Chapter Thirty-three
Lake
What Baxter had failed to tell me was that his plan for flushing Owen out involved an all-night vigil.
So here we were at gone two in the morning, still fully dressed, lights blazing so there could be no doubt he was home, and waiting for something—anything—to happen.
I didn’t even have coffee to keep me awake.
Just adrenaline and a gnawing fear that by supporting Baxter, I’d made yet another terrible choice.
Once Baxter’s plans had changed, he’d had a heated discussion with Calisto on the phone, his friend employing every trick in the book to get him to change his mind. When that hadn’t worked, Calisto had called in Asher, whose tactics were completely different. Neither had made any difference.
So we waited.
And waited some more.
Baxter returned from yet another trip to the window. “He’s not there,” he said for the umpteenth time. “Or if he is, he’s not showing himself.”
“Maybe he left London,” I suggested. “Maybe he’s on a plane to Hawaii.”
Baxter shook his head. “No.”
Whatever I suggested, I got the same response, Baxter remaining steadfast in his belief that he knew exactly what Owen would do. By the time three rolled around, I couldn’t fight the call of my bladder any longer. It was while I was in the bathroom that Baxter shouted my name.
“Coming,” I shouted back, then added more quietly, “Just trying to put my dick away and wash my hands.”
I’d barely gotten through the door before Baxter brandished his phone at me, his expression triumphant. “Success!”
I snatched the phone from him and read the message on the screen, unable to share his excitement when I saw it comprised of just two words.
Meet me.
No venue. No time. No information whatsoever. Which made the fact that Baxter was already pulling on his coat hard to understand.
“Wait—wait,” I said, grabbing hold of him and forcing him to stop for a second. “What does this even mean?”
Baxter gave me a look that suggested I was being deliberately dense. “Exactly what it says.”
“Where? How are you supposed to know that?”
“He’d want it to be somewhere difficult for me, which means there are only two places it could be.” Baxter broke free from my grip and grabbed Calisto’s car keys. “Are you coming? I’ll understand if you don’t want to. You probably shouldn’t. I should do this on my own.”
I grabbed my coat. “I’m coming.”
There was little in the way of conversation on the drive.
Baxter seemed deep in thought, while I was still reeling from the fact that we were about to meet a murderer in the middle of the night.
When had this become my life? I wrote history books.
I taught. I wasn’t Sherlock Holmes, or any other famous detective you might care to name.
I was probably closest to Columbo, except he only pretended to be bumbling.
In reality, he always knew exactly what was going on, so that comparison didn’t really stand up to scrutiny either.
“Great,” I said when the car slowed to a stop and I realized our destination. “How did you know a graveyard ranked so high on the list of places I’m desperate to visit in the middle of the night?”
Baxter didn’t answer, already getting out of the car. I joined him on the pavement. “They lock cemeteries at night. You do know that?”
Still no response. He was already heading away from the gate, his focus fixed on the wall. “We’re breaking in, aren’t we?” I said, resignation heavy in my voice.
“Unless you’ve got a better idea?”
“Yeah. Go home.” It was a weak attempt at getting him to see sense, and it slid past him without leaving a mark.
The wall was high, but not so high as to make entry impossible.
Thankfully, no one had been determined enough to keep people out to top it with barbed wire.
I doubted it would have deterred Baxter in his current state of mind.
I doubted anything would, short of a bulldozer.
Should I be standing up to him more? Probably. Why wasn’t I? I recognized the answer immediately. This man differed completely from the one I’d met just weeks ago. I was the one who’d told him the only way to overcome his demons was to face them.
And face them he was.
I was reaping what I’d sown.
“Give me a leg up,” Baxter demanded.
And get left behind? I didn’t think so.
He shot me a look. “Then I’ll pull you up.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“I wish I could read your mind.”
“You don’t need to. I’ve never lied to you.” He frowned. “Well, not unless it was a lie I was also telling myself. And I’m done with that.”
Shaking my head, I interlocked my fingers together and boosted him upwards when he stepped onto them.
He hauled himself up with an easy athleticism that served as a pointed reminder of our age—and fitness—gap.
Once balanced atop the wall, he wriggled around to face me and extended his hand as far as he could.
I vowed to be more productive at the gym in the future as I took it. I went, sure, but not in ways that transformed my body into one particularly suited to scaling walls. The weights could be heavier, my routine more varied. A personal trainer would probably help, assuming I could ever afford one.
There was nothing elegant about my ascent. The best description was a mad scramble, Baxter exerting nearly as much effort pulling me up as I did trying to find purchase with my feet. Eventually, we both sat astride the wall.
On the other side, nothing could be seen. The pitch-black cemetery might as well have been a yawning chasm. “How far down?” I asked. “I don’t want to break a—”
Baxter dropped.
A few seconds later, a light appeared. He shone his phone at the ground, revealing a clear expanse of grass only a few feet below, mercifully free of headstones. At least I wasn’t about to land on someone’s grave. I hung by my arms and then let go, landing solidly on my feet.
“Just for the record,” I said. “I’m not a fan of this.”
“Which part?”
“Any of it.” I pulled out my phone, the two of us using our flashlights to avoid walking into gravestones, or even worse, falling into a freshly dug grave waiting to be filled the next day.
“Did I ever get around to telling you what John did in that graveyard?” Baxter asked.
“No.”
“Reanimated the skeletons. About thirty of them.”
I shuddered. “And you’re telling me this while we’re in a graveyard. Thanks for that.”
“We’re fine. There are zero necromancers around.”
We found Baxter’s grave more quickly than we had the first time, which was impressive given the conditions. He spent a long time shining the light over the ground and the headstone, examining every inch.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“I thought he might have defaced it somehow, but apparently not.”
I peered into the darkness surrounding us. “Do you really think he’s here?”
Baxter scanned the area. “I thought he might be. I thought he’d take a twisted glee in arranging a meeting over a headstone that wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for him. But now that we’re here, I realize it doesn’t fit. Me standing next to it just highlights his failure. He wouldn’t want that.”
And that was when his phone rang.
The sound was jarring enough in the silence that, had I not relieved myself shortly before we left, it was likely I’d be doing it now.