CHAPTER 2 #2
I tuck the flash drive into my front pocket. “I’ll need to verify what’s on here but—”
He focuses on something past my shoulder, face draining of color. “Fuck.”
“What?” I turn, scanning the garage.
Through the concrete pillars, I see a black SUV is starting up the ramp from the first floor.
I look back to Erik, now pale as a ghost. “They found me.”
I’m dubious but his fear seems genuine. “How do you know—”
He spins on me, eyes hardened. “Follow the burn patterns and you’ll see what I’m saying is true. I’m going to lie low, but I’ll be in touch.”
“Erik, wait—”
But he’s already backing away, one step, then another.
He walks straight, attempts a confident stroll up the ramp leading to the third level.
The SUV turns the corner and its lights sweep over Erik.
His pace quickens and my heart rate mimics his steps.
I instinctively step back into the shadows, right between a concrete three-quarter wall and the stairwell door.
I hold my breath as the SUV rolls forward, slow and deliberate, tires whispering over wet pavement.
Nothing aggressive, perhaps just looking for a parking spot.
Then, without warning, the engine roars.
My heart leaps into my throat as Erik freezes in place, the wash of headlights revealing the gut-wrenching fear in his eyes. The SUV surges forward, engine growling, and Erik just stands there, feet rooted to concrete.
I want to scream for him to run but I’m equally frozen, the words lodged in my throat.
It all happens so fast. The front bumper hits him hard enough to lift him off the ground, the sickening crack of bone echoing off the concrete walls.
I drop down into a low crouch, scuttle sideways behind the rear of a dark sedan.
Erik’s body flies through the air, landing twenty feet from where I’m hiding.
I go down to my hands and knees, wanting nothing more than to flatten myself into oblivion so I won’t be found, but also understanding that I need to be able to jump and run if necessary.
I crane my neck to peer under the car and past the front wheels. I can see Erik lying there like a limp rag doll. His head is turned away from me, but I can tell by the utter stillness he’s dead.
The SUV skids to a stop and my mind blanks. Do I run? Do I try to help Erik? My legs won’t move and my heart is hammering so hard, I can feel the pulse of it in my eardrums.
The driver’s door opens and a figure steps out.
I can see the bottom of a dark coat, black dress shoes.
The man walks to Erik’s body and nudges him with his foot, then crouches.
I can’t see the man’s face, only from his mid back down.
He presses two fingers to Erik’s throat, and I know he’s confirming that Erik isn’t going to live to rat anyone out.
The man stands and now I can only see him from the knees down, but I can tell he’s tall. And because he just brutally killed a man, I can tell he’s without a conscience.
For a heartbeat, the killer waits, and I imagine he’s ensuring there are no witnesses, perhaps head tilted and listening for any sound. I hold my breath, willing him to get back in that SUV and leave.
The man turns slowly until he’s angled in my direction. He takes a few steps toward me, one after another, the hard soles of his shoes scraping over the concrete like nails on a chalkboard.
I hold my breath until my lungs burn.
One floor up, two people enter the garage, laughing with each other. The sound freezes the man mid-step and his shoes angle away, back toward Erik.
I seize the moment while his attention shifts and make a run for it. Crouched low, I hurry behind the three cars that abut a propped-open stairwell door, about ten feet away, praying the murderer doesn’t look back in my direction.
I slip inside, thankful my boots aren’t so loud enough they give me away.
I tiptoe down one flight of stairs, pressing a shaking hand over my mouth to stifle the urge to sob.
My heart is pounding so hard it feels audible.
I force myself to breathe through my nose, slow and silent, but every inhale shudders.
Think.
Call 911.
Run.
Stay hidden.
My fingers hover over my phone in my coat pocket, but I don’t pull it out. The sound of a vibration could give me away. For all I know, he’s standing right outside the door, listening.
Silence for one beat, two, then… footsteps again, but not coming closer. The scrape of shoes retreating across the concrete. The sound grows fainter and seconds later, a car door shuts with a heavy thud.
The engine roars and tires squeal briefly against wet pavement. The sound of the SUV driving away fades into the night beyond.
I don’t move.
Not immediately.
My body is still braced for impact, every muscle locked. The fluorescent light flickers above me and somewhere below, a door slams and someone laughs, unaware.
I finally let my breath leave in a broken rush.
Erik’s dead. Murdered right before my eyes.
Slipping my hand in my pocket, I wrap my fingers around the flash drive. Whatever is on here was harmful enough to get Erik killed, which means, there’s truth to it.
Now I possess the knowledge that could render me the same.
A rational citizen who just saw a man murdered would call the police. But if I did that, I would have to give my name. I would become a witness, and I would then become a target. If RainVest is behind this as I suspect, they’re clearly not averse to killing witnesses.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, a plea to Erik if he’s listening from the beyond that I can’t do anything for him in this moment.
But I can make sure his death isn’t in vain.
By the time I make it home, I’m shaking even worse. I drop my bag, lock every dead bolt, and sink onto the couch. The flash drive sits in my palm, cold metal against clammy skin.
Follow the burn patterns.
I have no clue what he meant by that. I plug it into my laptop and start scanning dozens of files.
Spreadsheets. Purchase records. Environmental assessments. My breath slows as I click through them. Some of this stuff I’ve seen, but most of it I haven’t. It’s not publicly available information.
Land parcels bought days after fires ended. Shell corporations with meaningless names but all linked back to RainVest.
Every file traces back to the same developer. Every burned acre, every “natural disaster,” every community that never recovered.
I glance at emails, internal memos and call logs. Thousands and thousands of pages to weed through.
Erik said the proof is in here and now I have to mine for it.
My stomach twists. It’s the story of my career, but all I can think about is Erik’s face in that garage, the fear in his voice… the sickening crunch of his bones.
My pulse pounds in my throat and I rise from the couch with restless energy.
Every instinct screams to push a story through fast, because if I put it out there, it would bring me a measure of safety.
But the rational part of me knows better.
If RainVest really killed Erik to keep this from going any further, I’m pretty much dead if I’m discovered.
Which means I have to make sure the proof is good enough for criminal charges to be brought against whoever’s behind it all. I’m going to have to dig deeper, and I know for sure I can’t do this alone.
I grab my phone and scroll through contacts, past colleagues, police sources, lawyers. None of them can help me with this. None of them know fire like—
My thumb hesitates over a name. I refused to delete him from my contacts when we parted ways five years ago, because I couldn’t bear the thought of relegating him to oblivion.
Cole Mercer.
I should keep scrolling. The last time I saw him, we were both bleeding from wounds we couldn’t stop reopening. He was my first love. My only real love.
And my first loss.
Cole called it quits because he couldn’t handle watching me risk my life for stories like this. I let him call it quits because I couldn’t imagine giving this up.
And yet—when my world starts to burn, he’s the one person I think of.
My hand trembles as it hovers over his contact. I truly never let him go. Even as time passed, his memory didn’t fade. I dream about him more often than I’d like to admit.
I have no right to ask him for help, especially since this is the very aspect of my job he hated.
But I’m scared. I’ve done dangerous stories before, but I’ve never seen someone murdered in cold blood before my very eyes. I can’t let this go, and even if I could, I have the damning evidence in my hands.
I need his help.
My fingertip presses the button and the phone rings. Once. Twice.
My nerves sizzle with anxiety and I almost hang up.
Then a deep, steady voice answers. A voice that used to make me melt. “Mercer.”
For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe. That voice is strength and safety and a thousand nights I tried to forget.
“Hey,” I manage, my throat raw. “It’s me.”
A pause. I can almost hear him blink. “Tessa?”
“I need your help.”