Finding Fate: An Intense, Fast-Paced Romantic Suspense Novel Page 3

  I flip the light switch in her room. Now my heavy breaths are from what I don't find.

  No. No. No.

  Warm tears stream down my face as I search the empty room. The perfectly made bed. The organized closet still filled with her clothes. The still-full dresser.

  Everything is here except her.

  "Where are you?" I cry and press the Call button. As the line rings in my ear, a slight vibration has me searching around the room, trying to find where the phone is hiding. I press Call again and stand still, listening, focusing on which direction to go.

  There.

  Decorative pillows fly through the air as I tear apart her bed. Then I find it. There’s no controlling my sobs as I withdraw the almost-dead phone and the folded piece of paper it was on top of from under the covers.

  I stare at the paper, my name written on the front in her handwriting blurring in my tear-filled eyes.

  "What have you done, Destiny?" I whisper as I close my eyes and clutch the yellow paper to my heart. "Where are you?"

  It takes a couple tries to open the paper without ripping it, but when I do, I wish it’d taken longer. Because now my life will never be as it was two seconds ago.

  Fate,

  I love you. Never forget that.

  What we have goes beyond the normal sister relationship, past family. I can’t explain it, but I know you did the best you could. You and Mom both did. I’ll never forget those nights you stayed up checking my fever or sitting on the tub when I was home sick with a stomach bug. All the nights we lay awake giggling in bed at what our future held for us, how we hoped our white knight would rescue us from our tiny apartment and we would live happily ever after. I miss those nights. I miss you being around. It’s gotten lonely without you here and Mom being gone as much as she is. But I know you needed to move on, get on with your life. I mean, what twenty-seven-year-old wants to live with her mom and baby sister, right?

  What’s crazy is all those nights we stayed up dreaming of our white knight seemed to be more of a wish than a dream. Because I found him. Well, he found me, or we found each other. He wants to take care of me forever, Fate. He loves me. I finally found a home and what I'm destined for.

  Don't blame yourself. I chose this, and I'm so excited. The adventures that await me! Oh, I wish you could come too. The only thing I'm sad about is not seeing you again or getting to say goodbye. But he said I had to cut all ties, that it was easier this way. I understand and want to obey each of his requests. Be excited for me.

  And I’m sorry I’ve been keeping this from you, that I’ve lied to you for so long. Don’t be mad, please. I really shouldn’t be leaving this note since he wanted everything just between us, but I couldn’t just leave you.

  I love you. Tell Mom I love her too.

  But don't tell her I love you more.

  Find someone who loves you this much. You deserve to be happy too.

  I'll write when I can, if I can.

  EEK! So excited!

  Love,

  Destiny

  The world stills. Time stops.

  I crumple the paper in a tight fist.

  Normal breathing turns difficult. The wheezing of each of my labored breaths fills the silent room.

  Where do I start? What do I do?

  Nothing. Not a single thought, plan or notion enters my mind. There’s nothing but a jumbled mess of emotions and tears. A thought pops through. I can’t think clearly, but I know who can.

  "Fate," Mac says on the other end of the line, confusion and worry in his voice. "Why are you—"

  "I need help," I squeak. "I don't... she's gone." My knees hit the floor as I slip off her bed. Sobs rack my body as I try to tell him what's happened, but all I can do is gulp down enough air to stay conscious.

  "Where are you?" In the background comes the jingling of keys and a door slamming.

  "My mom’s. Where is she? Where is she?"

  "Who, Fate? Who!"

  "Destiny," I scream, but the crack in my voice makes it barely a whisper. "Destiny. Where is she?"

  "I'm coming there. Don't move. I'm coming. If anyone can find her, it's us. It’ll be okay. I'm coming for you."

  He's still talking when the phone slips from my hands and thumps on the worn carpet. The room seems to spin, her life, her things rotating around me, laughing and taunting.

  I flatten out the note and read it again, this time scrutinizing every word. The handwriting is hers. The excitement is hers. But the verbiage, the presentation of how her life will be with this stranger, is one I've seen before. The promise of a better life, of love and not being able to say goodbye are typical tactics of predators luring unknowing victims to a life completely opposite of the one they promise.

  Even after all I’ve seen, I don’t understand how the victims could fall for it, but they do. The person so good at their evil craft, the lies spun so beautifully that their victims have no idea of the trap that’s been set specifically for them.

  Bile rises in my throat at the images of her being subjected to the type of cruelty the men I've spent the last few years capturing are capable of.

  Anger builds, replacing the worry and sadness.

  Deep hate and anger at the person who took advantage of a lonely high school girl.

  The tears cease.

  The room stops spinning.

  With a calm hand, I grab her favorite stuffed animal from the floor. In this moment, just me in the quiet of her room, I vow to the stuffed Olaf in my hands that I'll get her back, that she will come home. And then whoever did this, whoever convinced my sweet, innocent sister to leave, I'll hunt down and make them pay. I have no idea how, but it will happen.

  Shoving the oversized snowman against my face, I scream until my lungs bleed and I have no voice left.

  Chapter 4

  Fate

  Before

  I try, and fail, to suppress a grimace as their loud voices carry through the small conference room. This past year of secluding myself, shutting society out, has made me hypersensitive to noises other than Dobby and the clicking of my keyboard, I guess.

  To my right, some guy argues with someone across the table, who then turns, face flushed, and blames the person beside him. It's kind of entertaining to watch. In my opinion they’re all overreacting, but I could be numb to it all at this point. Either way, I might as well let them bicker amongst themselves for a little longer. Not like I have anything else to do. All I have is time these days. Plus, when they're done fighting with each other, their attention will turn back to me.

  At least they didn’t leave the second I walked through the door. Didn’t think they would, but with the CIA, you never know. The arrogant bastards are conniving and cutthroat—this much I’ve learned the past few months of picking up random contract work for them. It’s been fun seeing this side of government and country relations, but it still leaves me feeling slimy at the end of an assignment.

  A few minutes later, their voices quiet. I clear my throat and attempt to make eye contact with a few of the men to gain their attention.

  "When you're ready," I say in a low but firm voice that's taken hours of practice in the mirror to command a crowd like this, "we can finish the conversation."

  Someone starts but the conference room door swings open, making him pause. A once-familiar face strides into the room. With the ease of knowing he belongs, Mac slides into the open chair directly across the dark wood conference table from me. Only once he's situated does he look up, locking his light brown eyes with mine.

  My breath catches at the mixture of longing and hurt in his eyes. And for the first time since I found that damn note in Destiny's room, an emotion other than hate fills my heart, making it ache.

  In this moment, the realization hits me smack in the face, and heart.

  I miss my friend.

  It's been over a year since I found the note, and he tried his hardest to find her. I don't blame him for us not finding Destiny in time to bring her home. No, I
blame myself for that. He was simply a casualty of who I turned into after my life fell apart. A life fueled by revenge and loathing isn't one anyone wants to be around. There’s only so much time and energy a friend can give another before they back away.

  So no, I don't blame him at all. But I am sad that the man sitting across from me, looking a little older and a lot more stressed, is almost a stranger when at one time I would've considered him the father figure I never had.

  One of the CIA guys at the other end of the table speaks up. "Please continue, Miss Haley."

  Again I clear my throat, mostly to make sure it doesn't shake through this next part. "As I was saying, I'm putting an end to this. To him. You’ve allowed General Hammar to lure, torture, and kill women unchecked for too long. It's been over six months since I brought this to your attention, and still you’ve done nothing. I'm done waiting on this agency to act. I can't sit back and watch it happen again to someone else’s daughter, sister, friend. This ends now. General Hammar and his cyber lackey are done taking innocent women from this country and wooing them with their lies. I've found his recruiter, and now I'm the one playing the players. But I need your help. I've done the first—"

  "What you're thinking of asking isn't going to happen," a large-bellied man down the table says with a raised hand. "We’re not ready to risk agents’ lives to arrest General Hammar and extradite him to the US. That particular part of Africa is in utter turmoil, deemed unsafe by our superiors for our agency to send anyone in, especially someone with government approval, as relations between our two governments are strained. General Hammar has done some grizzly things and he will be held accountable for his crimes, but that will not be any time soon. As we've told you many times before, General Hammar is not at the top of our priority list at this point."

  "He's at the top of mine."

  An analyst to my right sucks in a quick breath. No doubt he heard my hiss, can feel the hate now pouring out of me, strengthening my resolve to do this with or without them.

  "I know he’s not at the top of your list,” I reply. “If he were, the meetings I've requested before would’ve been accepted. I also know you don't have anyone expendable, and quite frankly I don't want anyone to get hurt because of my obsession. Which is why you won't, or really can't, send an agent in. I’m going."

  A pen across the table clatters against its shiny surface.

  The only other woman in the room speaks up, her features set in a grim line and arms crossed over her chest. "Miss Haley, we appreciate and understand your resolve, but we will not send someone like you, not even an agent of any kind, into Africa with the hopes that General Hammar will be there. Plus, there isn't enough time for us to build an online fake profile for you to appear on his recruiter’s radar, much less have enough time to build a strong enough relationship for him to request you to visit him. Hell, we’re only having this meeting because it somehow popped up on all our calendars as required attendance. The answer is no."

  To keep them from seeing my smirk, I turn my face down and focus on a faint water spot on the table. Of course they don't understand how it appeared on their calendars.

  Peeking up through my lashes, I find Mac silently beaming with pride. At least he sees it for what it's worth. Hacking into the CIA and manipulating the various calendars wasn't easy. But they’re here and not leaving, which I’d expected. They want to know what I know, especially after my revelation of knowing where General Hammar’s recruiter is located. As much as they want to leave, they’re too curious now to actually walk out. Plus, I’ve assisted most of the people in this office in some way or another over the past few months. Their dirty secrets are my blackmail if I need to take it that far to get what I want.

  The woman leans back in her chair, eyes roaming from my pink hair to my nose ring. "Listen, you want him out of the picture and so do we—when the timing is right. Hand over the information you've gathered on the general, and the other players you alluded to at the beginning of this meeting, and we’ll see it through from here. Help us catch him this way, with our resources—"

  "No."

  My curt response makes her bristle. "I'm sure you're aware, Miss Haley, that anything you've collected, all the data you're betting your life on, is property of the US government since you obtained it while contracted with the FBI—"

  "And CIA," I add.

  The woman’s face reddens. "And us. The data was gathered on government property."

  "My own property, actually."

  "What?" she practically yells.

  "I use my own computers. Yours are outdated and slow. Honestly, how do you people get anything done around here?"

  A man in a dark navy suit takes over. "The access you've obtained through the allowed channels and those not"—his accusing glare tells me he must know about the few times I've hacked into their database to gather some needed classified information—"is ours. Give us the data—"

  I sneer. Gone is timid, introvert Fate; only the frustrated, angry version of me exists now. "What I’ve gathered is not only from the streams of data you've provided but also from my sister’s personal computer. And with or without the US government’s support, I'm going to Africa to be, what the general believes, his new twenty-year-old virgin bride."

  My eyes roll at the virgin part. What is it with guys and wanting a virgin? You'd think they’d value experience, but what do I know. Not like I have a lot of insight into the male psyche.

  Shock registers on his face. "You've already—"

  "Yes, I've already made contact. I told you. I've been trying to tell you. I know what he wants, and I can be that person. If you would’ve just listened to me months ago, I would’ve told you my plan, but you didn't. Arrangements have been made, and my plane leaves in two weeks to meet my new 'husband.' I'm here asking for help because I can't do this alone. But I've already done the hard part, made contact and played them at their own game." I shrug, faking confidence. "I found an opening and I took it."

  "We can stop you," another man shouts from the opposite side of the room. "Take everything you have—"

  Looking to Mac, I roll my eyes. "Wrong again. Everything I’ve gathered is loaded on an encrypted program that only I can unlock. If anyone other than me so much as breathes near it, everything will be deleted, never to be seen again. All the information on General Hammar and the bastard he used to lure my sister to Africa will vanish. Are you willing to risk that?"

  Silence fills the room, confirming what I already know. No way these lazy men will be okay with losing all the hard work I've already put into this.

  "So, gentlemen"—my gaze falls on Mac—"are you with me, or will I go into this alone?"

  The intensity in Mac’s stare forces me to look away.

  Murmuring begins at the end of the table as they discuss their options, growing louder with each voice adding in their annoyance with the situation.

  Knowing they’ll be at this all day, I make my way to the side door and slip out without being noticed.

  Their decision won't change anything. But I really could use their help with the whole extraction part or this could be a suicide mission.

  And that's not what I want.

  I think.

  As I ride my bike to the train, cherry blossoms shower me with pale pink petals with each burst of cool breeze. Washington DC in the spring is much better than Texas, where you haven't a clue what the weather will be from one day to the next.

  I smile into the light breeze. Destiny would’ve hated it here. Her allergies were awful, making each spring in Texas a sneeze fest. A Costco supply of tissues was required for the month it "pollened" like yellow snow, covering everything in a thin nasty layer.

  It's funny the unimportant things you remember about someone you've lost. Why do her allergies stand out in my mind when so many things seem to be slipping away, lost forever?

  My heart constricts, making my breath catch and my legs slow to coast down the street. Wow, this makes twice in one day that
my heart has actually felt. Even though it hurts, it's nice. But it also makes me feel lonely.

  Locking up all emotion, I shove my right leg forward to race through a yellow light. No feeling sorry for myself. This is my life, the cursed life I've been dealt. The sooner I accept that I'll always be alone, the better. First Destiny, then Mac, and of course Mom too. Everyone leaves, and I'm the one left attempting to piece some semblance of a life back together.

  CHILLED AIR-CONDITIONED air seeps through the crack in the door as I push it open only to be slammed against it once I'm through.

  "Hey, Dobby." Even me, a woman with a lonely, hurting heart, can't help but find joy in this dog. I scratch behind both ears and he shakes his head. I smile down as he grins up at me.

  At least he hasn't left. That would probably be the final straw.

  "Was your day better than mine?" I ask as I give one last good scratch down his gray furry chest.

  Ignoring the couch, and the book I stayed up way too late reading last night, I pass through the living room for the spare bedroom. This apartment is significantly nicer than the one I had in Fort Worth. I love the original hardwood floors and high ceilings, and the light pouring through the large bay window reminds me there’s a world outside still moving along without me.

  It's crazy expensive, but with all the contract work with the FBI, and the occasional CIA jobs, it was a simple choice. What else will I do with my paycheck? It's not like I have anyone to help anymore. No more saving up for college or putting money aside for extra spending in Destiny’s first year.

  Stopping outside the bedroom door, I press my forehead against the cold wood. Destiny would’ve almost been done with her first year at this point. Probably would’ve made a few friends. Who knows, maybe even had a boyfriend or two. She was pretty enough to catch every guy’s eye before....

  A tear slips past my defenses and drips down my cheek.

  It's not the thoughts of where she would be now or the things she’ll never experience that are difficult to handle. I wish it were those things that keep me up at night instead of what actually does.