Page 36 of Girl Lost (The King Legacy #1)

WHAT HAD SHE DONE? She needed to get out of there. Out of the stifling office. Away from Corbin. Away from the past mistake that hung heavy between them like the suffocating air that blasted her as the clinic doors slid open.

The Florida sun beat its relentless assault. Heat radiated off the asphalt. She could feel Corbin’s gaze on her back, the weight of his unspoken questions pressing down on her.

How could she explain? How could she tell him that Trinity, the girl they’d been searching for, the girl Stryker risked his life for, might be their daughter? The daughter they’d given up. The daughter she’d spent years trying to find.

Her hand went to her stomach, the familiar ache returning. A physical pain, a constant reminder of the choice she’d made. The choice they’d made. The choice that had shattered her dreams. Her future.

She reached Corbin’s car and yanked the door handle. Her fingers trembled, her hand slick with sweat. She just wanted to go somewhere. Alone.

“Luna, what was that?” He was beside her now. “What was that all about?”

“Does it matter? I didn’t get the file, did I? Now unlock the car. It’s baking out here.”

The click of the remote signaled respite. A place to gather her thoughts. Corbin opened the passenger door for her. She slid into the seat, the leather warm against her skin.

Without a word, he got in, started the engine, and put his forehead on the steering wheel. She could see his hands gripping the leather, knuckles white. The muscles in his jaw bunched. He was holding it together. Barely.

She waited, listening to the grind of his molars as he fought for control.

She knew that sound. The desperate struggle to rein in the anger before it exploded.

It made sense now. Why he’d tempt himself with the very thing that drove his father into madness.

Control the temptation. Control the anger.

Experience told her it didn’t work that way.

But this was her fault. She’d pushed him. Pushed them both, revealing the truth about Trinity like that. It had been a reckless move, a desperate attempt to find answers. But now ... now she had to face the consequences.

She wanted to reach out, to touch his arm, to offer comfort, to reassure him. But her hand remained frozen on her lap. She’d let him speak first.

Finally, he lifted his head. Released his grip, his brown eyes shadowed with pain.

“Is it true?” His eyes searched her face. “Is Trinity your—our daughter?”

Her breath caught. How could she answer that? She didn’t know for sure. Not yet.

“Trinity is a lost girl who needs our help. I started to suspect ... well...” She met his gaze. Kept her expression carefully neutral. “The truth is, I just don’t know. Not yet.”

He shook his head, brow pinched. “Luna, why didn’t you tell me?”

She sighed, leaning back against the headrest. “I guess I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of being wrong. Of being right. Of ... of stirring up all the pain and regret we buried.” She let her gaze drop to her hands.

“It’s not just about me. It’s about you.

I didn’t want to put you through that—not when I don’t even have answers yet.

I’m sorry, Corbin. I should have told you as soon as I suspected. ”

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on some point over her shoulder.

When he finally spoke, he said, “I understand. I do. But Luna, we’re partners now. We can’t keep things from each other. Not if we want to solve this case.”

“You’re right.” She nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in her chest. “No more secrets.”

Corbin’s expression softened, and for a moment, she saw a glimpse of the boy she’d fallen in love with all those years ago. “Okay. So, partners?”

He held out his hand, and Luna took it, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. “Partners,” she agreed.

As they shook hands, Luna sensed a shift in the air between them. A clearing of old hurts, a tentative step toward ... something. Trust, maybe. Or forgiveness. Whatever it was, she knew it was necessary. For the case, for Stryker, for all the lives hanging in the balance.

He released her hand and brushed her hair from her forehead. Cleared his throat. “So, is Trinity our daughter? Is that why Stryker gave her so many chances?”

If only she knew for certain. Had a DNA test, or at least Stryker to tell her. “According to her intake form, the birth date is a match.”

Corbin’s phone buzzed in the cup holder. He glanced at the screen, and his eyes closed for a beat before he answered. “Commissioner.”

She listened to his side of the conversation, piecing together the fragments. “Yes, sir ... I understand ... Yes ... It’s important ... We’re on it, sir.”

Corbin winced, holding the phone away from his ear for a second. “Yes, sir. Rosati and I have a lead. Yes, sir. Following up now. Got it.”

He disconnected the call and turned to her. “That was a call to, quote, ‘Light a fire under us.’ As if we didn’t already have one.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “You ready for a stakeout?”

Corbin didn’t wait for an answer. He backed out of the parking space and pulled out into traffic.

He turned onto Ocean Drive, the road winding along the coast. Beyond the car windows, the waves surged and pounded against the shore, a relentless, chaotic force that mirrored her own roiling inner state.

No more secrets. She’d promised him that, hadn’t she? But some secrets were buried deeper than others. Secrets she wasn’t sure she could ever reveal. Classified secrets.

He pulled into a secluded spot overlooking the research facility, parking the car beneath the shade of a sprawling banyan tree. The engine purred, then fell silent. The automatic shutoff kept the AC running, at least until they drained the battery.

The Chiron BioInnovation Center stood on a bluff overlooking the Atlantic, a gleaming white fortress of glass and steel.

It looked more like a luxury resort than a medical facility.

Palm trees swayed in the ocean breeze, their fronds casting long shadows across the manicured lawns.

A fountain, its water cascading in a series of graceful arcs, gurgled softly in the center of a courtyard.

The facility straddled not only the ocean but the edges of Millie Beach.

Beneath the surface of beauty and tranquility, a darkness lurked.

Not taking his eyes off the building, Corbin said, “You think this is where they’re holding Stryker?”

“Maybe.” She shifted in her seat to settle in.

He turned to her, and his eyes lingered on her hands. “I noticed your manicure back at the clinic. Very ... professional.”

She cringed. Busted.

“I also noticed you told the receptionist you’d had them done two weeks ago. Here. Locally.”

Honesty. It was time. Or was it? She’d spent a lifetime hiding behind masks, becoming someone she wasn’t. Revealing the truth, even a sliver of it, seemed dangerous. Like stripping naked in a crowded room.

“What I’m about to tell you is off-the-charts top secret.” She had her eyes on the employee entrance of the research facility but glanced at Corbin as she spoke. “I’m cleared to tell close family a redacted story, and right now, I guess you’re the closest thing I have to family.”

He turned to her fully now. “You can trust me, Luna. I promise. We’re partners, remember?”

She took his hand and nodded. Where to begin?

Peshawar. The market. The vibrant colors of the stalls, the scent of spices, the press of bodies, the sudden blinding flash, the deafening roar, the acrid smell of smoke, the screams, the blood, the dust settling on a scene of unimaginable horror.

A child’s lifeless eyes staring up at her, a silent accusation.

“I had an asset get killed.” The words came out a whisper. “I don’t know how, or why, but she’d been compromised. Forced into wearing a suicide vest.” She stared at the research center, eyes almost unfocused. Seeing but not.

“Analysts back at CIA headquarters had sent a cable saying all checks were complete and I was clear to proceed with the meeting. I traced my escape routes, watched for tails. Did everything by the book. Except...”

The narrow alley filled with tables of fruits, vegetables, and sacks of spices. The scent of cumin and curry wafting through the air. Children sitting on the side of the road with cupped hands held up.

“My eyes locked onto a street kid begging for money or food.” Luna shook her head at the memory.

“A girl with dark hair and eyes that mirrored mine. I remember feeling struck. A piece of my past, one I’d tried so hard to keep buried, shot to the surface.

I was back here. Holding a tiny life in my arms. Seeing the girl with such a striking resemblance reminded me that somewhere in the world a child I’d brought into being was thriving.

A child I’d relinquished for a chance at a better future. ”

She risked a glance at Corbin.

He squeezed her hand. “A sacrifice made with love but one that left an indelible mark on your heart. Mine too.”

“I couldn’t afford involuntary emotional leakage, so I walked to my meeting across the street.

I sat with my asset on a wooden bench and sipped tea.

I didn’t want to look at the beggar girl, but my eyes involuntarily drifted in her direction.

So I used it. Used it to get closer to my asset. To make her more comfortable.

“It’s a technique we call ‘You Me, Same Same.’ The more my asset saw herself in me, the faster and stronger we would bond.” It sounded so evil when she said it out loud now.

“You did the same thing to the receptionist, right? Bonded over manicures?”

She bobbed her head. “Yeah, like that. So I told the asset that the street kid reminded me of myself. I told her I grew up like her and I wanted to make the world a better place. So children like her could have food and a safe place to live.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes ... and no.” She pushed out a long breath and got lost in the past.

A man across the street pointed a camera in her direction. Red flags went up. Probably , there was nothing to worry about. Just a tourist photographing the clock tower.

Then why did adrenaline race through her veins at the sight of him?

She should get up and walk away , but she needed more time with Aisha. They’d come this far , and all she needed was the name.

She sipped her tea and watched the tourist out of her periphery. “ Do you remember the painting we were discussing?”

Aisha stared into her tea and gave a short nod.

They couldn ’t very well sit and talk about bombings and terrorists in public , so Luna spoke in code. “What day will the painting be in the museum?”

“I don’t know the exact day , but within three days of Muharram .”

The Islamic New Year. This year it would fall in early July , only a few months away. “What’s the name of the artist?”

Aisha’s head hung low , eyes transfixed on the cup. Her hands trembled.

Luna flicked a glance in the direction of the tourist. She didn’ t see him.

“This is bigger than one ... artist. There are many.” Aisha turned to look at Luna. “One man controls the paintings , the museums , the artists. Everything.”

A cold sweat broke out on Luna’s neck. “Who is it , Aisha?”

Aisha shook her head. Tears slid down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Aisha lifted the hem of her tunic a fraction.

Enough that Luna saw the wires.

“It was a bomb.” She forced herself to breathe, to stay in the present.

“A suicide bomber. Right in the middle of the marketplace in Peshawar. I barely escaped with my life. My asset. A beggar girl. So many others. They weren’t so lucky.

” She cleared her throat, forcing the words out. “Shrapnel embedded in my thigh.”

He didn’t speak, but his silence was enough. It had been so long since someone had simply listened. Truly listened. Without judgment, without expectation.

“They brought me back to the States to recover.” She kept her tone of practiced detachment.

“They wanted me to lay low while they figured out if my cover had been compromised. Said I needed to reconnect with my real identity.” A humorless laugh escaped her lips.

“Except I didn’t even know who that was anymore. And all I could think about was...”

“Our daughter,” he said.

“I wanted to know if she was okay. Maybe ... maybe she’d want to meet me now that she’s eighteen. I searched for her using the channels I had, but nothing. Then finally worked up the courage to call Stryker. To ask him to help me find her. He said he would, but only if I met him in person.”

“So you came back to Millie Beach.”

“Covertly, at first.” She looked at him then, meeting his gaze. “I needed to do some ... recon.”

“The manicure?” he asked.

“Okay, maybe a little self-care was in order.” She released Corbin’s hand and splayed her fingers, inspecting. Those perfectly polished nails felt like a betrayal. A symbol of the secret life she’d used to keep herself away from her friends.

She curled her fingers into fists and held them in her lap. “I only stayed for one day. Then I had to go back to DC for a senate hearing on the incident. By the time I got through that ordeal, I’d decided. I’d risk meeting Stryker.”

She paused. It hadn’t felt like a conscious decision but more like a driving force pushing her to come home. For what? To witness his kidnapping?

“Luna, I’m so sorry. For everything. For Peshawar. For our child. For ...” He dropped his eyes. “Leaving you to deal with it all alone.”

She wanted to tell him it was okay. Wanted to brush it aside, to pretend it didn’t matter anymore. But the truth was, it did matter. It always had.

“It wasn’t all your fault. We both made choices. Choices we can’t take back.”

The silent understanding in his eyes was almost enough to make her forget the years of hurt, the distance, the walls she’d built around her heart.

Almost.

“So, what now?” He looked at her, his gaze searching, hopeful. “Where do we go from here?”

“We have a case to solve.”

He reached for her as if to hold her, but he sucked air between his teeth. “Ouch. Can’t lean that way.”

She studied him now. His face was pale, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Are you okay?”

He leaned back in his seat, his hand going to his side. “I don’t know, Luna. I’m feeling a little run down.”

She put her wrist to his forehead. Warm. “Did you take your antibiotics?”

He shook his head. “Forgot.”

Her concern overrode her desire to finish the stakeout. Corbin could call in another unit to sit here all day. “Come on, hero. We need to get you home. You need some real rest. We can’t afford you getting an infection. We have plans tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated. “We go in undercover.”