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There isn’t anything on Andie again for four years. No school, medical, or travel records. Nothing on her whereabouts during all that time. But I can easily surmise where she was and what she did because my childhood wasn’t too different from hers.
Except, where I was lucky enough to never get caught for my crimes, she ended up in jail for theft.
I pull up those records now. Although they’re not very detailed, many of the names and locations blacked out when the record was sealed, it gives me enough information that I can get a fairly good picture of her life.
As an abandoned minor that never made it into the system, she lived on the streets, surviving by her own wits. Probably with the help of people who gained something from keeping her on the streets.
Then she was arrested and sentenced for grand larceny and sent to prison for twenty years. Harsh sentence for an eighteen-year-old, even if what she stole had amounted to one hundred thousand dollars.
A good attorney would have been able to reduce her time greatly. It was her good behavior and probably the fact that she gave birth while in jail that got her released two years into that sentence. She moved to Las Vegas the day her parole ended.
I lift my cell phone and dial Mason. “Get me her daughter’s birth certificate.”
“Miss Burrow’s?” he asks.
“I want to know who the father is.”
“Give me a few minutes.”
Half an hour later, I receive the PDF in my email. When Charlotte Rae Burrows was born, she was allowed to live with Andie. It was part of a program that allows mothers and their children to be housed in a supervised facility.
Something doesn’t add up because she would have had to qualify for it, and I doubt someone with a twenty-year sentence would meet the requirements.
What does makes sense is that unknown is listed in the field where the father’s name should be.
I sit back but my gaze is still narrowed on that word. Unknown.
There are only two possibilities. Andie was a promiscuous teen and truly had no idea who the father was. Or giving her child a life in prison was preferable to handing her over to a man living on the outside.
There’s a knock on the door and I glance up to Patrick. He glowers at me as he steps inside. “You were supposed to walk the Hufton with me.”
The Hufton is one of our boutique resorts with a private casino for those that want a much quieter Las Vegas experience.
“I have my plate full today,” I tell him.
He walks behind me and I slam my computer shut, but not before he gets a good look at the screen.
Blowing out an annoyed huff, he says, “Your plate or your bed?”
“How was the walk?”
Moving around the desk, he drops into the chair across from me. “Eventful.”
“How so?”
“First, tell me why you requested more information on Anderson Burrows? I thought you didn’t sleep with the staff.” When I arch a questioning brow, he says, “You’re not exactly being discreet. I was at the club last night with Sheila.”
“Kinky.”
“We like to spice things up. Apparently, so do you.”
“I didn’t see you there.”
He laughs. “Did you see anyone besides Anderson? I didn’t realize who she was until now. An employee, Gav. I’m disappointed.”
My jaw tenses. “Her employment will be terminated after this week, so it doesn’t really count.”
He frowns. “Does she know that?”
