36. Olivia #2
“Too many fucking times,” he sighs, rubbing his temple and squeezing his eyes shut.
Frown lines pull at every inch of his tired face.
“It would be so much fucking easier if we could meet every night or some shit, but I have too much going on.” With every word he says, his voice gets softer.
More tired. More weighed down. Just like him.
For whatever reason, Mack is working himself to the bone, and I have no idea why. They have it so damn easy in that house. Sure, Franco sucks. But he isn’t up their ass anymore.
Maybe I shouldn’t care. Maybe I should focus on this investigation and leave my personal feelings at the door.
Which is way harder than I thought. JJ’s words ring through my mind every time I look into their eyes.
It wasn’t us. We wouldn’t have done that to you.
Sometimes I believe it. Sometimes I want to do the same to them.
There’s doubt lingering there. Doubt hammering away at me, taking me piece by piece.
I’m cracking at the damn seams.
Discreetly, I blow out a breath. “Why are you limping?” I blurt before I can stop myself.
Mack’s fingers stop twirling over his temples, and he peeks an eye open, observing me as I cock my head, sweeping my gaze over his face.
I probably shouldn’t stare so much or ask stupid questions, but I can’t help it.
He and I were once friends. More than friends.
And although I’m half in with the “they didn’t kill me” sentiment, I’m still cautious of them.
JJ can tell pretty lies if he wants to. Until there’s proof, that is.
Then, there’s another mystery of who killed me under Franco’s command, and why?
“Why does it matter to you?” he grits out without heat behind his words, pulling a piece of paper toward him.
He examines it with pursed lips and sighs heavily.
“Hurt myself at fucking practice. My doctor said I’ll be fine.
I’m supposed to stay off it.” My brows furrow as he looks over the piece of paper without glancing at me.
“Anyway, I’ve been looking into Ezra Thornton on my own since you decided to hog the fucking evidence folder.
” And with that, he scoots the thick folder in front of him and throws it open.
“I took the liberty of looking into every-fucking-thing.” He grins, handing me a piece of paper marked with words.
“Surprised, Davenport?” he asks almost playfully.
Almost sounding like the Mack I knew years before, when he teased me and then kissed me.
My lips pop open as I stare at the autopsy report. It’s the same report the teacher gave us, but it has a more official tone. “Uhhh, no. Not surprised,” I stammer, really proving my point that I’m not surprised by him. Not. “How’d you get all this?”
My guess? JJ lent him his skills to figure this case out so he could get it done as soon as possible.
“Friends in high places,” he retorts quickly, pulling out another piece of paper and looking it over. “Should we wait for you know who before we get into this shit?” He purses his lips, refusing to say his brother’s name.
“Wilder? I mean, we can. But you said you only have forty-five minutes, and this is important. Besides, he said he’d be late…” I trail off when Mack shrugs, getting right into the work.
“I remember this shit like it was yesterday,” Mack says, tapping the papers.
“I looked into the location. It’s behind that bar, X Marks the Spot.
He was lying in the parking lot behind it like minced meat.
” His nose wrinkles, but my heart stops in my chest. “The parking lot doesn’t exist anymore.
It’s a grassy lot. Everything about that area has changed since he died. I went and looked.”
Went and looked? I don’t know what surprises me more, the fact that he did extra research or the fact that he went to the bar and looked at the crime scene.
“X Marks the Spot,” I mumble.
Vivid memories of my night there run through my mind.
The hookup with Malic. Nick, the bartender, was shady as hell the whole night.
Especially when Malic confronted him about Meredith’s disappearance.
Nick scurried off somewhere, talking on the phone.
Probably in the basement. I wonder if he had anything to do with her death?
If the last place she was seen was there, there has to be a connection.
“Yeah, it used to be some sort of medical facility. They got closed down for malpractice bullshit and something about unsanctioned surgeries. The head doctor was Dr. Christopher Chambers. He was butchering patients or something on the side. Or that’s the fucking rumors.
Here,” Mack says, pushing a new clipping toward me from the folder he brought with him.
“Says they found evidence in the basement of the facility of botched surgeries given for a lower price, but that’s it.
It’s never mentioned again. They took him to trial, but it was dismissed, and good old Dr. Chambers left town and never returned. ” Mack rolls his eyes.
He knows as well as I do that he didn’t disappear from town for nothing. Maybe dead? Maybe in hiding. Who the fuck knows? This is important information, though.
“Dr. Chris Chambers,” I say aloud, looking through the clipping.
“Was arrested this morning after investigators found evidence hidden in the basement of his walk-in clinic, alluding to illegal surgical procedures and medical practices. He was a beloved doctor, husband, and father.” My nose wrinkles at the picture of him accompanying the article.
Deep, dark black eyes. Graying hair. Wrinkly face.
Looking a lot older than he actually is.
“It happened like five years ago. After Doc Chambers got off scot-free from whatever crimes they thought he committed, he left town. But he maintained ownership of the buildings and leased the space to that bar.” Mack flips through a few more pages and lays them on the table.
“His son took over the lease and built that bar.”
I swallow hard. The only person that comes to mind is Nick. The bartender. The same man who asked me what college I was going to and then explained his business degree. The one he got so he could build that bar.
“The bartender. He owns it…” I trail off, remembering the bewildered look in Nick’s eyes when Malic entered the bar.
And the way Nick practically ate me alive and invited me into his apartment in the basement of the bar.
Fuck. He invited me into the damn basement for a good time. Sweat forms on my palms.
What if…
“Yeah, that prick. Nickolas Chambers. Have you been there? Why the fuck are you looking so pale?” Mack scrunches his nose as he looks me over with an unimpressed glance. “Dude, you better not fucking puke at the table.”
I clear my throat, trying to get those thoughts out of my head. “No reason,” I say, shaking my head. “And I’m fine.”
“Great. Grand. Glad we have that established,” Mack quips, rolling his eyes.
“Fuck. Sorry, I’m late,” Wilder announces, entering the room and tearing through the weird tension sitting between Mack and me.
He hurriedly takes the seat next to Mack without thought and loosens the tie around his throat with a heavy sigh.
He runs his fingers along the corner of his black suit jacket, unbuttoning it to reveal the crisp white shirt beneath.
“This is a group project, bro. What was more important than…” Mack trails off, the barb still on the tip of his tongue, as he takes Wilder’s appearance in. “The fuck you in a suit for?”
“Funeral,” Wilder grumbles, running his hands over the top of his head, gliding over the fine hairs of his nearly bald head.
Mack stiffens. “She didn’t die, did she?” His voice lowers with every word he says as worry lines pull at his face.
Wilder stops his movements, glaring at Mack. “If you’re asking if Mom is still kicking, the answer is yes. Fucking barely,” he mutters the last part, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Then who the fuck died?” Mack asks with a scoff.
Wilder pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m running on three hours of sleep, asshole. Let’s be fucking civil. It was Malic’s sister, Meredith. That’s all I’m saying.” He cuts Mack a look.
All the breath leaves my lungs at the sound of her name again. I never knew her, but everyone at this table does. JJ’s words from before about Meredith going missing and her knowing things about the organ donors come to mind. Fuck.
Mack stiffens at his words and his brows furrow. “Oh, fuck. Right. The pictures on SlamApp,” he murmurs, rubbing at his chest as the color slightly drains from his face. “I’m sorry she died,” he says sympathetically, with sadness crossing his features. “It sucks she died.”
“Yeah,” Wilder sighs. “It does.”
There’s a beat of silence between the three of us as Wilder squeezes his eyes shut and leans his head back. “Okay, let’s get through this. Catch me up on what’s happening,” he says, straightening his shoulders.