20. Levi
The Vikings won.
Meanwhile, Maria Cole remains somewhere inside the building, her exact location still unknown.
The last sighting of her on the security footage had been in the cafeteria, a busy area usually monitored by several cameras.
After that, she seemed to have vanished without a trace, which was baffling.
The cafeteria only connects to a few other rooms and corridors, all of which should have been covered by the building’s security system.
It made no sense that she could simply disappear, especially with so many people searching and so many cameras supposedly watching every exit.
While the rest of the team continued to search the building, checking every possible hiding spot and reviewing security feeds, I made the decision to head toward the locker room to speak with Dover.
Earlier, I had avoided telling him anything, not wanting to weigh him down with more worries before the game.
I knew this decision had frustrated him—he hated being kept in the dark, especially about matters that concerned him directly.
Still, at the time, I thought it was for the best, hoping to protect his focus and composure.
Now, however, with Maria Cole’s strange disappearance and the growing sense of unease, I felt compelled to find out exactly why this woman seemed to have singled Dover out.
The question gnawed at me, and as I walked, I rubbed at my brows, trying to make sense of the situation.
Something about it all felt off, as if there was a crucial detail I was missing.
Up until now, I would have sworn that the person threatening Dover was a man.
The evidence, the tone of the messages, even the way the threats were delivered—all of it had led me to that assumption.
As I approach the locker room, Dover spots me just as he’s about to leave.
His expression is stormy, and his brows are drawn together in a deep frown.
Without waiting for me to speak, he strides toward me, his jaw clenched with irritation.
“Tell me,” he demands, his voice low and tense, grinding out the words between his teeth.
“I want to know what you’ve been keeping from me.
” It’s clear he’s done waiting for answers, and I realize I can no longer protect him by holding back the truth.
I let out a long, weary sigh, feeling the weight of the conversation settling over me. “Maria Cole. Does that name mean anything to you?” I ask, searching his face for any sign of recognition or reaction.
He pauses for a moment, then nods slowly.
“You mean the girl from social media? Yeah, I know who she is. She actually asked me out once. I told her I wasn’t interested and tried to let her down easy.
” He shrugs, as if brushing off the memory, but there’s a hint of discomfort in his expression.
“She has a brother, and I guess she must have told him about what happened between us—that I’d rejected her.
He definitely wasn’t happy about it. He knows I’m gay, and I think that made things even worse in his eyes.
He confronted me one day and said a load of bad shit to me, stuff I’d rather not repeat.
I didn’t stick around to listen. I walked away before things could get uglier.
” He runs a hand through his hair, which is dripping wet, as if the memory itself were weighing him down.
“Honestly, after that, I never gave her another thought. She just wasn’t on my radar anymore.
” He meets my eyes, his expression earnest and searching. “Are you absolutely sure it’s her?”
“Now that I’ve spoken to you, I’m convinced it’s her brother. Maria has disappeared inside the building. I have a team looking for her. She was the one who put the roadkill in the locker room. We have that on security footage. I really need to speak to her.”
“She’s fiercely loyal to her brother. I don’t think she’ll betray him or reveal his whereabouts, no matter what we say or do,” I say, my voice tinged with uncertainty.
Dover looks exhausted and says, “I need to get showered. I’ll meet you afterwards, and then we can head over to their house and see if we can find any leads.”
“They moved out three months ago. We already checked that address,” I tell him.
“Damn,” Dover mutters softly, frustration evident in his voice as he starts walking toward the locker room. “Give me ten minutes. I just need a moment to clean up and clear my head.”
“I’ll wait here for you,” I say, determined not to leave without him.
Pacing nervously up and down the hallway isn’t something I usually do.
It’s out of character for me, but right now, I simply can’t help myself.
My nerves are frayed, and the tension in the air feels almost tangible.
Cheswick, the man I assigned to stand guard outside this corridor, leans against the wall, arms folded, watching me with a smug smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Normally, his attitude would irritate me, maybe even provoke a sharp retort, but at this moment, I’m far too agitated and unsettled to let it get under my skin.
My mind keeps circling back to the same question: Why can’t we find Maria Cole?
She seems to have vanished without a trace, and it makes no sense.
The building is equipped with a comprehensive network of security cameras, covering almost every angle and corridor.
There are only a handful of blind spots throughout the premises, and those are known only to a select few.
To disappear so completely, someone would have to possess intimate knowledge of the building’s security layout—knowledge that isn’t easy to come by unless you’re an insider or have done your homework.
As I continue my restless pacing, I reach up and rub the back of my neck, where a persistent itch has taken hold. It’s an old habit of mine, a subconscious signal that something is about to happen—something I might not be prepared for.
Just then, Dover emerges from the locker room, his expression grim and serious.
In his hand, he’s holding a small slip of paper, and the look on his face tells me everything I need to know—whatever news he’s bringing, I’m not going to like it.
Without a word, he strides over to me, his footsteps echoing in the tense silence.
“Watch your back.” Dover reads the note as he hands me the note. “It was left tucked inside my shoe.” The weight of the words sends a fresh wave of unease through me.
“Fuck me!” I mutter under my breath, frustration boiling over. “This is going to stop tonight. I’m not letting it go on any longer.”
I turn sharply to Cheswick, who’s been stationed at the entrance all evening. “Did you record everyone who entered tonight?” I ask, my tone clipped and urgent.
He nods, a little too quickly, as if eager to reassure me.
I narrow my eyes, pressing further. “Did you have a bathroom break? Did you leave your post for any other reason at all?” My voice is insistent, demanding absolute clarity.
Cheswick hesitates, his eyes darting away for a brief moment, but in that pause, the truth is already clear.
Palming my phone with a sense of urgency, I quickly dial Ryland’s number. As soon as he picks up, I waste no time and demand, “Who entered the locker room while Cheswick was away from the door?” My tone comes out sharper than intended, almost a bark, betraying my impatience and concern.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Dover flinch at my harshness. He draws in a slow, steadying breath, clearly unsettled by my abruptness. Realizing my mistake, I soften my voice and offer a quick apology, mumbling, “Sorry. Who entered?” I try to sound less accusatory this time.
Ryland seems prepared for my question. “I figured you’d want to know, so I made a note of the exact times when no one was stationed at the door,” he explains.
“It was only three minutes and forty-four seconds, if you’re curious.
” His attention to detail is reassuring, and I find myself silently grateful for his thoroughness.
I had been wondering about the duration, so at least Cheswick must have made his trip to the restroom—or wherever he went—remarkably quick.
Ryland continues, his voice steady as he consults his notes.
“During that window, only two people entered the locker room. The first was David Matthews, who works as part of the locker room staff. The second was Perry Lewis, who is also on the locker room staff.” He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing the significance of what he’s about to say.
“But only Lewis was actually scheduled to be on duty tonight. Matthews wasn’t supposed to be here at all. ”
A knot of suspicion tightens in my stomach. “Do you know where Matthews is now?” I ask, my voice low and tense, unable to hide my concern.
With a furrowed brow, Dover responds, “He’s still in the locker room.” His frown deepens, mirroring my unease as the implications settle between us.
“Cheswick, with me.” I stride forcefully into the locker room, pushing the door open so hard that it slams against the wall with a loud bang, echoing through the confined space.
The abrupt noise draws the attention of several people inside.
A few curious eyes flicker in my direction, but I deliberately ignore their stares, too focused on my purpose to care about the sudden disruption.
It’s only at that moment, as I scan the unfamiliar faces, that I realize with a jolt that I have no idea what Matthews actually looks like.
Uncertain, I glance over at Dover, silently asking for help.
Dover catches my eye and, understanding my predicament, gives me a subtle nod in the direction of a man at the back of the room.
The man—Matthews—finally turns around, and as his gaze lands on us, his expression shifts.
He frowns, lines creasing his forehead, but there’s no sign of guilt or nervousness in his demeanor.
Instead, he just looks puzzled, clearly unsure why he’s suddenly the center of attention.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his tone tinged with confusion.
“You shouldn’t be working tonight,” I snap, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice. My words hang in the air, sharp and accusatory.
Matthews doesn’t flinch. He simply shrugs, his manner casual, almost indifferent.
“I swapped shifts at the last minute with Kyle,” he explains, as if this should be obvious.
“He called me earlier today, said he’d been puking most of the day.
So I worked his shift.” His explanation is straightforward, delivered without hesitation, and he meets my gaze steadily as he speaks.
“I get the next game off because he’ll cover my shift then.
It’s not usually a big deal, so what is going on? ”
“Did you notice anyone lingering near Hilton’s cubby while the team was out on the ice?”
“Actually, the only people who have been inside the locker room are Lewis and me, so I suppose that means we’ve both been in here at some point during tonight’s game.”
Dover glances around the room, scanning for any sign of Lewis. “Where is Lewis now?” he asks, his tone growing more urgent.
“He left a short while ago, just before the rest of the team arrived back here.”
I mutter a curse under my breath, barely audible. “Shit.”
Beside me, Matthews offers, “I can message him if you want and see if he’s still in the building.”
Relieved by the suggestion, I quickly respond, “Do that,” agreeing without hesitation.
“He can take a few to answer,” Matthews warns.
I simply nod, acknowledging the delay, my mind already racing ahead.
Matthews, who has been working quietly nearby, gestures toward the pile of towels, silently asking if he should continue. I give him another nod.
Just then, Dover sidles up to me, lowering his voice. “Are we sure it isn’t Matthews?” he asks, suspicion evident in his tone.
I turn to face Dover. “He didn’t seem at all nervous,” I reply, my brow furrowing as I try to recall Matthews’s demeanor. I glance back to where Matthews had been working, only to realize with a jolt that he is no longer there.
“Fuck!” I exclaim, alarmed by his sudden disappearance.
Turning quickly to Dover, I instruct him firmly, “You stay here,” not wanting to risk anyone else vanishing.
Without waiting for a response, I rush out of the room, urgency propelling me forward, with Cheswick close on my heels, both of us determined to find Matthews and get to the bottom of what is happening.