The Grave Shadows

28. Unintentional

Like a fetus, Cyan curled in a comfortable leathered chair, staring at the cloud in a little window of the Watts boy's plane. Everett slouched in the opposite seat, a glistening wooden desk between them the whole universe.

The Watts boys will hurt you, Corrine's voice boomed in Cyan's ears.

Everett did, but he didn't plan it. He did things that he didn't mean. He scared Cyan, intrigued her, came into her dreams, stole her away from John in a fancy jet, made her incredibly furious and vulnerable—and all his actions were unintentional.

"I'm sorry." Another apology broke the silence, and Everett rose from his seat. "What do you want me to do?" He pulled Cyan up and planted her on the sofa they could share.

Teardrops rolled in the corners of her eyes. "It's not you, Everett. I'm sorry that I took it out on you. I'm scared." Her hand trembled above her chest. "My dad is, too." Finding Mom was alone Cyan's quest—her private treasure hunting game. She took her own time, turned around when anxious, and paused when exhausted. Now someone else controlled the game, and Cyan had to play no matter what.

"I wasn't thinking. I just thought your mom's record could help you." Everett ran his palms on Cyan's arms. "And maybe it could bring John some closure. But I was out of line. I shouldn't hijack you like this."

A closure, Cyan thought. Even Everett needed one. He lost his mother, and it hurt him despite the firm and constant denial.

Cyan sniffed and leaned on Everett's shoulder. He slid his arm around her back, holding her as he did on the day of the accident. His forest-scented embrace was heaven on earth. But when he sniffed her hair—another one of his unpremeditated moves—her breath disappeared.

***

Cyan heard the story a thousand times, but this version was the briefest.

Once upon the time, Nikolai Welshman was abandoned. The end.

A white-haired woman stared at Everett, who seemed troubled by the concision than Cyan did. "I'm afraid that this is all we have." She gathered the papers on her desk.

Another dead end—the same heartache. Mom was alone here, and she was on her own somewhere right now.

"Can I see her room?" Cyan asked as she cast her gaze on the photographs behind the woman.

The woman slid the file in a drawer and leaned back. "That was an old facility; we sealed that building off a decade ago."

"The Watts Clan is very keen to renovate old buildings." Everett placed a business card on the desk.

John and Cyan's first home was in Melbourne Beach, Florida. She had a faint memory of that cottage, and John got too emotional to describe it. Their second house was a large loft in Downtown Boston. They rent a portion of it, but the tenants rarely stayed. Cyan and John liked their third house a lot. It had two bedrooms, a compact living space, and the possibility of a photogenic lawn. But here was Mom's first home—a chipped two-story building. It had six bedrooms, and each room accommodated ten girls.

The woman halted at an open door on the second floor. "As you can see, it's a health hazard." She stretched an arm in the room.

Everett took some steps. "I can see that."

The certitude was a fortress of bed frames. Cyan's heart dropped to her stomach, the musty, stale odor wafting through the air. She sifted her gaze through the maze of worn furniture, her inside as corrupt as the remains.

The woman halted at the entrance. "The Watts Clan can change that." Her smile was purposeful.

"Carpe fatum." Everett snorted. Even far from Colt, people knew that the Watts Clan had what they wanted to seize.