Page 29 of It Shouldn't Be You
“That’s not a bad idea actually.”
“I’m not just a pretty face, you know,” I say as I toss a cushion at him for sounding so shocked, and with a chuckle, he catches it before coming back over to join me. Settling down beside me again, he tugs me into his side, and in a comfortable silence, we watch the fireplace as we mull over our own set of dilemmas.
Chapter 23
Taking Abigail’s suggestion, I discuss her plan with Alex. If there’s one person I trust implicitly, it’s him. We've spent the past ten years watching each other's backs while chasing leads across the globe. He’d sooner chop off his own arm than betray me, and I'd do the same for him. Besides, if we had wanted to harm each other, there would have been a thousand opportunities to do so by now, in far easier and more successful ways.
“So, you want to trap them like the rat they are?” Alex clarifies after I pitch my plan to him.
“Exactly. We tell each suspect something different about our latest attempt to close the Daniels deal and see which piece of misinformation makes its way to the authorities. Then we'll know who we need to deal with,” I explain.
“You know, if this works, I might just have to kiss Abigail myself to show her how grateful I am,” Alex jokes.
“Like hell you will. Now clear out, I’ve got a call to hop on. Make yourself useful and start laying the groundwork for ourtraps,” I say, tossing the foam rugby ball that usually sits on my desk at his head. As he leaves, launching the ball back at me, I switch my focus to the incoming call.
“So, lay it on me. What’s the update?” Owen skips the pleasantries. I understand his impatience; being a week out from his wedding, coupled with constant dead ends in our investigation, would wear on anyone’s nerves. The urge to actuallydosomething is gnawing at us daily. At this stage by the time we have our hands on someone, I don’t think any of us will be able to think past the blood lust. Add that to how hard it’s gotta be to keep a secret this huge from his soon to be wife, and it’s no wonder he’s chomping at the bit.
“The update is that Peter claims to know nothing about having another sister. He also claims that all the family paperwork was destroyed in the fire that killed his parents shortly before I was born.” I relay, not bothering to hide my scepticism.
“You can’t possibly believe that,” Brennan interjects, his dark eyes narrowed behind his glasses, echoing the doubts swirling in my own mind. As much as I struggle with the idea of Peter withholding information, the inconsistencies and red flags surrounding this whole situation are too glaring to ignore.
“Do I look like I was born yesterday? It’s bullshit, is what it is. Doing the math, for him to have a sister old enough to have vanished before he was born is highly unlikely, verging on impossible. What’s even more fucked up is how I’ve never so much as heard a whisper of there being a third Campbell sibling. Which, considering everyone lives on this godforsaken compound, is beyond suspicious. Especially when you consider that Angus was forever calling my mum a ‘stand-in,’” I say, unable to keep the sneer off my face as I remember the derogatory comments I grew up hearing.
“Implying someone else was probably supposed to marry him,” Owen suggests, piecing together the implications.
“I’ve been doing some digging. The names are redacted, but there is a birth certificate for a second, older Campbell child, born in 1979. That makes her only about five years older than your mum and eleven years older than Peter,” Brennan reveals.
“So, the chances of him not knowing her are slim to none,” Owen concludes, his expression darkening.
“Unless she died before he was born,” I add, trying to find a reasonable explanation that could absolve Peter of deceit. Despite the mounting evidence, part of me still clings to the hope that Peter, the one steady presence in my childhood, isn't as involved in this deception as it seems.
"Or she could have run away. Fuck knows most people would if they were set to marry that fucker," Brennan suggests. Latching onto that idea, I try to picture it. As a Campbell, the daughter of one of the Old Guard, she would have had close to an all-access pass to come and go as she pleased, and fuck knows this place isn’t exactly welcoming at the best of times, never mind under my father's rule. It’s highly likely something would drive her to run, but that still doesn’t explain how seemingly no one knows her.
Or more likely, why they are hiding her existence like a dirty secret.
"We need to look into that some more. I’ll get Alex to do some digging and see what we can uncover on our end. Any more leads on the auctions or the truck driver?"
"The truck driver is a dead end, but the auctions have been popping up on the dark web. Looks like it’s about time for the next one, and people are noticing Angus has vanished. There’stalk about hunting him down," Brennan informs me, shooting me a pointed look.
"Which means they’re going to come knocking soon."
"Question is, are you going to let them in?" Owen asks.
Sharing a look and a snort, I answer him. "Of course. They’re going to lead me straight to some of the answers we’re looking for. I’d bet money on it, and we’d be fucking stupid to pass that up."
A few hours later, with things in motion for Brennan to set up a meeting with one of these buyers and Alex trying to sniff out some answers surrounding the missing Campbell child, I’m in my office going through emails when a knock on the door gets my attention.
Looking up in time to see the door open, I’m shocked when standing in front of me is none other than Cole. The kid looks every inch the punk I first accused him of being, from his spiky bleached hair to the tattoos covering every inch of him and the smirk on his face. But I have to admit he hasn’t so much as stepped a toe out of line while being here and knows how to walk the tightrope that is being a bodyguard, an unseen shadow, and a friend like a pro.
What’s driven him to seek me out, though, I have no idea. Raising an eyebrow, I indicate for him to come in and close the door behind him.
"What can I do for you?" I ask, sitting back in my chair, pinning him under my gaze as I run through a list of things it could be.
"Good question. You can stop fucking about with her heart for a start," he growls, looking every inch the Finlay brother and less like the happy-go-lucky kid I’ve seen for the last three weeks.
"Fucking with whose heart?"
"Abbie’s. All this back and forth, one minute you're going on dates and the next you’re holed up here, hot and cold shit isn’t fair on her."
