. And that was how I wound up standing outside of the Brass Lounge the night of her next show. I leaned against the deli window across the street, watching a steady stream of show-goers disappear inside. The flyer I was holding told me this was the place.

  Brass Lounge New Year’s Eve Extravaganza!

  The Russo Burlesque Troupe!

  $20 cover! Drink specials all night!

  I was completely fucked. The scene was too reminiscent of the nights I’d wandered around Chicago, wasted and high, looking for the next dive bar to drown my misery in. When I inevitably got kicked out, I’d stumble on until I found the next. It had been ten months since I stepped foot into a bar.

  In and out, I promised myself. Then, wi
th no other option but to go in, I crossed the street. Upon entering, the aroma of spirits hit me, causing momentary paralysis. I stood, causing those still filing in to bump into me or swear under their breath at my rudeness. My willpower was dwindling fast.

  The dim lights and a smoke machine made it hard to see in front of me. The place was small, with a capacity of no more than a hundred. From what I could tell, all the tables in front of the small stage were occupied, so I slid into a vacant seat at the bar.

  “Sir?” The bartender leaned toward me. “A drink?”

  Don’t. “Whiskey, neat.”

  A single sip was enough to compromise my employment at Watchtower. Alcohol had never been my greatest vice though. I could control the drinking. It was when I combined drinking with cocaine that I started unraveling. Still, I shouldn’t. I was supposed to be totally clean. That was what everyone thought, anyways. That was the lie I’d been living for six months.

  To fill the void of time until the show started, and to keep from dwelling on the guilt I felt about drinking, I pulled up the Russo Burlesque Troupe website on my phone.

  I clicked on Our performers to get to the dancer bios.

  Russo is pleased to welcome our newest performer, Gigi Noir. Coming to us this year from the Garden State, Gigi grew up on stage, appearing in her first theater performance at five years old. Gigi combines her dance, theater, and musical background into an alluring showcase of talents.

  “Nine-fifty,” the bartender said, bringing my drink and disrupting my focus on the screen. “Do you want to start a tab?”

  I shook my head. I wouldn’t be there long. The moment the whiskey hit the back of my throat, the house lights went down and bombastic vaudevillian beats filled the room. Around me, the crowd erupted in shrieks and applause. A woman, somewhere in her mid-thirties, dressed in a long, sparkling evening gown, appeared on stage. With a sway of her hips, she flashed a feather fan, looking seductively over the top of it.