In Her Eyes Sarah Alderson (e book free reading txt) 📖

but perhaps, just perhaps, I can get these people off our backs and prevent them from hurting anyone else.

At the front door to the apartment I search through my bag for my key, but when I fit it in the lock I realize the door is already open. I walk into the kitchen, closing the door behind me and then locking it because I’m terrified of being taken by surprise again.

Dirty clothes, ashtrays and old pizza boxes lie strewn around on the floor, the stale pizza inside growing furry green toppings, and there are piles of dirty laundry that look as if they’re about to walk out the door. The closet is ajar and junk cascades out of it: baseball bats, tennis rackets, a snowboard and a few other things we didn’t have room for in the garage, including a crossbow I remember Robert buying for Gene at least a decade ago. It looks like he either ransacked the place himself or someone has been here and done it for him. Or was it the men who broke in? Hannah did say they searched here too. They were looking for that money. Or perhaps for drugs.

Was it the men higher up the totem pole? I should make a list of all the people who knew Gene was dealing and had the money. I guess all the people he was selling drugs to – and God knows how many people that was. Hundreds perhaps. That doesn’t help narrow it down.

The bedroom door flies open and a man in a black sweater and jeans barrels past me, heading for the door. A split second is all I need to recognize him. It’s the man who claimed to be a journalist, the same man who Nate threatened, who gave his name as Euan Shriver. He leaps over the coffee table and dashes into the kitchen.

I follow him, stopping briefly to pick up something I saw in the closet. I find Euan frantically trying the door, pumping the handle up and down, confused as to why it won’t open.

I hold up the door keys and see the fear flash in his eyes as he spies the crossbow I’m holding in my other hand. Now I raise it to shoulder height.

‘What the fuck are you doing in my house?’ I hiss.

The man holds up both hands, palms out. He cowers back against the door and I think to myself once more: Is this him? Is this the man who robbed us? Is this one of the men in the masks?

‘I was looking for Gene,’ he says, eyeing the crossbow with a terror that makes me feel alive.

‘Why? What do you want with Gene?’

‘Just business,’ he says.

Business? Is he one of his clients? Is he a meth addict? Was he here looking for Gene or for drugs, or even for money? ‘Who are you?’ I demand. ‘You’re not a journalist. No one’s heard of you. You don’t work for the Herald. What were you doing at the hospital before?’ I press, leveling the crossbow at him.

‘I’m a stringer,’ he finally grunts.

‘A what?’

‘I was trying to get an exclusive. Pictures.’

I shake my head at him, confused.

‘I sell them to the highest bidder,’ he explains. ‘Normally the National Enquirer. A few others.’

‘That was you?’ I shout, stepping towards him so the bolt is aligned with his chest. ‘You took those photos of June.’

He shakes his head vehemently. ‘No, no! It wasn’t me. I swear.’

I step backwards. I’ve left my bag on the table and my phone is in it. Without taking my eyes off the man, I drag the bag closer and reach inside to pull it out.

‘I sold them though, yes,’ he says. ‘What are you doing?’ he asks as I pull out my phone.

‘Calling the police. You’re trespassing.’

‘I’m not trespassing. Gene told me to meet him here.’

‘Why? When?’ I say. ‘You’ve seen him?’

His face bleaches. I inch forwards so the bolt is pressing over his heart.

‘I was meeting him here to buy more photographs,’ he says.

My mouth falls open. ‘That was Gene? Those photos of June in the hospital? Gene took them?’

He nods at me.

‘So that wasn’t you – in the hospital gown? In June’s room?’

‘What?’ his face furrows. ‘What are you talking about?’

I drop the crossbow to my side.

‘You fucking crazy woman,’ the man yells. ‘You can’t point that thing at me. I’m just doing my job.’

‘Your job? What’s your name? Your real name?’

‘It is Euan, Euan Breslow. Look, in my game, we don’t like people knowing who we are. People don’t tend to like us much.’

‘You don’t say!’ I yell. ‘Get out of my house!’ My head spins. The room spins.

He starts trying the door handle again. ‘I can’t,’ he tells me. ‘It’s locked.’

I scramble to find the keys, dragging them out of my pocket. I unlock the door, but before I let him pass I turn back to him. ‘How much – how much did you pay him for the photos?’

‘Fifteen thousand,’ he says, pushing past me and flying through the door and down the steps.

‘If I ever see you again,’ I shout after him, ‘I’ll kill you.’

I fall back against the door, sobbing and panting, struggling to breathe and take it in.

Together with the money from selling his car that makes around thirty thousand dollars. He hasn’t run away. He’s trying to get the money together to pay off Raul and James . . . but at the expense of his sister.

How could he?

Chapter 37

I hurry out of the apartment and into the house, my senses prickling like I’ve stepped inside a mausoleum, with ghosts gathered around me. The first thing I notice is that the paintings on the wall over the mantelpiece, and the one in the hallway by the stairs, are missing. Gene must have sold them.

I feel relieved. He’s at least doing something to fix things, not leaving it all to me. Unless of course he’s raising the money in order to run off somewhere and start a new life. My mind