“That doesn’t mean we can be late.” I couldn’t risk the chance that the doctor might run on time.For once. If that happened, Nana Sue wouldn’t get her treatment, and they’d charge mefor the missed appointment. Given her health and our budget, neither option was acceptable.
Nana Sue was all I had left. She was the only person who hadn’t left me.
Bobby and Jodie didn’t want to die young and leave me alone, but that didn’t change the outcome. And I’d never met my birth parents, who’d left me with nothing more than a baby blanket with my first name embroidered on it.
Chapter 8
Austin
Back in my nondescript chain hotel room—I didn’t care that the hotel wasn’t five-star; all I needed was a clean room and hot water—I plugged my phone charger into the wall and attached my phone.
I wished more people knew that their personal information could be hacked if they plugged into the USB ports the hotel conveniently provided.
Not that most hotel staff would, but bad actors with hacking skills wouldn’t think twice.
The CIA, hell, the entire alphabet soup, FBI, DEA, DHS, all sent memos regularly reminding us not to use provided USB ports.
I opened my laptop, authenticated my VPN, another security protocol, and checked on the aging app results. They’d probably been available for hours, but I’d been busy playing nice with my family.
Nice job, Winchester.Less than twenty-four hours ago you were promising to reconnect, and now you’re blaming your family for not seeing the results sooner.
After typing in my password, I reminded myself to be less of a dick as the program loaded.
I clicked on the Singer file.
An image appeared.
I blinked.
It can’t be.
I blinked again. And again, thinking I was seeing things.
I wasn’t.
I whistled out the air in my lungs.
“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”
The image wasn’t a perfect match, but it was close enough for me to know with confidence.
Nina Novak—owner of an ancient red hatchback, college student, and Grannie’s assistant manager—and Nina Singer—missing daughter of two missing, presumed dead, CIA officers— were one and the same.
I ran my hand through my hair, making it stand on end.
Obsessed with the case and wanting to see the rendering, I hadn’t bothered taking off my coffee stained pants.
I looked at the now dry stain. What were the fucking chances I’d walk into my aunt’s coffee shop and literally bump into a person of interest in my case?
Not just any person.
The missing child of two missing CIA officers.
Not that I knew that when I’d held her at arm’s length, worried she might have burned herself.
When I looked into her deep blue eyes, eyes that had haunted me the entire drive back to Dallas, I hated myself for thinking about how beautiful she was, how alluring her eyes were, how kissable her apologetic lips were.
I’d told myself she was too young.
