A Reagan Keeter Box Set: Three page-turning thrillers that will leave you wondering who you can trus Reagan Keeter (most difficult books to read TXT) 📖

the receptionist on the phone with security, his opportunity to pursue this lead had come to a close . . . at least for now.

It was disappointing, but not surprising. Their encounter (if it had even happened) had been a long time ago. Chris might have been drunk. Or he might have forgotten it. If he did remember it, he probably didn’t want to own up to a hitting a woman.

Either way, Liam was confident Chris wasn’t the killer. All he’d hoped to get out of their discussion was some insight into Elise’s life, something that would take them one step closer to figuring out what had happened the night she died.

Besides, with Anita pursuing the name of Elise’s cellmate, it wasn’t even all that important.

“I’m going,” Liam told the receptionist.

She either didn’t hear him or didn’t care, because she said into the phone, “Someone’s on their way now? Good. Thank you.”

Liam pressed the button for the elevator. He wasn’t particularly concerned about the security guard that was on his way. A security guard would do nothing more than force him to leave the building. Still, he had no reason to stick around and didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.

As Liam exited onto the sidewalk, his phone rang. It was Anita. He moved out of the flow of pedestrian traffic, squeezing close to the building.

“I got it,” she said. “Elise was housed at Redwood Penitentiary. I’m going to talk to her cellmate now. Have you seen Chris yet?”

“That was a dead end. He didn’t remember her.”

Anita was quiet for a moment, and in that moment, Liam started to feel exposed. He couldn’t stand here like this. A cop could walk by any second. Someone could recognize him. The more faces he saw, the more danger he was in. He had to keep moving. He had to get off the street.

He started to walk.

Christopher Bell

Chris stepped into his office and closed the door, still wondering about Army Jacket and his questions. He’d been so preoccupied by the man’s appearance he hadn’t thought to ask his name. Seconds ago, when he’d been approached in the lobby, it hadn’t seemed to matter. Chris had just wanted to get as far away from Army Jacket as possible. Now, though, he had an uneasy feeling it might.

He returned to the lobby to ask the receptionist who said she hadn’t gotten his name. At his insistence, she called down to the security desk and repeated to Chris the name they gave her: Richard Hawthorne.

The man didn’t look quite like he did in Chris’s memory. But Chris didn’t entirely trust his memory. He tried to picture Army Jacket without the hair dye or sunglasses and, as he did, his blood started to boil. It didn’t make sense that Richard would come here asking questions like that. Actually, it didn’t make sense that Richard would come here at all.

Chris pressed the button to call the elevator. It took an unusually long time to come—or maybe it only seemed that way. In his agitated state, Chris couldn’t be sure.

When the doors opened onto the lobby, he ran out, pushing past those who exited too slowly. Richard couldn’t have gotten far. Chris charged through the revolving glass door toward the street. A security guard shouted for him to slow down.

Once outside, Chris looked in each direction, trying to figure out which way Richard had gone. With heavy foot traffic, it was impossible to see everyone clearly. Even those who were only a block away had melded into a tapestry of color and movement that threatened to make identification impossible.

Then he saw a flash of green to his left and started to move. He wasn’t sure he was chasing the right person until the sea of pedestrians parted again and he saw Richard’s spiky black hair.

Chris all but mowed over the people in his way. And he was close—so close—to catching Richard when a cab pulled to the curb and Richard got inside.

Liam Parker

“Can I send you a picture?” Anita said.

“Sure.” Liam flagged down a cab and climbed in. The driver asked where he wanted to go, and he gave the address for the Best Western. At least he’d be safe there until Anita was done talking to Elise’s cellmate.

His phone vibrated and he checked the message Anita had sent him. “You got it?” she asked, her voice sounding tinny with the phone held out in front of him.

“Got it.” He tapped on the picture she’d sent. It was a photograph of a piece of paper with something too small on it to see until he zoomed in. He recognized the picture in the photocopied ID as Elise. “What’s this?”

“Look at the name.”

He did, and realized this made for a second alias. “Where did you get this?”

“Hold on. You answer my question first. Why didn’t you tell me my sister was living under a fake name?”

Liam wasn’t sure what to say.

“Ryan told me.”

He glanced at the rearview mirror, where he could see the cab driver’s eyes. The man appeared to be watching the road, paying no attention to Liam’s conversation. Regardless, Liam chose his words carefully. “It bothered me too when I first found out.” Just like the deleted text messages had. Just like all the lies had. But also like the deleted text messages and the lies, he didn’t think the alias would get him any closer to finding the killer and he didn’t want to tarnish Anita’s memory of her sister any more than he had to. “I didn’t think you needed to know. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“What do you mean? How could it not matter?” Anita’s voice pitched up with annoyance.

Liam cupped one hand around the microphone and whispered, “Whoever killed her was probably somebody who knew her real name because they knew how to find her.” He watched the rearview mirror as he spoke. No reaction from the driver.

“I think it might matter. I got the impression Ryan did also. He said, since there are two,