Account 13 14 Read online

  Account 13,14…

  The Contemporary Reboot Series Book 2

  Ellie Thornton

  Copyright © 2018 by Ellie Thornton

  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.

  Dedication

  For my Grandma Betty and Grandpa Bill Thornton. After 74 years of marriage and 75 years together, you’ve shown me what true love really means. I miss you and love you, grandma.

  And for Sebastien-Remi Le Morillon. I will forever love you as a little brother. I valued your friendship and kindheartedness. Until we meet again, my dear friend.

  “A life well lived is the most exquisite work of art.”

  - Erwin Raphael McManus

  Contents

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Reboot: The Count of Monte Cristo

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  About the Author

  Introduction

  In Regencyland, Patrick Daley and Elizabeth Shea fell in love, but when their memories are rebooted, they’ll have to find their connection again in this classic retelling of The Count of Monte Cristo.

  When 18-year-old Patrick Daley arrives home in Sacramento with his traveling circus, he’s desperate to look into his mother’s missing person case. After a reckless attempt to shine a big, obnoxious light on her disappearance, Patrick finally gets the help he’s wanted. It’s not until he’s kidnapped, and thrown into a Siberian work camp, that he discovers how close he was to solving his mom’s case.

  Ten years later with revenge in his heart and a fortune hidden in a secret account gifted to him by a spiritual, old coot, Patrick escapes and finds his way home. He’s all set to face the men who betrayed him until he meets the girl he left behind all those years ago. As a girl Elizabeth Shea had a high moral code, as a woman, she wears a badge. Proceeding as planned will not only cost him his freedom, but the one person whose memory gave him the strength to survive the unthinkable.

  Prologue

  Present Day

  Crossing the street from Mahoney’s Pub and Grill, Elizabeth Shea reached into her pocket and removed her keys. She glanced over her shoulder at Patrick Daley as he trailed behind her. The sun streamed through his wavy, golden locks. He was staring at her and smiling. It sent a pleasant tingle up her spine.

  It’d been five months since she’d first met him at Bristle Park and a month since they’d started dating and she still wasn’t used to it—being in a relationship. She stopped at her car and quirked a brow.

  He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the side of his index finger.

  “What?” She sighed.

  “Remind me again why you can’t play hooky?”

  “Some of us have to work for a living.” Sergeant Brown would be ticked, and besides, she’d never played hooky before. It felt too much like cheating. Though, if Daley had been around when she was a teenager, and he’d asked her to play hooky then, she might have. She’d been pretty stressed after her mom had died. A day of hooky with him might have done her good.

  He took her hand, interlacing their fingers. “You said that yesterday. And the day before that.”

  “Funny how jobs work like that, isn’t it?” Not for him, of course. He only worked for the fun of it, doing his Private Investigating only when it interested him. He’d invested well from a young age and lived modestly now to accommodate a work schedule he wanted. “I should be home by six unless we get a case. Want to have dinner?”

  He hummed low in his throat as though he were thinking it over. “Will there be hot chocolate?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.” He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss, then turned and headed to his car, parked three down from hers. “Call me.”

  Smiling, she reached into her coat pocket for her phone. It wasn’t there, or in her other coat pocket or her pant pockets. Right. Der. Her partner, Detective Lee, had called her halfway through lunch. She must have left it on the table. Turning, she ran back into the restaurant, waving at Daley as he pulled away.

  Reaching the table where they’d had lunch, she found her phone sitting next to her napkin. She grabbed it and weaved back through the tables. As she went out the door, a man about the same height as Daley bumped into her, sending her off-balance.

  “Hey!” She reached out to the door-jamb to keep from tipping over.

  “Pardon me.” He didn’t stop.

  A pulse shot through her skull, the pain so intense her vision blurred. Quick images of different memories flashed in and out of her mind, the last clearer than all the others: a man with curly, blond hair and an infectious smile. Another intense pulse of pain hit her, and the man was gone.

  The pain stopped, and she sucked in a gasp.

  A young woman in a waitress uniform stood in front of her. “Miss, are you all right?”

  “Daley.”

  “Daley?” the girl repeated.

  Shea glanced around at the dark bar with cherry-wood tables and green booths. She blinked as she tried to remember what was happening. “Where am I?”

  “Mahoney’s Bar and Grill?” The girl spoke slowly.

  Shea pulled her chin back. Why on earth was she here?

  “Are you all right?” the server asked.

  Shea shook her head. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Spotting her car through the stained-glass windows on the front doors, she pushed them open. Daley. Is that what the waitress said? She turned to her. “Did you just say ‘Daley’?”

  The girl furrowed her brow. “You said it.”

  “I said it?” Shea reached for her crucifix.

  “Yes.” The girl took a step back. “I have to get back to work.”

  Shea headed for her car. She hadn’t heard the name Daley, let alone said it out loud, in years. Opening her car door, she sank into her worn leather seats and took several calming breaths.

  “Patrick Daley.” She tested it out, remembering why she hadn’t said it for so long or even thought it as a tide of sorrow and regret washed over her. He was her friend from the circus, who’d disappeared almost a decade ago.

  Her gaze went back to Mahoney’s. Was that why she was here? Maybe she’d found something out about him that brought her here? But why would she have been looking into him in the first place? As far as she could remember she hadn’t thought about him in years. She’d blocked him in self-perserverance.

  His disappearance had been a terrifying experience for her. Just gone, without a trace, as if he’d vanished into thin air. And now his memory was back to haun
t her.

  She turned on her car and merged into traffic. When she got back to the precinct, she was pulling Patrick Daley’s file.

  Reboot: The Count of Monte Cristo

  Chapter One

  Patrick Daley glanced around the park and camp grounds that the circus he worked with called home for five or so months of every year. Jay, the circus’s strongman, and bullman, or elephant handler, lowered the ramp on the trailer they used to transport their elephant, Maggie. They hadn’t been back for half an hour yet, and already the workers and performers—or kinkers as they called them in the circus—were setting up the food carts, striped orange and yellow tents, and the rides.

  The circus wouldn’t be open until tomorrow night, but it’d be ready for the grand opening before anyone went to bed. It always reminded Patrick of an ant farm, the way they got to work putting up and pulling down everything—and always without complaint.

  Once the ramp was down, Jay, who stood at six feet six inches, reached up and patted Maggie beneath her shoulder. Maggie stood at only eight and a half feet tall.

  Patrick removed an apple from a basket in the cab and sauntered over.

  From a distance, Jay was pretty intimidating, up close he was a big teddy bear and nearly as hairy. The hair on his head was always a messy mop of brown, as was his full, scruffy beard; he had hair coming out the top of his button-up shirt, and his arms and legs were covered, too. Not that that stopped him from wearing shorts and short-sleeve shirts all year round. And his pasty white skin sure was in contrast to his dark hair.

  “Now don’t you go feedin’ her the entire bushel o’ apples.” Jay pointed one of his bratwurst-sized fingers at Patrick. “She don’t need it; it spoils her app’tite.”

  “Yes, sir.” Patrick grinned as Jay wandered off to get work done elsewhere.

  Jay was the bullman, but for the last two years, Patrick was the only one who could get Maggie down. Before that, only Patrick’s mother could.

  “Come on, Maggie.” Patrick coaxed her with the shiny red apple. “If you come down, I’ll give you a whole bushel of these.”

  “I ‘eard that!” Jay’s voice boomed across the backyard of the circus.

  “You were meant to!” Patrick returned.

  Moving her weight from one foot to the other, Maggie stared from the ramp to the apple, making soft rumbling sounds.

  Patrick rubbed the apple against his vest, then sniffed it. “Mmm. Maybe I’ll eat it.” He opened his mouth as if to take a bite, and Maggie let out a warning blast.

  Patrick chuckled.

  Tilde, the resident jack-of-all-trades, and Jay’s wife, came up beside Patrick and slapped him on the back of the head. “Stop teasin’ her and help her down.”

  Tilde’s dark brows rose over her bronzed-brown skin, her chocolate-colored eyes focusing in on him like laser beams. She was almost a foot and a half shorter than her husband, but about ten times more threatening.

  Ten years ago, when Patrick was eight, the ramp hadn’t been connected properly, and Maggie had fallen, spraining her foot. It’d taken five months for her to walk normally after that, and another six months before she could perform again.

  Patrick winked at Tilde. “What do you think I’m doing?” He climbed the ramp.

  “Being your own obnoxious self.” Tilde fluffed her tight, black curls with one hand.

  Reaching Maggie, Patrick placed a hand on her jaw and rubbed over the rough skin up to the soft, paper-thin section behind her ear. She sought out the apple with her trunk, her nostrils whipping up and sniffing loudly. Patrick gave her the apple. Her gray snout wrapped around it and she plopped it in her mouth.

  “Your favorite, Red Delicious.” He gave her encouraging pats. “This is the last time you’ll have to do this for a while.”

  Her trunk found his hand again, searching for another apple, then wrapped around his arm.

  “Gotta get out first.” Placing a little pressure behind her ear, he guided her down the ramp. “Good girl.”

  Halfway down, the ramp creaked. Maggie stopped, a front foot hanging in the air, too nervous to set it down.

  “It’s all right, girl. You’re almost there,” he urged.

  After easing her foot down, Maggie rushed the rest of the way off the ramp.

  “Thatta girl.” Tilde approached her and rubbed her side.

  Maggie leaned forward on her large front feet in a stretch, and Patrick and Tilde stepped back. Maggie straightened up, turned, and ran a circle around the trailer. Her tail went up; she wagged her head, ears, and trunk from side to side and made nasal play-trumpets as she went.

  Everyone stopped to watch Maggie’s routine show of freedom that she only performed here, on the outskirts of Sacramento. The circus paid rent on it all year, so it would always be available when they got back.

  “Old girl knows we’re home.” Tilde smiled then faced Patrick. “Where’s your pa? Jay and he need to get going on Maggie’s tent, and if you two want to do your show on opening night, you’ll need to get your tent up as well.”

  Patrick retrieved the bucket of apples from the cab of the trailer so he wouldn’t have to look Tilde in the eye. “He left, said we’d hold off on our act for a night.” Their act was psychic readings—not that either of them was psychic, but Patrick doubted there was anyone in the world who wouldn’t buy their performance. Everyone always bought it, at a less than reasonable price, too. Patrick didn’t much care for the routine, but he could admit that he liked being able to read people.

  “He left already?” She threw her hands up. “We just got here.”

  Patrick came to her side again. “The poker tables were calling.”

  She shook her head. “We’re not going to see him for a couple days at least, are we?”

  “No.” Patrick took one of the apples from the bucket and tossed it in the air. “Maggie!”

  Maggie charged him, and Tilde moved to the side. Just before crashing into him, Maggie slid to a stop and grabbed the apple from his hand. Patrick set the bucket in front of her and patted her leg.

  “I’ll help Jay get the tent up before I leave.” Patrick faced Tilde.

  “And twenty-five minutes after the father abandons his duties, the son follows suit.”

  “I’m going to the police station.”

  She schooled her expression. “Patrick—”

  “Spare me the lecture, Tilde. I’m going.”

  “Ain’t no lecture comin’ from here. But it’s been two years.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. Someone needs to remind them that there are still people who care. I’ll stay up all night to get my work done if I have to.”

  She pointed at him. “You’re gonna have to do your pa’s work too, you know.”

  Patrick tightened his fist as he thought of his dad sitting in the back of some bar with his feet up, cards in his hand, and a wad of cash that consisted of all their earnings over the last few months. He wondered how much they’d be down tomorrow or the next day, or whenever it was his dad decided to come home. “How could I forget?”

  She patted his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Patrick Daley. Your mama would be proud.”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. Tilde was only twenty-five and Jay twenty-eight, but the two of them seemed to think it their responsibility to look after him. He was grateful they cared, but they had their own responsibilities, too, and he never wanted them to feel they had to choose. “Thanks”

  “She’d want you to be happy, you know,” Tilde said.

  “I am.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She rested her hands on her hips. “Are you going to see that pretty towner girl, Elizabeth?”

  Last time they’d gotten home, it’d taken Tilde two hours to mention Elizabeth, now they were down to forty minutes. Patrick snorted.

  Then Maggie snorted. Patrick’s and Tilde’s gazes went to the elephant. Her head was up, her gaze fixed behind them. She let out a low growl, then a warning blast.

  Tilde moved toward her. “What i
s it, girl?”

  The fast plunks of heavy footfalls flew toward Patrick. He turned, and someone slammed into him, knocking him to the dirt. The culprit landed on top of him. Sean.

  Maggie let out another warning blast.

  “Sean! Get off me.” Patrick shoved Sean and jumped to his feet.

  Sean had grown a lot since the last time Patrick had seen him. Like Patrick, he now stood just over six feet. Unlike Patrick, Sean had bulked up since last fall. Patrick was lean, had always been, especially compared to his best friend.

  Tilde always called them night and day, not only because Sean had dark hair and dark blue eyes and Patrick had blond hair with light blue-green eyes, but because of their personalities. She said Patrick had a free and sunny disposition and Sean was dark and mysterious as the night. She said they balanced one another.

  Patrick had to agree.

  Maggie stomped her foot.

  “It’s all right.” Tilde patted the elephant’s side. “It’s just the other ruffian.”

  The two boys circled, grinning as they sized one another up. Knowing Sean the way he did, Patrick had had a pretty good idea that he’d show up today. He was glad. Sean was one of the few constants Patrick had in his life, and he wanted his support today.

  “Hey, Tilde.” Sean waved, waggling his fingers in the process.