Page 47 of Fatal Pattern

“Pieces. I read my DHS file a while ago. Nine homes before I ended up with the de Hostos family when I was eight. The case notes said I refused to believe my parents were dead. I had ‘behavioral outbursts’ and kept running away from foster homes, trying to find them.”

“Nine homes.” He’d thought his childhood was rough.

“But the de Hostos family never gave up on me.” A smile ghosted across her face. “My foster dad, Eugenio, told me if I thought my parents were alive, then he’d help me find them.

“He used to drive me around every Saturday to look for them. I’d sit on my knees and look out the car window while he listened to Julio Iglesias cassettes.” She chuckled, soft and bittersweet. “I have no idea how long we really drove around, but it felt like hours. Then sometime around noon, he’d mention he was getting hungry, and we’d stop at the beach and eat empanadillas that Maria had packed.

“When we got home, Maria would sing lullabies in Spanish while she brushed my hair. No questions. No lectures. Just giving me the space to process in my childish ways.”

“That sounds really great. Considering.” Better than his own childhood, anyway. Foster parents who actually cared enough to drive around looking for ghosts instead of just collecting the state check. “They sound like great people. Why didn’t they adopt you?”

“I didn’t want it.” Tori looked at her hands. “Saying yes to adoption felt like burying parents I wasn’t ready to bury.”

The truth had more layers though.

“And if I said yes, they’d lose money. The state pays foster families more than adoptive ones. The de Hostos couldn’t afford to lose that money.” A small shrug. “I thought it would help.

“By thirteen I was running with the wrong kids. Sneaking out. Picking fights. The state was getting ready to move me again.” She drew a slow breath. “Stryker found me on the pier that night. He drove out to see Eugenio the next morning. They worked something out with the case worker. Court-ordered placement in the Warrior program. I saw Eugenio and his wife a few times before they moved back to Puerto Rico to take care of Maria’s mother.

“We lost touch. They were great, but not my real family.” She met Blade’s eyes. “That’s why I want to see the file. I have no blood family left in this world. I’ve never remembered anything about them. I just need to see with my own eyes that they didn’t abandon me. That they’re truly dead and the case can’t be solved. Maybe then this aching hole I’ve had my whole life, the feeling that a piece of me is missing, maybe it will finally go away.”

All his doubts about asking Kiara for help, all his worry about crossing lines and bringing Tori here—they evaporated. This wasn’t about convenience or shortcuts. This was about a woman who’d spent her entire life wondering if her parents had chosen to leave her behind or if someone really took them from her.

Blade stepped out and rounded to her side. Tori met him at the door before it had fully closed.

He hooked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in. No quick tap, no throwaway greeting side hug. He locked her against him, anchoring her there, holding on like he could shoulder some of the burden she’d carried since childhood. Inside, he prayed one raw plea.

Lord, fill the hollow she’s carried too long.

Headlights swept across the asphalt, slicing through the darkness outside the windshield. He released Tori and saw her swipe at the corner of her eye.

Kiara’s sensible sedan parked three spaces over. She climbed out, a smile starting, then slipping. Her eyes cut past him, landing on Tori. He saw it hit her in layers. Her brows tugged down, mouth parting just a fraction. Confusion. A sharp blink. Then the hurt pinched her face before she locked it all away.

“I didn’t realize Tori was coming,” she said. “I thought you said this was for your case.”

Not for Tori. For him. The meaning bled through. She didn’t have to spell it out. He caught it clear as a radio signal. She’d shown up believing he needed her help, not because he was running errands for another woman.

He had no choice but to be honest. “The file is for Tori’s parents’ case. She’s the someone who deserves the truth.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry, Tori. I’m happy to help.” Kiara slipped her arm into his. “Follow me.”

He’d be confused by Kiara’s sudden shift if he didn’t know her like he did. This was straight up Kiara kindness, genuine and unforced.

In all his years with BSO, Blade had never been to the evidence warehouse. The reception area felt like a doctor’s office designed by someone who’d never smiled. A bulletproof glass partition separated them from a night clerk who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Blade slid his badge and ID through the metal slot. The motion felt final, like signing a confession. His name would be logged, timestamped, recorded. If Internal Affairs came sniffing around later, they’d know exactly when Detective Blade St. James had accessed sealed files with Records Administrator Kiara Kerns.

The clerk barely glanced at their credentials before sliding a logbook through the slot. Blade signed his name in careful block letters, noting the time. Tori signed next, her handwriting small, loopy strokes he could barely read. When Kiara added her signature, her pen hesitated for just a moment before completing the final stroke.

Point of no return.

The clerk buzzed them through a heavy metal door that sealed behind them with a pneumatic hiss. The hallway beyond stretched like a hospital corridor, all white walls and industrial carpet. Security cameras tracked their movement from ceiling-mounted housings every twenty feet.

“Digital Records Room is this way,” Kiara said. Her cardigan brushed against his arm as they walked. “The physical evidence for the Crew case is stored in Section C, but it’s sealed with a judicial signature. I can’t override that without a court order.”

Tori nodded. “What’s all in the digital files?”

“Everything that was scanned or photographed. Crime scene photos, witness statements, autopsy reports, detective notes.” Kiara glanced back at Tori. “We can view it all on the secure workstation, but no printing. The system logs every document that gets printed, and sealed files trigger automatic alerts.”