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) 📖

“NYPD.”

“All the way up here?”

“I don’t live in Westchester,” Connor said.

“Still.”

Connor shrugged.

“Do you think they know about each other’s case?”

“Different departments. I don’t know.”

“We should tell them.”

“We probably should.” Connor finally took a sip of the scotch. He didn’t care for it. He set the glass down, got to his feet, started a slow pace to one end of the kitchen and back. On the drive over, he had weighed whether he should tell Olin about the email he’d found, the text he’d sent. He had been unable to come to a decision. He had told himself he would know what to do when he arrived, but standing here, listening to Olin talk about turning everything over to the police, he still wasn’t sure.

Just then, his father’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to have a look. There was a message from Roland: See you then.

To hell with it, Connor thought. He needed an ally, and Olin had every right to know what was going on. He placed the phone down on the table, with the screen still lit up and the message visible.

“I’m going to tell you something, but I want you to keep this to yourself for now, okay?”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been doing some digging on my own. The day my parents were abducted, my dad met with someone. I don’t know why, so it’s probably nothing, but I want to find out for sure. I sent him a message from my dad’s phone asking to meet tomorrow. He just responded.” Connor gestured toward his father’s phone, and Olin read the message.

“I could use some backup, you know, just in case.”

Olin’s expression shifted to something that was both doubtful and intense. “Why don’t you tell the detective about it? They should have all the information we can give them, right?”

Connor wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to tell Olin he thought Olivia had dropped the ball with the first lead she’d had. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to undermine Olin’s trust in his own detective. Even though the guy’s parents were likely dead, there was no reason for Connor to chip away at Olin’s hope. So he said instead, “I will. If it’s something. I just want to check it out myself first. Like I said, it’s probably nothing. And I don’t want the police wasting resources when every second matters.”

Olin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked down at the floor. He stayed like that for a long time. When he looked back up at Connor, his eyes were glassy. “Okay, I’ll help you. You’re right, we don’t need them wasting resources if it’s nothing. But if it isn’t nothing—”

“We’ll tell them.”

CHAPTER 18

Connor and Olin agreed to meet the next day at Deerfield Park an hour before Roland was scheduled to arrive. There was nothing else for Connor to do now but wait. He paced the first floor of his house, nervous energy catapulting him from room to room in an endless loop. Living room to dining room to kitchen to foyer. Living room to dining room to kitchen to foyer.

The days he spent alone in the house weren’t too bad, but the nights were still hard. Perhaps it was because, no matter what he told himself, he still worried the killer might come back.

He looked out the window. The cul-de-sac was empty.

The TV was on for company, blasting a rerun of Modern Family loud enough that the neighbors could probably hear it.

He checked the wall clock. It was ten p.m.

He thought about taking another Ambien—he was still taking them most nights—but was doing his best to resist the urge. Although they helped him sleep, they also left him feeling groggy the next day. And even when that passed, there seemed to be a fog that hung over his thoughts, left him feeling not quite as sharp as he normally did.

That wouldn’t do tomorrow. He had to be on his A-game when he confronted Roland. Earlier, he had reasoned that if Roland agreed to meet, he wasn’t involved in his parents’ abduction. But since getting the text from him, Connor had realized the flaw in that logic. Roland might just want to see who was using Frank’s phone. If that was the case, the meeting could be even more dangerous than he had imagined.

He willed himself to sit on the sofa, to try to calm the nervous energy. He tried to focus on the sitcom, tried not to think about the killer coming back or the meeting tomorrow. He hoped that if he could just clear his mind, relax, he could get some good, natural sleep. But it was useless. His mind just kept spinning. As long as he stayed in this house, the Ambien was the only way he was going to get any rest.

He did have another option though, didn’t he? Austin had insisted twice now Connor stay with him. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

He muted the TV, pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, and placed the call. As it rang, he looked again at the wall clock, which now read 10:30, and wondered if it might be too late. But Austin sounded wide awake when he answered.

“What’s up, Connor?”

“I think I would like to take you up on that offer. To stay at your place.”

“Sure. Like I said, mi casa, su casa. I think it’s a good idea, really. Just bring some stuff with you to work tomorrow so you can come straight here afterward.”

“Actually, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon come over tonight. I can’t sleep in this house anymore.”

There was a rustling on the other end of the line. “Hey! Get down!” Austin said, the phone clearly away from his mouth. Then he was back. “Sorry. Damn cat won’t stay off the kitchen counter. Yeah, sure. If that’s what you want, come on