Forsaken: A Fallen Siren Novella Read Online Free

hallway, some adorned with remnants of blood splatter, belie that singular impression. Maitlan may appear the consummate icon of capitalist success in the press, but the pictures on the wall tell another story. They show a Roger Maitlan with laughing eyes and a warm smile—a loving father in private moments. In the first, Robby appears to be about five. He’s riding atop Maitlan’s shoulders, dressed in a baseball uniform, trophy in hand. In the second, Maitlan and his son are cheek-to-cheek, leaning in to blow out three candles on what appears to be a homemade cake. Then there’s a third, taken in what could be Central Park. Maitlan is standing alongside a woman, a natural beauty with short cropped flaming red hair and an easy smile. He’s tossing his son high into the air, his strong arms are outstretched, poised to catch him.
    “That one was taken when Corrine was in remission the first time,” he says, tears in his eyes. This Maitlan’s face is pale and drawn, the lines around his mouth are tight with anxiety and fear. His shoulders bunch under the tuxedo jacket he’s still wearing from last night.
    Maitlan reaches for Zack’s hand and gives it a friendly shake, “I appreciate you coming, Zack. My office is this way, we can talk in private.”
    Okay, it’s obvious that there’s something Zack hadn’t bothered to mention. He and Roger Maitlan know each other. But there’s no opportunity to demand an explanation. Maitlan leads Zack down the hallway to a set of stairs, a second entryway. This one is more formal than the one upstairs. It’s lined with statues, the walls with paintings, and tiled with expensive marble. I follow, as does Torres. Maitlan reaches a doorway at the end of the hall, opens the door and quickly ushers Zack in. Then, without so much as a glance back, the door snaps shut behind them.
    For the first time, I sympathize with Torres. We look at each other. I imagine our expressions are mirror images of exasperation and indignation.
    “And here I was, taking all of this personally,” she mutters. “Welcome to the club. I think I’ll go check with forensics, see if they have anything new. Want to come?”
    The sound of a door reopening draws our attention.
    Zack steps out and motions toward me. “Emma, join us?”
    “Sure.” So much for female bonding. “Torres was just about to go get an update on forensics.” I turn back to Torres, “You’ve already had a chance to personally interview Mr. Maitlan. How about you give us fifteen, then we’ll regroup?”
    She relaxes a bit, nods, then turns on her heels and leaves us.

Chapter Three
    Before stepping into the room, I pause in front of Zack. “After this, you and I are going to have a conversation.”
    Maitlan is standing behind a well-worn walnut desk gazing out of Cathedral windows at what I’m sure is a twenty-million-dollar view of Central Park. “Zack said you’d find my boy,” he turns and for the first time he really looks at me. “He told me there’s no one he’d rather work with in a situation like this.” Maitlan holds out his hand.
    I grasp it. Despite his current vulnerability and obvious exhaustion, Maitlan’s shake is firm, confident, practiced. “Emma Monroe,” I say before taking a moment to check the room.
    The back wall is filled top to bottom with expansive bookcases. A wrought iron circular staircase leads up to the second level which functions as a reading loft with cozy chairs and a fireplace that’s a twin to the one Zack’s now standing next to.
    “Let’s sit,” Maitlan gestures toward a set of sofas by Zack. He and Zack claim one. I take the other. On a coffee table between us there’s a tray containing a crystal carafe of amber colored liquid and a matching set of old-fashioned glasses. Without preamble and despite the early hour Maitlan pours up a couple fingers and with an unceremonious clunk places a glass in front of each of us.
    “Zack says you’ll have questions and that if I want