Chapter 117
Elara's POV
I stared at Jack across the table. My heart was pounding but I kept my face blank.
"I'm not calling you anything," I said. My voice came out flat. Cold. "I'm asking a question."
Jack's face was red now. A vein pulsed in his temple. "You got some nerve, kid. Your parents hired me fifteen years ago. Fifteen years I've been working this case—"
"Have you?" I leaned forward slightly. "Have you really been working it?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
I didn't answer right away. I was watching him. The way his eyes shifted left when he talked about the case. The way his fingers drummed on the table. The coffee stain on his collar that looked days old.
"Tell me more about the investigation," I said. "What else have you found?"
Jack's jaw worked. He looked at the money I'd already given him. I could practically see him calculating in his head.
"That's gonna cost you."
Of course it was.
I pulled out two more hundred-dollar bills and put them on the table. My wallet was getting thin.
Jack took the money. Counted it. Tucked it away.
"Like I said. Most recent lead was two weeks ago. Down in Mexico. Baja California." He leaned back in his chair. "Had a contact check out a coastal town there. Woman matching the age progression profile was seen working at a resort. But by the time my guy got there she was gone."
"Mexico," I repeated flatly.
"Yeah. Makes sense if you think about it. Warm weather. Easy to disappear. Lots of Americans down there. She could blend right in."
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
Mexico.
Cole's intel had said Canada. Yukon Territory. Wild Hunt was tracking north, not south.
This man wasn't just lazy. He wasn't even bothering to make his lies believable.
"But to follow up," Jack continued, "I'd need to go down there myself. Maybe hire a local investigator who speaks Spanish. It's not cheap. International investigation costs money. Plane tickets. Hotels. Bribes for local officials who might've seen something. It all adds up."
"How much?" I asked.
His eyes gleamed. "Well. For a proper international search? I'd say at least twenty thousand. Maybe thirty if we want to cover multiple cities."
Twenty thousand dollars.
I felt something hot and sharp twist in my chest. My parents had already given this man ninety thousand over fifteen years. And now he wanted more.
"If your parents really want to find her," Jack continued, "they need to be willing to invest. I can't do this work for free. And frankly—" He leaned back in his chair. "Frankly, I'm the only one in this town who's willing to take on a case this old. Most PIs would've given up years ago."
I nodded slowly. Let him think I was considering it.
But I was looking at other things now.
His hands. The nicotine stains were fresh. Heavy. Like he'd been chain-smoking recently. But his fingers were soft. No calluses. No roughness. Not the hands of someone who did field work.
His skin. The tan was definitely tropical. I could see it now in the fluorescent light. Sun damage around his eyes. Freckles on his temples that only came from prolonged exposure to intense sun. Not the kind of sun you got in Oregon. Not even the kind you got in Canada.
His watch. Cheap plastic. The kind you bought at a gas station. But there was a pale band of skin underneath it. Like he usually wore something else. Something heavier. Something he'd recently taken off and maybe pawned.
His wedding ring finger. Same thing. Tan line where a ring used to be. Recently removed.
This man wasn't doing international investigations.
He was taking my parents' money and going on vacation.
"Mr. Morrison," I said quietly. "When was the last time you personally went to Canada?"
He paused. "Why does it matter? I have people—"
"When?"
His jaw tightened. "Few years back. Like I said I have contacts who—"
"Your skin says otherwise."
He blinked. "What?"
I gestured at his face. "That's an even tan. All over. Not the kind you get from skiing in Canada—no goggle lines, no uneven patches. And your hands—" I nodded at them. "Those aren't the hands of someone who does fieldwork. They're soft. Clean. No calluses. You haven't been tramping through forests looking for leads."
I paused. Let my eyes drop to his wrist.
"And that watch. Cheap plastic. But there's a tan line underneath where something heavier used to be. Something you probably sold or pawned recently."
Jack's face darkened. "You calling me a liar?"
"I'm stating facts." My voice remained devoid of warmth. "You said you've been investigating for fifteen years. That's ninety thousand dollars my parents paid you. Six thousand a year. And the best you can give me is a cold lead from two weeks ago and a request for twenty thousand more?"
"This is a difficult case—"
"Or you're not actually looking."
The words hung in the air between us.
Jack stood up. His chair scraped loudly against the floor. Several people in the café turned to look.
"I don't have to sit here and take this," he said. His voice was loud now. Aggressive. "I've been busting my ass for your family—"
"Have you?" I stood up too. Kept my voice level. "Because from where I'm sitting it looks like you've been taking their money and doing nothing. Maybe filing a report once a year to keep them paying. Giving them just enough hope to keep the checks coming."
His hand slammed down on the table. Coffee sloshed out of his cup.
"You don't know what you're talking about. You're just a kid. A stupid kid who doesn't understand how investigations work—"
"I understand how scams work."
That stopped him.
I watched his face. Saw the exact moment the mask slipped. The exact moment he stopped pretending to be offended and just looked angry.
"So what if I am?" He leaned forward. His breath smelled like cigarettes and cheap coffee. "You think anyone else in this town would take this case? You think anyone else would give your parents hope? They're desperate. They're broken. And I gave them something to hold onto."
My hands clenched into fists under the table. I wanted to hit him. Wanted to wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze until—
No.
Not here. Not now. Too many witnesses.
I forced myself to breathe slowly. In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
"You're a piece of shit," I said quietly.
Jack laughed. Actually laughed. "Yeah? Well this piece of shit is the only lead you've got. You want to know where your sister really is? You want actual information?" He straightened up. Adjusted his jacket. "Then you better keep being nice to me. Because if you piss me off I'll disappear. Take everything I know with me. And I'll make sure your parents never hear from me again. No reports. No updates. Nothing. Just silence for the rest of their lives."
He leaned in closer.
"Or maybe I'll tell them their daughter tried to interfere with my investigation. That you scared off my contacts. That you're the reason I can't find your sister anymore." His smile was ugly. "Who do you think they'll believe? The PI they've trusted for fifteen years? Or their teenage daughter who can't even shift?"
He turned to leave.
And that's when I knew I couldn't let him walk out of here. Couldn't let him go back to my parents and spin more lies. Couldn't let him keep bleeding them dry.
"Wait."
He stopped. Turned back. There was a smug smile on his face.
I let my shoulders slump. But I didn't make myself look stupid. I'd already shown him I was smart. He wouldn't believe that.
Instead I made myself look trapped.
"Look," I said quietly. "You're right. You're all we have. And I..." I swallowed. "I can't be the reason my parents lose their only hope. Even if you're not really looking. Even if this is all—" I gestured vaguely. "They need to believe someone's trying. And if you tell them I interfered..."
I let the sentence hang.
Jack's smile got wider. He thought he'd won. Thought his threat had worked.
Good.
"I can pay you more," I continued. My voice was steady now. Resigned. Like I'd accepted defeat. "I have money saved up. Not a lot but... if it keeps you from disappearing. If it keeps you from telling my parents I ruined everything..." I looked him in the eye. "I'll pay. Just... please don't tell them I was here."
"Yeah?" His eyes gleamed with greed. "How much we talking?"