Page 84 of The Donor’s Dilemma

Chapter Twenty-Three

Theo watched over his laptop as Verity cocked a hip and waved the bread he’d brought. After her lecture on the importance of breakfast, he’d made sure he had something for her, and she swore she’d be happy with toast, insisting she didn’t need anything fancy. However, the look on her face told him she was waiting for something, and he had no idea what.

“You don’t like sourdough?” he asked.

“No, sweetie, I love sourdough. I love it with eggs and bacon, or jam… or even just a bit of butter…” she said, plonking the bread on the counter in front of him with a smirk.

Fuck. He hadn’t brought butter.

“I’ll go to the shop,” he said, jumping up from the stool.

“Don’t,” she laughed. “I’ll go, you focus on getting to the end of the register.”

He wanted to protest but within seconds she dipped into the spare room and emerged with knee-high boots and a jacket.

“I won’t be long,” she said, pulling the boots up and Theo didn’t bother hiding the way he watched her. Not the most graceful creature, as she bounced on one foot, forcing her other into a boot, but gods she was adorable. The look of frustration, the way she scowled when she noticed him watching.

“I’m taking your keys,” she said, grabbing them from the table by the door. She blew him a kiss and was gone.

He watched the door for a moment. Why didn’t he get butter? Was she supposed to eat dry toast? Idiot.

Rubbing his eyes, he turned back to his laptop. After their little heart-to-heart last night Theo showed Verity the donor register, the fake files and missing people. A major breach of confidentiality but a wise man knows when he needs help. Theo, however, had sailed straight past the point of needing help; he needed a damn miracle.

And that miracle was called Verity.

Nudging him out of the way, she’d searched through files, opened windows and tabs and scanned over documents, faster than Theo could keep up with. He couldn’t find sense in her frantic clicking until she declared that she’d got it. He could have kicked himself for not seeing it.

The relationships tab. Theo hadn’t thought it important, thought it a little ridiculous that donors‘ background searches went that deep, and he was right. They didn’t go that deep. Every single donor, real and fake, had one of the same eight profiles for past relationships. It was pretty lazy really, sometimes a new name would be thrown in, or five years would become seven, but on the whole, it was word for word. Copy, paste. Copy, paste.

Until the last line, the pattern so basic it was laughable.

In a relationship: real donor.

Single: fake donor.

Long distance relationship: missing.

With that formula in mind finding the truth behind the numbers became far easier. Once he’d convinced Verity to go to bed, Theo had sat in his room powering through the register until he struggled to keep his eyes open. Thankfully, the number of fake donors tapered off, but there were another three missing donors, taking the total to twelve.

Twelve missing people, in Ashhaven alone, and no one looking for them.

Well, that ended tonight.

After flicking through the final registered donors, another fourteen real and three fake, Theo had a comprehensive list of exactly how many donors the Exchange really had, and exactly who was missing.

Footsteps sounded, approaching the door, followed by a sweet voice.

“… I don’t know… No… no, Dad, we’re about to have breakfast, I’ll call later…”

A key jingled in the lock - the wrong key - and Theo headed for the door to let Verity in a moment before she found the right one and the door swung open. She smiled up at him, brighter than the sun, as the man, her father, argued on the phone trapped between her ear and shoulder.

“We just want to know where you are, love. We’re worried…”

Theo took the shopping bag and turned, trying to give Verity some privacy. No doubt she was well aware he could hear every word, but he tried all the same.

“Honestly, Dad,” she said, trying to pull her boots off without dropping the phone. “He works all week. We just want a quiet night in.”

“I don’t want you getting the bus. If you want to come home…”