Chapter 2
Tom slammed his fist into Jack’s shoulder, lowering his voice to a dangerous growl.
"That's your own flesh and blood you're talking about, Jack."
Jack casually brushed the dust off his jacket. "I deal in facts, Tom. Stick to the case."
He turned to a junior agent standing nearby. "Any missing persons reports matching the victim's description filed with the LAPD?"
The young agent scrolled through his tablet and shook his head. "Nothing. No missing females in their early twenties in the last three days."
Jack tapped his fingers impatiently against the metal table. "Missing for days and her family didn't even notice? Sounds like they didn't care to begin with."
His words hit me like a sledgehammer.
I had been missing for four days. I had been tortured to death in a filthy, abandoned warehouse. And here was my brother, standing over my corpse, calling my family irresponsible.
Suddenly, the phone in Jack’s pocket vibrated.
The moment he saw the name on the screen, the hard lines of his face instantly softened.
"Anna? Hey, what's wrong?" he answered, his voice dropping into a low, patient murmur.
It was a tone that used to belong only to me.
"Jacky? The after-party is starting. When are you getting here?" Anna's voice was breathy, sweet, and entirely harmless. "I'm all alone backstage, and it's creepy."
Jack switched the phone to his other ear, a fond smile touching his lips.
"Just wait for me, okay? I'm wrapping up a lead, then I'll be right there." His voice was thick with fierce protectiveness. "LA isn't safe right now. Keep that pepper spray I gave you close, and call me if anything happens."
Listening to him coddle her, I let out a bitter, silent laugh.
We shared the same blood. But he gave all his love, trust, and protection to an adopted stranger.
"Make sure you hurry, Jacky! I have a surprise for you," Anna cooed.
My ghostly form shuddered violently. I lunged forward, desperately trying to grab Jack’s arm.
Don't go! Jack, she's a monster!
That sweet girl on the phone was the same one who stood in the shadows of the warehouse last night, laughing while I was sliced apart!
But my fingers phased right through his solid chest. Jack couldn't hear a thing.
He smiled, hung up, and his face immediately shifted back to professional coldness.
Tom stood nearby, letting out a heavy, disappointed sigh. "Jack. Call Lia. Just once."
Jack waved him off, shoving the phone back into his tactical jacket. "I don't have time for her hide-and-seek games. It’d be better if she never showed up at all. Save me the headache."
Tom pointed a trembling finger at him. "How did I raise such a bastard?"
Ignoring Tom's fury, Jack turned back toward the autopsy table. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled out a fresh pair of latex gloves.
Snap. The rubber snapped tight against his wrists.
He stepped up to the table, his sharp eyes scanning the ruined remains. Looking for any identifying marks, he reached out and grasped the pale, broken wrist.
My heart leaped into my throat.
The next second, his thumb brushed over a slightly raised, old scar.