Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake) Rachel Caine (best e book reader for android .txt) 📖

have no choice but to cooperate. Look, I’m not here to ruin your day. I just need to access your video. I can do it from the cloud if you don’t want to give me computer access, but that means a bigger hassle. We’ll probably have to seize your computers and probably close you down for a while. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Dale.”

“Okay, Dale, call your boss. I don’t want you to get into any trouble.”

He has no idea what to do, but he picks up the phone and dials. There’s a hurried conversation. I’m so lucky the manager is out. He hangs up and says, “Okay, he says I can let you look. Uh, I need to keep a copy of that thing. The warrant.”

“Sure.” I take the entirely fraudulent warrant and go to the copier. I turn the paper to the blank side and make a copy. I wipe the panel with my sleeve, covering that with my body, and then fold up the blank paper that comes out, making sure to slide my fingers so that the prints won’t be clear on the surface. If they go to the extent of DNA, I’m screwed, but that’s not likely unless this goes completely, horribly sideways.

I staple it shut, and write Detective Karen Fields on the outside, with a phone number I make up on the spot. I slide my palm down the pen as I put it back in the holder to smear any prints I’ve just left.

Dale seems entirely satisfied. I put the original fake warrant and the badge I got at a costume shop in my pocket. “After you?”

He leads me down a short hallway to a claustrophobically small closet with a folding table, a folding chair, and a computer. He logs me in, and I’m looking at just one feed from the store that covers the door and the counter. “There you go,” he says. “What day?” I tell him, and he scrolls back to it.

“The guy I’m looking for came in early on Monday. Probably right when you opened up. He’d have paid for a courier service. You do that, right?”

“Yeah, not real common,” he says. “But we guarantee two-hour service in the metro area. Definitely narrows it down.” He scrolls to the opening time. While he’s still cooperative, I ask him to write down the cloud storage information so I can easily access it. He does.

I scroll as fast as I dare as he dithers behind me; he hears something in the other room and leaves, and I realize I’ve probably gone too far forward into the morning. I need to back up again and scrutinize every single person. There are a surprising number, but I didn’t recognize Sheryl Lansdowne in any of the faces. So I try again, focusing hard.

I nearly miss him anyway, because he’s just so . . . bland. A man with a manila envelope walks in. I can tell he’s white, medium build, nothing special about him in particular; he’s wearing blue jeans and a checked shirt and a ball cap. I’d pass him on the street and never even notice.

Like Melvin, I think, and shiver.

He talks to the guy behind the counter, gets a courier envelope, and opens it up. I freeze it, and the image isn’t fantastic, but I see a white blur. He’s dropping a letter into the package.

Melvin’s letter.

I take the thumb drive out of my pocket and copy the digital footage from the moment he comes into the shop to when he leaves. He hands over the credit card, and the clerk on duty doesn’t seem to even hesitate, or look at the name, before running it.

Why do that? Why not just pay cash? He’s exposing himself. He’s not that stupid.

Unless he wanted me to find this. Wanted me to be here.

I felt clever until now. And suddenly I feel exposed, and manipulated, and very worried.

While my unwitting coconspirator is gone, I flip back to today’s recording and make sure I erase my presence on entry, and at the counter. I’ll be sure to keep my face turned away now that I know where the camera is. I wipe the keyboard and mouse clean of fingerprints.

I’ve just finished when Dale comes back. “All done,” I say. “Thanks so much for your help.” I feel a little bad for him, but his boss can’t hold him accountable, not when Dale did his due diligence and called. Not his fault I’m leaving him holding a blank piece of paper and a fake phone number.

“Is he some kind of killer or something?” Dale asks. “If you can tell me, I mean.”

“I can’t, sorry,” I say. We come out of the hallway, and just as we do, my luck runs out. The bell dings as someone opens the door and walks inside.

I only get a glimpse of him, but my gut kicks hard, and I know it’s him. It’s him.

I’ve just locked eyes with the man who sent Melvin’s letter.

“Hey!” I shout.

He looks around, as if he’s not sure if I’m talking to him. I launch myself at him, and he backpedals, shocked, and then quickly turns and runs.

I hit the door hard with my shoulder and stumble outside, off balance. He went to the left. I see him twenty paces ahead of me already, but I start closing the distance fast. My vision narrows, red at the edges. He speeds up after glancing back, but I’m still gaining on him.

I reach out to grab his shirt, and I’m close enough my fingers brush fabric, but I can’t get a grip. He twists and pulls free, and momentum sends me stumbling desperately for balance. By the time I get myself right again, he’s around the corner. But I’m not about to give up. No way in hell. I put my whole self into it, tap into every reserve, and I gain on him again. Fast.

I catch up to him halfway down the side street. It’s not busy here,