However, all readers - sooner or later - find for themselves a literary genre that is fundamentally different from all others. Missing by Adam Nicholls (top e book reader .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Adam Nicholls
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Book online «Missing by Adam Nicholls (top e book reader .TXT) 📖». Author Adam Nicholls
“What’s going on here?” the younger one asked. It looked like he was zipping up his fly.
“Someone’s chasing me,” Ryan wheezed.
The killer entered the alleyway and caught up to them, smiling and wiping his forehead. “Sorry, fellas, my boy’s just being a bit dramatic. You know how it is.”
“This your son?” the old man asked, crooking an eyebrow and pushing his chest out.
“Oh sure, yeah.” The killer looked down at Ryan. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
But the men weren’t buying it—something about the crying child suggested he wasn’t simply disobeying his father. The old man stood in the way. “Sorry, sir, but you’re going to have to prove—”
With lightning speed, the killer drew a gun from the back of his pants and fired a quick shot into each of the men. They landed to either side of Ryan, making him squeal with horror.
“Nice try, kid,” the killer said, spitting as he stowed the gun away. “Just when I thought I could trust you.”
Ryan jerked back as the man grabbed him, dragging him back to the RV.
Mason got back in his car and told Evie what he’d seen. He was watching her expression as she digested the information, mostly to see if it affected her as much as it had him.
“It’s hard to see the bright side, but this suggests Ryan Carter is still alive, right?”
“Yeah, but try telling his father that. Look, I need to pay Mr. Carter a visit. Do you think you can head to Keira’s, see what you can dig up?”
“It’s a strip club, for Christ’s sake. Couldn’t you—”
“Can you go or not?” Mason snapped.
“Fine. Whatever. As long as I can take the car.”
Mason reached into his pants pocket and grabbed a handful of cash, then held it out to her. “For the cab fare.”
Evie stared at it, then snatched it and left. “Be careful.”
Mason made his way to the Carter household, wondering how the man would take the news. Moreover, how would Mason phrase it? Sorry, sir, but your son mutilated a young girl? Your boy is alive, but he’s working with the killer? Something was amiss, but what it was eluded him completely.
Owen opened the door and showed him in, but Mason only stood in the hallway.
“What is it?” Owen asked, clearly expecting bad news.
He has no idea. “It’s not much of an update,” Mason said, speaking slow and trying not to further upset the man, “but I think your son is still alive. For now.”
Owen sniffed and wiped his eyes, then looked up. “That’s great though, right? That means I can pay the ransom and get my son back.”
Mason shook his head. “I still don’t think it’s that simple.”
“I don’t understand. Why can’t I just pay the money and have my son? I don’t care about the million dollars. I just want to see Ryan and tell him that I’m sorry.”
“Because you have to think about the other children, Mr. Carter. If you pay that money, a serial killer goes free. Whose kids will be next? I don’t give a damn about your million, either. I just want the killer in cuffs, if not—” Mason caught sight of young Kylie cowering by the upstairs banister. It was good to see her out of the hospital, and he couldn’t blame her for wanting to know where her twin brother was. “If not dead.”
“But my son dies regardless?”
“Not at all. You know we’re trying to—”
“Trying to what? To catch a killer at any cost, including my boy’s safety?”
“Hey, now you listen here,” Mason snapped, trying to ignore his guilt at speaking harshly to a man with a missing child. He knew that if Amy had been abducted instead, he would slit throats to get her back. “You’re trying to counter everything I say with the same comment. You’re going to give me one more day. I’m close, Mr. Carter. I just know it.”
“How close?” Owen asked, pleading with his eyes.
“Close enough.” Mason headed for the door.
“What if I—”
“One more day!” Mason closed the door and sucked in the fresh air, steadying his nerves. Time was not on his side, and he knew it.
Evie maneuvered between the tables of perverted creeps.
It wasn’t her kind of scene—everything from the sleazy music to the down-and-out women flashing their skin, bringing shame on ladies everywhere who were trying to make a decent living. But still, she thought, people do what they have to.
Arriving at the empty bar, she flashed a photo of Marvin Wendell to the bartender. “Do you know this guy?” she asked.
He polished an assortment of shot glasses one by one, staring at the photo until recognition settled in. “Might have seen him. Who’s asking?”
“Evelyn Black. I’m a private investigator, of sorts.”
Flicking the cleaning cloth over his shoulder, the barman assessed her for a moment before dialing a number on a landline. He kept one eye on her, explaining to the person on the phone what was happening.
Now why would you need to make a call?
Evie glanced around her, studying the men in black suits who stood bolt upright and scanned their surroundings. When she’d first come in, she’d thought they were bouncers, but now she finally understood: they were bodyguards.
Two of them approached her, one of whom had a finger to his earpiece.
“Miss Black? Come with us.”
Evie swallowed hard and followed them through to the back, wishing she’d taken the gun from Mason’s car. They were backstage, heading up a set of creaking wooden stairs until they reached a door, where the bigger bodyguard punched in a code and showed her inside.
“Miss Black, is it?” A ponytailed man in his forties sat at his desk, shuffling some things into a drawer.
Evie tapped her nose and flicked her head at him, letting him know some powder remained beside his nostril. Embarrassed, the man understood and brushed the cocaine from his nose. He sniffed, to make sure.
“I hear you’re asking about a guy.”
Glancing around and trying not to freak out that they’d closed the door behind her, Evie approached the desk and showed the picture of Wendell. “Some say he comes here often?”
The man studied the photo, then glanced up at Evie before speaking with that croaky Manhattan accent. “What are you, police?”
“A PI, actually.”
“Right, right. Can I see your credentials?”
Shit. Evie knew she should have borrowed Mason’s badge. She’d done that on multiple occasions in the past—it was surprising just how many people saw the shiny brass and looked no further. “I left them at home.”
The man laughed, and his bodyguards followed suit. “You can see the trouble here, miss. A young woman such as yourself comes in here asking questions about a paying customer, has no identification, and yet wants information. How do you think that looks?”
Evie, trying to conceal her shaking hands, cleared her throat. “Look, I’m trying to pretend this is just a strip joint, and that I couldn’t head downstairs right now and hire one of your whores.” She licked her dry lips, shuffled her weight to the other foot. “I’m not a dyke, but I’d do it just to prove a point. Listen. This man is dangerous.” She pointed at the photo. “He’s killed before, and he’ll do it again. So unless you want the police at your door, how about you show me some professional courtesy?”
The smile fell from the man’s face in an instant, but he didn’t speak as he paused for thought.
“Well?” Evie prompted, fake courage to the fore.
“Miss Black, this is the only courtesy you’ll get from me: turn around and go back to whichever hole you crawled out from. Never come back here. If you do, even the police won’t be able to protect you. You hear?”
It sounded to Evie like a generous offer. It was obvious he wasn’t going to give up any details, so what other choice did she have than to walk out while she still could?
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