Page 64 of Enigma
“How would that even be possible?” Jason quickly glanced at her before turning back to the road. “You saw her body.”
“I sawabody.” Olive’s voice was barely above a whisper. “But I was seventeen, traumatized, and it was . . . it was a crime scene. There was blood everywhere, and I don’t know.”
She paused, forcing herself to think through the facts rather than the emotion.
“The police identified everyone,” she finally continued, her voice hoarse. “But what if Simon was right? What if someone helped stage the scene? What if they used a body from a morgue or someone who had died of natural causes? Does that sound crazy?”
“Considering everything that’s happened, nothing sounds crazy.” Jason went quiet as he seemed to think through the situation. “Your mother would have had to disappear completely. Start a new life with a new identity. She would have had to let you believe she was dead the past eight years.”
Olive crossed her arms as she tried to keep her emotions in check. “Which brings us back to the same question—what kind of person could do that to their own child?”
Jason reached over and squeezed her hand, lowering his voice as he said, “Maybe someone who thought it was the only way to keep you safe.”
“Or someone who thought I was a liability. Unless she was someone who chose her criminal empire over her daughter.” Her voice cracked at the words.
“We don’t know that’s what happened.”
“We don’t know anything for certain. That’s the problem. Every answer we find just leads to more questions.”
More silence passed before Jason cleared his throat. “Olive . . . I just want to say that I’m sorry if I was harsh with you last night.”
“It was deserved.”
“No, it wasn’t. And I’m sorry that I let my emotions get the best of me.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, touched by the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you.”
Jason slowed the Tahoe as they approached an intersection. “Where do you want to go next? Back to the hotel?”
Olive looked around, gathering her bearings. They were only a few miles from her old neighborhood, from the house where her family had lived during their time in Oasis.
“Actually,” she said slowly, “I’d like to visit my old house.”
Jason’s eyebrows rose. “The one where you were attacked a few months ago?”
Olive had gone to the house while she was working another case. Someone must have been following her and had seized the opportunity to attack her. They’d left a note reading, “Like Father, Like Daughter.”
Did someone think she was like her father? That she was following in his footsteps? Did the person who’d left that note not know about her mom, that Mom might be the real mastermind?
So much still didn’t make sense.
Maybe her mom—if she was involved—had everyone fooled.
Including Olive.
The truth was, Olive had tried to take every trick she’d learned from her dad and use it for good instead of evil.
He’d taught her how to read micro-expressions and body language, how to mirror people’s speech patterns and posture to make them feel comfortable and trusted, and how to direct someone’s attention away from what she was really doing while noticing what others missed.
Skills that had once been used to identify marks and run cons now helped her spot when witnesses were lying, helped herget reluctant sources to open up during interviews, and how to conduct surveillance without being detected.
She’d transformed her father’s morally questionable lessons into legitimate investigative tools, though sometimes she wondered if the line between manipulation and persuasion was thinner than she wanted to admit.
She remembered Jason’s question.The one where you were attacked a few months ago?
“Yes, the same one. I know it’s probably empty, but . . . if my mother is alive, if she’s been orchestrating all of this, then that house means something. It’s connected to Lloyd through that shell company, and it’s where our family lived when my dad was in the middle of one of his schemes.”
“What are you hoping to find there?”
