Eleventh Grave in Moonlight (Charley Davidson #11)(11)

I sat across from him and took a sip of liquid courage. “How did you know about the investigation?”

“I didn’t. Not at first. But when I saw you drive by my parents’ house the other day, I remembered seeing you parked down the street about a year ago.”

“You have a great memory.”

“You were there for quite a while.”

Try days. “And that’s unusual because…?”

“You parked. You never got out. You didn’t live in the neighborhood, but you sat down the street for some time.”

“Of course.” Wasn’t he the perceptive one.

“So, the next time you did a drive-by, I took down your license plate and had a friend run it.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Very.”

“And resourceful,” I added.

He lifted a shoulder in modesty.

“What have your parents told you?”

“That my mother was in labor for thirty-six hours. That she eventually had to have a C-section. That she nursed me until I was two.”

“I see.” When we’d looked into the case before, we were almost certain Shawn Foster had been abducted by the Fosters as well, and that they’d gone through a shady adoption agency, one that had only been open a few months and had facilitated only three adoptions, Shawn Foster being one of them. “But you don’t believe them?” I asked. Why would he be here if he did?

“I don’t. For several reasons. And I don’t think you do, either.”

I still had to wonder if he knew anything about Reyes. I gestured toward the file. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He leaned back while I thumbed through the folder he’d brought. It was mainly pictures, notes on inconsistencies in his parents’ stories, statements from relatives who didn’t remember Mrs. Foster ever mentioning the pregnancy to them, and one final slip of paper in the back that pretty much sealed the deal. A DNA test. The Fosters were most definitely not his parents. Not even close.

“Do your parents know you did the DNA test?”

“No.”

“So, you believe you were adopted?”

“Do you?” he challenged.

“What do you mean?”

He rubbed a hand over his mouth in thought, his blue eyes studying me. “You’ve been looking into this for quite some time. I’d like to know why. And what your thoughts are.”

“Mr. Foster—”

“Shawn, please.”

“Shawn, all I have are thoughts without a single shred of evidence to support any of them. I couldn’t possibly divulge my ramblings without proof. It would be very irresponsible.”

“Well, that answers that.”

“What?” I asked as he stood, grabbed the file, and turned to leave. “Wait. That answers what?”

“You’re just like them.”

“Wait, please.”

He swung around and marched toward me until I had little choice but to take a step back. When we were nose to nose, he answered, his voice low, his face flushed. “Lies. Runarounds. It’s all I’ve gotten my whole life, and I’m done. I’ll find out the truth myself, one way or another.”

The anger in his expression, the pain emanating out of him, the glittering wetness between his lashes, cut sharply into my chest. I wanted to help him, but I didn’t know what to do. I’d promised Reyes to stay out of what he considered his business and his business alone. But Shawn had come to me. Surely Reyes would understand.

And, quite frankly, Reyes could bite me. He was my business.

Shawn turned again, but I took hold of his arm. He stopped but didn’t look at me, and I could tell he was embarrassed by his behavior.

“There is a reason I was looking into your case. I have no evidence whatsoever, but I believe you were abducted by the Fosters.”

He must’ve believed the same thing. He registered no surprise at all. “Why do you think that?”

“Because—” I stopped. Took a deep breath. Wondered if I was taking my life into my own hands. I could only be killed by another god. And Reyes was another god.

Oh yeah. He was going to kill me.

“Because,” I continued, opening the bag to let the cat out of it, “because my husband was abducted by them as well.”

*

After two hours and seven cups of coffee split between the three of us—since Cookie had helped me with the initial investigation, I’d invited her into the meeting—we came to the conclusion that Shawn was definitely one of the three adoptions that the shady agency had overseen.

I couldn’t imagine how the agency got away with it. There were rules and regulations up the wazoo for a business like that. State inspections and licenses that had to be approved. The paperwork must have just slipped through somehow. Or perhaps someone was paid to look the other way.

We went over everything Shawn knew and everything we’d found out with a fine-tooth rake. Shawn wanted to know more about Reyes. I had already said too much. And besides, I got the feeling he knew a lot more about Reyes than he was letting on.

Thankfully, he understood when I told him I needed to confer with my partner in crime before filling him in. Of course, one search and he could know way too much about Reyes, if he didn’t already—namely, that he’d spent a decade behind bars for a murder he didn’t commit. But what little I did say about Reyes hadn’t surprised him in the least. Almost as though he already knew him.