Page 25 of Girl Lost (The King Legacy #1)

LUNA’S HEART HAMMERED against her ribs. That hint of panic in Harlee’s voice meant they were thinking the same thing.

Trinity. Missing. Just like Carlie.

And the other girls.

The ones they’d found in shallow graves.

But Liv had said Trinity ran. Repeatedly. Disappeared until Stryker found her and dragged her back. Liv thought she was still using, and Jordan pretty much confirmed it. So was she running now? Or had someone taken her?

“Harlee, are you sure Trinity is missing?” Luna was still on thin ice with her friend, and throwing doubt hadn’t gone over too well last time. “Liv said she runs off sometimes.”

Silence hummed through the phone for a beat. “Since when do you talk to Liv?”

Luna shifted. “I met her when I took a shower at the gym yesterday.”

Corbin jumped in. “We questioned some teens earlier, and they said they knew Trinity. One called her a pillbilly.”

Harlee’s sigh rattled the car speakers. “Okay, yeah. Running’s her specialty. Oxy’s got ahold of her. Started after her heart transplant surgery.”

“Heart transplant?” Her mouth went dry. Her daughter, if Trinity really was her daughter, had been close to death. While Luna had been overseas, oblivious, her child’s heart had been failing. She’d needed a new one cut into her chest. The thought made Luna’s own heart constrict.

“That’s serious.” She fought to keep her tone neutral when every maternal instinct she’d been suppressing all these years roared to life. She gripped the door handle to steady herself, grateful Corbin was focused on the road. “What happened?”

“Yeah,” Harlee said. “From what little I know, she had cardiomyopathy from some virus. Happened before her parents died.”

Her parents. Not Luna. Not Corbin. Someone else had been there while their daughter fought for her life. Someone else had held her hand through the terror and pain.

“That’s awful, but why didn’t Stryker kick her out of the program?” Corbin asked. “He has a zero-tolerance policy for drug use.”

Luna stilled herself, waiting for the answer. She’d been asking herself the same thing, and if Harlee even hinted that Trinity might be their daughter, she’d be dropping the biggest bombshell since ... Her mind flicked to the explosion in Peshawar, but she shut it down and focused on Harlee.

“Honestly? They knew each other before the program,” Harlee said.

“Stryker was friends with her father, a Miami detective. After her parents were killed by a drunk driver, she bounced around foster care. Started getting into trouble. Stryker felt responsible for her. That’s why he’s always chasing after her, bringing her back.

Not to mention letting her push the boundaries and bend the rules when she’s here. ”

It was true that Stryker had a soft spot for the lost and broken. But this ... this felt different. Like there was something more.

The thought pulsed through her again. Trinity must be her daughter.

Their daughter.

She glanced at Corbin. Scrutinized his features for microexpressions correlated with an emotional response. Eyes wide. Brow raised. He was hearing this news for the first time.

He asked, “Why’s Stryker letting her run wild? She’s a bad example for the rest of the kids in the program.”

“My guess?” Harlee hesitated. “He feels like her oxy addiction is his fault.”

Corbin’s and Luna’s eyes met, a silent question passing between them.

“Why would he think that?” Corbin asked.

“I sorta overheard them arguing a few weeks back. Trinity was yelling, saying it was his fault she was hooked.”

“His fault? How?” She couldn’t imagine Stryker ever leading anyone to use drugs. Certainly not a kid.

“I didn’t catch the whole conversation,” Harlee said. “But apparently he convinced her to have the heart transplant when she didn’t want it. She was in a bad place after losing her parents. Had some kind of death wish. The surgery led to the pain meds, and well ...”

“Pain meds,” Corbin said. “I’ve seen it a thousand times. People can become addicted in as little as five days.”

Five days. That’s all it took for those pills to grab hold. No wonder Jordan and the others had called her that name. The thing was, it might not be her fault. “So the heart transplant led to the pain meds?” Luna asked.

“That’s what I gather,” Harlee said. “I tried to get close to Trinity when she first came to the program. Thought maybe she needed another woman to talk to. But she kept everyone at a distance.”

Luna’s stomach knotted. The thought of Trinity isolating herself, battling grief and addiction with no support system, broke something inside her. But she couldn’t say that. Couldn’t reveal how personal this felt.

“I reported her missing to the locals,” Harlee said. “She’s a minor, and it’s been over twenty-four hours.”

“Good idea,” Corbin said.

She nodded even though Harlee couldn’t see her. “I think so too.”

Especially if there was someone out there snatching runaways and carving them up for parts. She added, “But you never have to wait twenty-four hours to report a minor.”

“That’s right,” Corbin said. “Don’t let local PD tell you otherwise.”

“Thanks, you guys. I’ll file another report,” Harlee said. “I’ve already talked to the other students, but it wouldn’t hurt to nudge the local PD again.”

“Any luck finding Steve?” Corbin asked, changing the subject.

“Not yet, but I pulled area footage and I’m running the partial plate I got for the G-Wagon.

I’m running biometrics on Mr. Steve. Still searching for a match.

And I’m digging into any connections Stryker might have to anyone named Steve.

Tell me again why you didn’t arrest that guy for assaulting you? ”

“Bigger picture.” Corbin touched his bruised jaw. “He could lead us to bigger players. I’ll file a report and hand his gun over to the locals when I get a chance. Doubt it’s registered to him, but as soon as we know his full name, I want to put surveillance on him.”

“Fine,” Harlee said.

“We have a lead to follow up on, but keep us posted.” Corbin disconnected, then looked at her. “I couldn’t go into everything with Harlee, but it bugs me that Steve mentioned Carlie by name, even though we didn’t.”

“Yeah, I caught that,” she said.

They’d reached the address of the boat shop the witnesses had given them. Luna pointed out a white metal building with a nautical blue roof. The sign above the entrance read “Morales Marine Services.” They pulled into the gravel lot and parked near the entrance.

The place looked deserted. No customers. No cars. Just rows of yachts and sailboats sitting on trailers along the side of the building. Across the street, a nail salon was sandwiched between a surf shop and an upscale thrift boutique.

“Looks like business is good.” She got out of the car and followed Corbin to the front door.

A bell jingled as Corbin pushed the door open and held it for her.

She stepped inside and stood in front of a small counter and a windowed wall that separated the customer area from the shop.

It was surprisingly clean and well-organized.

Gleaming boats filled the shop, their hulls polished to a mirrored shine.

Tools hung neatly on pegboards along one wall.

Four bay doors lined the opposite wall. The scent of wax and cleaning solution hung in the air.

This place was the opposite of the boat graveyard.

A man came out of the shop through the glass door, carrying a fishing rod with a microfiber cleaning cloth in one hand. He wore a crisp white polo shirt, khaki shorts, and boat shoes. Sun wrinkles lined his tanned face, and a gold Rolex glinted on his wrist.

“Oops, forgot to put the closed sign out.” The man chuckled. “But since you’re here, what can I do for you?”

“Caleb Morales?” Corbin flashed his badge. “Agent King, FDLE. This is Agent Rosati. We have a few questions for you.”

Well, that wasn’t how she’d have gone about it. She cringed. So much for easing him in. Corbin’s approach was about as subtle as a SWAT team busting down the door.

Morales’s smile faltered. He set the fishing rod down, his gaze flicking between their badges. His smile returned, a bit strained this time. “Sure, officers. What can I do for you?”

“We’re investigating a case,” Corbin said. “We understand you do some salvaging at the boat graveyard out near the preserve area.”

Morales’s smile widened. “Salvaging? Now that’s an ugly word, Agent. I prefer to think of it as ... recycling. Giving those old boats a new life.” He chuckled.

Corbin’s hand twitched. A barely perceptible movement, but Luna caught it. He didn’t like Morales and his nervous laughter any more than she did.

She stepped closer to the counter, her gaze fixed on Morales. “You said you recycle those old boats. What exactly do you do with the parts?”

“Sell them,” Morales said, his smile returning. “To other boat owners, repair shops, collectors. There’s a big market for vintage parts, Agent. Especially here in Florida.”

She’d seen that look before. He was lying. Or at least leaving something out.

“Interesting,” Corbin said. “So you’ve got records? Invoices? Proof of who you’ve sold to?”

“Of course.” Morales gestured toward a computer on his desk. “Everything’s computerized now. Perfectly legal. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Did Morales know what dark things they’d found out there? Was this guy selling more than boat parts?

The door chimed, and a tall, well-dressed man entered the shop. He wore a crisp white linen suit and a Panama hat perched on his silver hair. A gold chain was buried in his protruding chest hair.

“Caleb, mi amigo!” The man pushed past Corbin and clapped Morales on the shoulder. His deep voice held a hint of a Cuban accent. “Thank goodness you’re still open. Mi querida Goldie needs a little TLC. And you’re the best in the business, Caleb.”

“Mr. Fuentes. A pleasure, as always.” Morales’s smile was strained. “These are from the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.”