Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 78227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“You found him. Are you one of the Steels?”
“Guilty.”
“What can I do for you?”
“You can tell me who Sabrina Smith’s DNA belongs to. You ran it for Pat Lamone a while back.”
“Ah… I guess I don’t have to ask if you can pay.”
“I can pay. But you’re going to have to give me the name first.”
“Not going to happen, man.”
“Then don’t expect to see any money out of me.”
“Wait, wait. What if you send me half first?”
“Five K?”
“Right. Five K.”
“So you can steal five thousand dollars from me? I don’t think so.”
“I’ve got to get something.”
“You’ll get your ten grand. I’m a man of my word. But not until I get the name and any accompanying documentation.”
“For Christ’s sake.”
“Look, Mr. Dugard. The information isn’t doing you any good sitting on your computer somewhere. Give it to me, and you get ten grand.”
“I just have to give it to you first.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t know you from Adam.”
“Actually, you do. My name’s not Adam. It’s Brock. Brock Steel. Operative word being Steel.”
Silence for a moment, then— “For God’s sake. Fine. I’ll send it encrypted to your email address.”
“Now we’re talking.”
“How quickly can I get the money once you send it?”
“All I need is your cell phone number, and you’ll get it instantly.”
We exchange information, and within a few minutes, the information comes up on my computer.
I run the encryption file and take a look.
The results of the test show that Pat Lamone is indeed a grandchild of this woman.
Sabrina Smith.
Whose DNA matches someone named…
Dyane Wingdam.
Wingdam.
Now we’re getting somewhere. She really is Lamone’s grandmother…if she has a daughter named Lauren.
“Lamone!” I yell from the kitchen.
He walks in.
“Does the name Dyane Wingdam mean anything to you?”
“Should it?”
“I have no clue, but she’s your grandmother.”
“She is?”
“Yep, and she’s got a rap sheet a mile long. Felony forgery, bank fraud, insider trading…”
“Has she done time?”
“Not according to this, but it’s easy enough to find out.”
Pat rolls his eyes. “Great. I’m not only descended from someone who is a complete nutcase, she’s also a criminal.”
“The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”
“Cheap shot.”
“Hey, I get that you’re not the one who injected Rory and Callie with those drugs. That’s on Brittany. But you’re the one who took off their clothes and violated them, took photos of them in compromising positions.”
“I was a kid.”
“Do I look like I care? Even kids should know better.”
Pat looks at the floor. “What now? What about this woman? Do we have a deal?”
“I’ll have to check with my father. But if you’re willing to relinquish any claim on our money in exchange for us taking care of this old woman who can’t possibly live much longer, I’m pretty sure I can say we have a deal.”
“Good. Let me know when you know for sure.”
“I will. Now get the fuck out of my house. I have a concert to get to.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
RORY
I remove the pink mask and regard myself in the mirror once more.
And I see someone different. Someone different from who I saw only an hour before when I was in here.
I’m Rory Pike.
I’m a rocker.
I smile. My makeup is still flawless, and right now I need a couple gallons of water. I toss the mask in the trash, wash my hands, leave the restroom, and walk to the bar.
“Water,” I say. “The biggest one you have.”
The bartender smiles behind his silver mask. “Coming right up. Man, you guys were hot tonight. On fire.”
“Thank you,” I say.
He turns to fetch my water.
“On fire’s an understatement.”
I jerk at the low voice next to me.
“You guys scorched this place,” he continues.
I turn. One of the men I saw from the back sits on the stool next to mine, and he’s taken off his mask as well. His long black hair is pulled into a low ponytail, and a Minnesota Twins hat sits on his head.
“Thank you.”
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Rory. Rory Pike.”
“Nice to meet you, Rory.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Jett Draconis.”
My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.
No wonder those guys looked so familiar.
Jett Draconis is the lead singer and guitarist for Emerald Phoenix. They’re huge. And the blond? He must be Zane Michaels, secondary vocalist and keyboardist for the band.
Breathe, Rory. Breathe.
“Wow,” I say, trying not to let my voice shake. “It’s a pleasure. A real honor. I’m a huge fan.”
“The honor is mine,” he says. “As of tonight, I’m a huge fan of yours as well.”
He’s not coming on to me. He wears a wedding band on his left hand, and the love story of him and his wife, Heather, is well known in rocker circles.
No, this isn’t a come-on. This is a true compliment.
“Who’s the guy you sang with?” Jett asks. “The two of you have an amazing sound together.”
“Probably because he’s my brother. We come from the same gene pool, so our voices probably mix well.”