39. It
Chapter 39
It
MARCO
M y phone buzzed in my pocket.
Callie had her own vibration pattern. Cole and Freddy had one. Since the buzz was neither of those, I ignored it and kept my focus aimed outward as I walked through one of the less busy corridors in Moonlight. The week between Christmas and New Year’s was a fucking lawless period anywhere, but especially in Vegas where time mattered even less. Breakups over shitty gifts. Desperate mistakes under the mistletoe. People drunk on holiday spirit and eggnog.
It was usually one of my least favorite times of year, but not then. Not when, as of a few days prior, I had a fiancée.
We had a fiancée.
Whatever.
Even though I was happy, it didn’t change the fact that other people were fucking morons. I kept watch as I headed for Miles’s office
It was a good thing I did, too, because when I looked to the far end—the area where Callie used to sit and fuck around before shift—I saw a familiar face.
What the fuck?
I kept my pace slow and easy as I headed toward where Abraham’s little pet was inspecting the space.
I didn’t get why the hell he was there. They might not have known Callie quit Parisian Crescent, but she hadn’t been there in a while. Abraham was evil, but he was also smart. He should’ve put it together by then.
When that squirrely fuck caught my eye, he didn’t run. Not right away. He pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed it to his ear.
That was all I caught before he suddenly took off, and I did, too. But the bingo brigade milled around, slowing me down as I dodged and weaved around them.
By the time I reached the seating area, he was gone. I scanned the crowds outside, but he was in the wind.
I didn’t like it. Not one fucking bit.
Turning, I stormed back the way I came as I pulled my phone from my pocket. The notifications were breaking news, but I swiped them away to check out later. I was about to call Cole, but he beat me to it.
“Where are you?” he asked by way of greeting.
The pit in my gut grew to a chasm.
Callie
Rice pudding.
Sweet.
Literally.
Even though my men were supposed to be working, they’d each texted to remind me to eat.
I looked at our texts from earlier.
Pretty Boy: Good news, little steak. You’re not the only one with the same dessert taste as an octogenarian. I made a holiday-spiced rice pudding for a dessert special last night. It must’ve been decent because it sold out.
Me: Thank you for sharing what can’t be shared with my taste buds?
Pretty Boy: Don’t worry, I set aside a serving for you before it sold out. It’s in the fridge.
Marco’s and Cole’s texts had come through at almost the same time.
Marco: Lunch first.
Cole: That’s for after real food.
I’d eaten the soup Freddy had also brought home, but I wasn’t going to tell them that. Instead, I texted to mess with them.
Me: I ate a nutritious lunch that had dairy. Which I think is protein. And rice, which is a starch? Carb? Either way, the flavors of the rice pudding complemented each other, so I think that counts as a well-balanced lunch.
I pressed send, but a little red error symbol came up.
Huh ?
I tried again and got the same result.
Me: Test.
Nothing. Not even when I turned off the Wi-Fi and tried to use data.
I moved to the back of the house to unplug and restart the modem. It didn’t work, which sucked because that was the extent of my skills.
As much as I hated to bother them at work, being reachable was a rule. Especially when I was home alone. Even if it wasn’t, I wasn’t stupid.
I tried to call my personal tech support, but nothing happened. It didn’t even ring.
And Cole’s computer—which seemed built to withstand a million virus-riddled downloads, constant streaming, and an infinite number of open tabs—wasn’t any better. I shot off an email to say everything was down, but I wasn’t sure if it did more than sit in the outbox.
The unease that’d been prickling at the back of my neck grew to panic.
There has to be something.
I started for the front of the house to see if a cable or electric truck was doing work on the lines outside. I only made it as far as the living room before my path was blocked, and I let out a sharp scream.
Cole
“ Anything ?”
At Marco’s question, I refreshed my phone and shook my head. I glanced over my shoulder into the back seat.
“Straight to voicemail.” Freddy hit the End button before immediately trying again.
While we’d been at work, I’d gotten an alert that all our security was offline. I thought it was a power outage, but nothing was on the electric company’s site. I’d already been on an edge that’d grown sharper when Callie’s phone had gone to voicemail.
Then my blood had turned to ice when I’d read the breaking news alert that’d come through during my fifth attempt to call.
Detective Boden had been found dead.
Stabbed.
Marco sped up, weaving through traffic and narrowly avoiding the backend of a car that got over without a damn signal. He used the car’s Bluetooth to try the front gate again.
It rang.
Unlike the last dozen times, someone answered.
He cut off their greeting to give his name and address. “I need you to send someone up to my house.”
“Is your internet?—”
“Now, do you hear me? Send someone now .”
“Okay, they’re on their way. What’s wrong?”
Marco answered the question with his own. “Did anyone try to visit me today?”
“Not that I know of, sir, but we’ve been fielding a few dozen residents coming down to complain about the signal being down.”
His eyes cut to me. “Not the power?”
“No, sir. Just signals. Cells. Internet. Security cameras.”
The kind of shit that could be jammed with a good blocker. I had one.
As did Eternal fucking Sun.
“Were there any visitors at all in the last hour or so?” Marco drummed nervously on the steering wheel. “Maybe longer, but we’ll start there.”
“Oh. Yeah. We thought it was going to be the excitement of the day until everything glitched.”
Callie
A suited man stood in the living room. “Miss Meadows. Thank i —God. Are you okay?”
I pressed my palm to my chest as my heart slammed a thumping beat. “Agent?”
I couldn’t remember his real name. When he was undercover, he’d gone by Michael. He’d introduced himself with his actual name while I was in the hospital, but I’d been exhausted, freaked out, and he’d been an ass. The conversation hadn’t lasted long.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“There’s an?—”
“No. Here. In my house.”
For whatever reason, he didn’t like what I’d said. His face pinched. “You didn’t answer the door.”
Because I didn’t hear knocking.
Not that I would’ve answered even if I had.
“You need to come with me,” he continued. “There’s an emergency.”
My thoughts moved from figuring out how he’d gotten inside to racing at a million miles an hour. I pictured Cole in a ditch. Marco attacked during his activities . Freddy gravely injured in a freak kitchen incident.
“What happened?” But I was already headed toward the kitchen to grab a set of keys. My boat had been sold for scrap, but Marco would forgive me for borrowing his car.
Unless it was him who was hurt so badly, it required a visit from an FBI agent.
“It’s your parents.”
I halted as my breath whooshed out. It made me an awful daughter, but part of me—a bigger part than I wanted to admit—was relieved it had nothing to do with my men.
I turned to face him and jolted back. He was much closer than before. Much closer than he needed to be. I took a few shuffling steps away as I asked, “What about them?”
“He’s going to kill everyone. All of them.”
“What? Who ?”
“Do you know what a family annihilator is?” He didn’t pause before explaining, “It’s a type of murderer we profile in the FBI. As the name suggests, it’s someone who would kill their entire family for a variety of motives. In his case, Eternal Sun is his family, and he wants to wipe them out before they learn the truth about his crimes. He won’t risk them turning on him, so we have to hurry.”
“Abraham?”
His face tightened like I’d slapped him and insulted his wardrobe. “No, of cou—Abraham is innocent. It’s Thomas. He’s insane.”
“What crimes?” I asked. Not because I believed him. Thomas might’ve been crazy, but only for Abraham.
Something felt off, and I was trying to distract him so I could try calling Cole while disguising it as fidgeting with the phone.
I thought I was doing a good job, but his already mean eyes narrowed into a vicious glare. “That’s what you want to know? I told you that your parents are about to drink the Kool-Aid, and you want to stand here and ask questions?” He shook his head. “I should’ve gone with one of those pricks being in danger, right? I bet you would’ve come running with me without a second thought, but I said noooo . That’s too risky. Something dire with your parents was a guarantee.” He lunged forward, and I nearly tripped scrambling away. He still managed to knock the phone from my hold.
I eyed it, wondering if it was worth going for.
Before I could decide, he put his foot on it and kicked it to the side. “Don’t feel bad. It wouldn’t have worked. Nothing works through an FBI-level jammer.”
I had no clue what I was supposed to do. Rather than parents who warned about not taking drugs from strangers or getting into cars with them, my parents had been in favor of both. They’d never taught me what to do in an emergency.
I did the only thing I could think of.
I screamed.
Loudly .
The houses were spaced apart, but I still hoped it would miraculously draw attention or even just scare him off.
He didn’t care. Didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
Not even a blink.
When I stopped to breathe, he kept talking like I hadn’t done a single thing. “He thought you would come crawling back, but you were too busy on your knees for them. Them ? He wanted to give you everything, but you chose three criminal douchebags that’re like every other criminal douchebag in this it-forsaken city.”
It .
At his second usage of the word—I’d nearly missed the first one he’d tried to cover—hours and hours of boring teachings came back to me.
When something is good, thank it .
If you’re lost, pray to it . Commune with it . Show it your soul, your flaws, your strengths. Let the sun guide you.
“You said you were undercover there.” My eyes darted to the side.
“You can’t be undercover in the face of truth. Abraham gave me purpose. And as a thank-you, I’m giving him you.”
Fuck no.
I didn’t even care if he had a gun behind his back. That was better than Abraham. Spinning, I ran the rest of the way to the kitchen. My hand just grazed the edge of the knife block when I was yanked back. I scrambled anyway. Freddy didn’t mess around with any of his cookware, but especially not his knives. He always kept them sharp, and one would be enough.
But I couldn’t get to it. Not before something covered my face, and I breathed in the sickly sweet smell.
That…
And smoke.
“You,” I slurred.
“It’s about time you figured it out. For a goddess, you really are dumb as shit.”
And then I was out.