The Heart of Thieves

THE HEART OF THIEVES PENN WILDER AKA PUBLISHING Copyright © 2023 by Penn Wilder All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover Design by Penn Wilder Editing by Lacey B Edits www.laceybedits.com Created with Vellum For all the fu@king good girls out there. “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.” Edgar Allan Poe AUTHOR NOTE This book contains darker elements that may not be okay with some individuals. Please check TW before reading. See author website for list: akayauthor.com Please note this is a work of fiction and as an author, I reserve the right to take some creative liberties. While I try to stay within the confines of reality, that isn’t always possible for a story to progress. Please enjoy while keeping that in mind! I mean, I devour books about 7 ft tall blue aliens on an ice planet with certain fantastical appendages and don’t bat an eye. Besides, real life is often crazier. :) CONTENTS 1. Rook 2. Rook 3. Josie 4. Josie 5. Rook 6. Josie 7. Rook 8. Josie 9. Rook 10. Josie 11. Rook 12. Josie 13. Rook 14. Josie 15. Rook 16. Josie 17. Rook 18. Josie 19. Rook 20. Josie 21. Rook 22. Josie 23. Rook 24. Josie 25. Rook 26. Josie 27. Rook 28. Josie 29. Rook 30. Josie 31. Rook 32. Josie 33. Rook 34. Josie 35. Rook 36. Josie 37. Rook 38. Josie 39. Rook 40. Josie 41. Josie 42. Epilogue- Josie Also by Penn Wilder About the Author Acknowledgments CHAPTER 1 ROOK Often the most significant things remain hidden in plain sight. Such as the small mole growing minutely over several years, before aggressively becoming a killer in under four months. The tiny crack in the sidewalk right before a massive sinkhole implodes, taking innocent lives with it. Or in this cataclysmic moment, an imperceptible tattoo no bigger than a Tic Tac, on the finger of a murder victim. The water ripples from the slight breeze and my flashlight beam quakes through the Boston Harbor, unsteady like my racing heart. Long, blonde hair sways beneath the cold water, gnarled and knotted with leaves and branches, about the only recognizable feature. Her face and body are too decayed, too bloated, and peppered with various fish bites and signs of trauma. But there’s no mistaking what lies etched in ink below the skin on her pointer finger. Her crescent moon tattoo. I lick my trembling lips, my throat suddenly dry, and I taste salt . . . and death. Pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes, I force myself to take deep breaths, ignoring the thumps of the floating body against the water barrier wall. After receiving the call, the drive to the harbor was fraught with emotional strain; the squad car loaded with unbridled nervous energy. My partner, Teague, tried to distract me, but all thoughts were on is it Cat. My eyes sweep over the body once more before I wrench off my glove and stumble across the wooden boardwalk and neat bricks, careful not to disturb any potential evidence. Acidic bile rushes up from my belly and I bend over at the waist to vomit on the dark green patch of grass near my feet. An exchange of whispers skate by my ears, the tension in the air aimed at me from the small team of detectives milling about, taking notes. Tears burn the back of my lids, but I force them away as I wipe my mouth with a sweaty hand. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not a detective, but they all know my history, my reason for showing up here. She was so . . . fuck. I expel a shaky breath into the mid-morning crisp air. If it’s her and I have to tell Mom? The fruit of my failure bobs in the estuary system of the harbor, all blonde hair and cloudy eyes, none of the life she vibrated with. Gravity pulls at my sternum, and I sway in the biting breeze. Six years she’s been missing. Six long years of searching for it to end like this? My fist quivers at my mouth. Keep it together; nothing has been confirmed. But that tiny tattoo says it all. I was there when she got it. Too scared to go under the needle alone, even with the design as small as it was, she needed her big brother to hold her hand. I failed her. The flutter of yellow tape wavers through the layer of moisture blurring my eyes and the scents of smoked fish, wet earth and sea overwhelm my nose. This is too much. I flinch and stalk to the squad car, mindful of the eyes on my back, gauging my response. Heart thumping painfully in my chest, I tear open the door and slump in the seat, willing my lungs to take in steady breaths. “Rook?” My spoken name jerks me back to the present, and I grip the cracked leather wheel until my knuckles ache. “If it’s Cat, I’ll be here for you, man.” Teague squeezes my tense shoulder, and I glance over at his face, full of sympathy. Starting the car, I reverse from the lot. I should make him drive, my eyes glazing over once again as we ride back to the station, but I need the distraction, something to cut through the damning image of that floating body. Silent except for the radio crackling to life, I barely register the doors to the squad car slamming or the slap of our duty boots off the pavement once we’ve arrived. Teague opens the door for us and I step into the fluorescent lit station. A