True Nature
Authors: Neely Powell
Tags: #Paranormal, #Contemporary, #Suspense, #Vampires and Shapeshifters
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
True Nature
by
Neely Powell
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
True Nature
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Leigh Neely and Jan Powell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Black Rose Edition, 2014
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-199-1
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-200-4
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Neely Powell
“I’m delighted that Jan Powell has returned to fiction and joined forces with Leigh Neely. Their first paranormal novel
TRUE NATURE
is sure to be a true hit. Bravo, Neely Powell!”
~Erica Spindler, NYT bestselling author
~*~
“Neely Powell writes stories we never want to end.”
~Linda Wisdom, national bestselling author
~*~
“I’m excited that a favorite category romance author, Jan Powell, has partnered with Leigh Neely for tales of shapeshifters, ancient feuds and modern-day mysteries.
TRUE NATURE
marks the powerful paranormal fiction debut of Neely Powell.”
~Janice Maynard, USA Today bestselling author
Dedication
Though her name is on the book,
this book is also dedicated to Leigh Neely.
Thanks for always believing
we would and could do it.
~Jan Hamilton Powell
~~*~~
Dedicated to my lovely daughters-in-law,
Stacie Hall Neely and Tina King Neely,
and to my treasures: Sam, Jack, Myla, and Caleb
—with love and appreciation,
for all you’ve brought to my life.
~Leigh Neely
Acknowledgments
We are deeply grateful to Lisa René Smith and the late Linda Houle of L&L Dreamspell for their belief in our work and their faith in us.
Thanks also to Callie Lynn Wolfe, Senior Editor, and the team at Wild Rose Press for unending patience and seeing the potential in an unconventional story.
Chapter 1
I was wet, so cold, I was shaking and furious when I saw the office was dark and it wasn’t even five o’clock. Damn Hunter and Darla. I’d been running around in freezing rain tailing a soccer mom to prove her infidelity, and my partner and our girl Friday had left work early…again.
Rain in January in Wayne, New Jersey was damn cold. I stomped to the door and struggled to unlock it with numb hands. I wasn’t prepared for the client’s wife to sit in the freezing rain for three hours selling candy bars for her daughter’s school. She’d been dressed in a lovely designer raincoat and duck boots while I’d been wearing my wool coat and trying to fade into the background in a strip mall with a small parking lot.
I dumped my backpack on my desk as another car stopped out front. Glancing out the window, I realized it wasn’t a familiar one and hurried to get my wet coat off and straighten my suit jacket. I ran a hand through my short dark hair, wishing the damp didn’t make it curl so much.
The front door opened and a blond woman about my age hesitated, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. She looked around tentatively and finally settled on me.
“Can I help you?” I asked, pressing my gun closer to my side. God, I was jumpy after an afternoon with a soccer mom and her offspring.
“I hope I’m in the right place.” Her voice was soft. “I’m looking for Zoe Buchanan, a private investigator.”
I relaxed and extended my hand to shake hers. “I’m Zoe, what can I do for you?”
She introduced herself as Elizabeth Baines Howerton. The name rang a bell, but I wasn’t sure why. I guided her to the leather chair in front of my desk. She gingerly sat on the edge of it. She clutched her—ironically—clutch purse until her knuckles were white and pulled her legs tightly together. This woman was one taut nerve.
“My sister’s missing and I’d like you to find her,” she blurted. “I’ve heard you do well finding missing persons.”
I rubbed my hands together for warmth as another chill ran over my body.
“I have had some success,” I said. “Have the police exhausted all their efforts?”
She chewed on her lower lip. “No one thinks she’s missing but me.”
“Why do you think she is?” I asked and wondered if I was dealing with someone a former Southern housekeeper of ours would have referred to as “tetched in the head” or in medical terminology, just plain crazy.
She looked down at her hands and then met my eyes directly. “My family doesn’t think she ever existed. I believe I have a sister somewhere who’s waiting for me to find her, and my family says it’s absolutely not true.”
I didn’t say anything for a moment, and her gaze never left mine. Her eyes were the purest blue I had ever seen, and she radiated honesty. There was no body language to indicate deceit.
“Where do you think your sister is, Ms. Howerton?”
“Please call me Lizzie.” She released the breath I hadn’t realized she was holding. Putting her purse in her lap, she raised her hands as if to pray and pressed her fingers against her lips. Tears drifted down her white cheeks when she closed her eyes. She fought against very strong emotions.
“I think,” Lizzie said in a trembling voice. “That my sister is somewhere not too far away, waiting for me. I have felt her missing since I was three years old, and I need to find her. Will you help me?”
I like to think I’m a practical person, but more often than not, I solve cases on gut instinct. Something about this woman’s simple plea touched me in a way I couldn’t explain. Cases like this were why I’d become a private investigator. I like the jobs that don’t fit the usual police investigation. This just might be one of those.
“Have you ever seen ‘Unsolved Mysteries?’” she asked.
“Sure.” Where was she going with her story now?
“I saw an episode of this program recently and it helped me see I’m not crazy for believing I have a sister.”
“Tell me about it.”
“There was a woman on the show who had discovered she had psychic ability. She kept asking her mother about her sister and her mother kept insisting she didn’t have a sister. One day the psychic woman was going through some papers that belonged to her parents and she found a picture of a girl she didn’t know. She confronted her mother, and it turned out it was her half-sister, her father’s daughter from a long-ago relationship.”
“I remember that,” I said, knowing I’d seen the show in reruns on Spike network.
The woman became certain that she would meet her half-sister, and the half-sister would soon die. And surprisingly, everything happened as predicted.
“When I saw that episode I thought it was a sign that my feelings could be more than imagination, too.”
Anything that involved psychic influences intrigued me, too, for reasons I didn’t like admitting to myself. I often thought I just had a PI’s good instincts, not psychic abilities. I wasn’t like one of those black-clad women who they call in when a child or a spouse goes missing. You would never find me on the cover of a tabloid magazine or on a low-rent talk show. Of course, I knew there were things stranger than psychics—much stranger, believe me—but I resisted the “psychic” label all the same.
Nevertheless, I opened my legal pad and got a pen. Even crazy people deserved an audience sometimes.
The darkness settled outside as Lizzie explained why she thought she had a sister. In spite of my natural skepticism, I was impressed by her absolute belief in this fact. She had been raised an only child, but she was sure she had a missing twin. She had never told anyone until now how often she sensed the sister’s presence.
“There have been times when I felt her so close, I thought I could look up and meet her eyes,” she said. “I have this scene that is burned in my mind. It’s my sister and me, standing on the stairway in our house in London, posing in our white Easter dresses. She’s standing right beside me, and we’re holding hands.”
Lizzie was quiet for a moment. “My father says it never happened, but I can’t erase the picture. I believe it did happen, and I believe I have a sister.”
With a sudden change in mood, she wiped away her tears and gave a little laugh. “That’s why I want you to take this job for me. Becky Miller told me how you helped her find her biological mother. Now I want you to help me.”
“Becky Miller’s case was a little easier. We just had to get her sealed adoption files opened. My partner, Hunter MacRae, is a family law attorney, and he helped with that.”
“I know, but I believe you can help me, too.”
We looked at each other, and I realized she spoke the truth. My hesitation evaporated.
“I’ll admit I’m interested, but let’s start at the beginning? Where were you born?”
Her smile was fleeting but she moved back in the chair and relaxed. “I was born in New Jersey, but soon after that we moved to London, where I lived for three years. My parents lived there for almost fifteen years after they married. My father was the son of a diplomat, and my mother’s family has been in English politics for years. They met at a state function. “
“Why were you born in New Jersey?”
“My mother desperately wanted a child. She kept trying to get pregnant without success until she was almost forty. They came to New York frequently and she learned of a friend who had conceived with help from Dr. Charles Hayden. Mommy went to see him as soon as she could get an appointment. It was the early stages of in vitro fertilization and it worked. Mommy stayed until after I was born, then returned to London and—”
I stopped her again. “How did your mother get pregnant over here if your father was in London?”
“She brought it with her. The doctor sent her a container,” she said with a shrug.
I was still suspicious. “When were you born?”
“In 1985. My mother told me it was a difficult birth. She wanted more children, but was unable to have any more. Dr. Hayden said at her age it was just too risky to try again.”
She looked much younger than her age. Her eyes were animated now and her body pulsed with new energy. She explained that she and her parents had moved to New York City when she was three. As she talked, she was no longer the tense, reticent young woman who had entered the office. Her mousy brown hair even seemed livelier now and her clear blue eyes sparkled with intensity.
“You mentioned that your father dismissed the idea that you have a sister,” I said. “What did your mother say?”
“I never found the courage to ask her. My mother loved me but she was a private woman. It was her family’s way.” She sighed. “I never felt comfortable asking her if we had family secrets. She died recently. Losing her made me realize I had to find my sister. All I have left is my dad.”
I cocked my head. Grief did strange things to people. Maybe that’s all this was.
“I have complete faith in you,” Lizzie said again, her gaze once more steady on mine. “To prove it, I’ll pay double your usual fee.”
My interest became more intensified. After all, I hadn’t billed what I usually did for this month. I’m very practical when it comes to money. It’s better to have it than not have it. Besides, a search like this would probably just be going through electronic files and old records, so it wouldn’t take much time.
Lizzie leaned forward in her chair. “I’m so sure I have a sister that I’d like to give you a challenge. Instead of looking to find her, find everything you can to prove I’m wrong.” She sat back a smug smile brightening her features.
I would probably live to regret thinking “how much trouble could it be?” But I could never pass up a dare. Accepting the challenge, I agreed to work for her. She wrote a check for my retainer and the first week of work. I tried not to feel guilty as I accepted it. After all, I had the option of proving her wrong.