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) 📖

“Can I help you?”

Jacob nodded to the elevator. “Package for 2100.” Then he started walking again.

“Sir!”

There was only one right away to pull this off. Jacob needed someone to show up and make a fuss while he tried to sweet-talk his way inside. If someone made a fuss loud enough and long enough, Jacob was certain the frustrated concierge would eventually send him on his way. Who needed to be bothered with the protocols of a UPS delivery when there was a crazy person cussing up a storm?

Actually, if Jacob had someone who could show up and make a fuss, he wouldn’t need to be here at all since the plan would be entirely different. But he didn’t, not anymore, so he’d have to make the best of it. He detoured toward the concierge and placed the box on the desk next to the sign-in log.

“You can leave it here,” the concierge said.

“No can do. Got to get Mr.”—he glanced down at the label—“Parker’s John Hancock for this bad boy.”

“It’s fine. I’ll sign for it.”

The concierge reached out his hands to grab hold of the package and Jacob pulled it away. The box was empty, that much would be obvious to anyone who picked it up. “I was instructed to hand it directly to Mr. Parker and Mr. Parker alone.”

The concierge eyed Jacob suspiciously. “Let me call up and see if I can reach him for you.”

“Sure,” Jacob said. What did he care? Liam was in jail. The concierge could place as many calls as he liked to Liam’s condo. But he also knew the jig was up. He was never getting past the lobby. Everything he did from here on out would simply be about exiting the con gracefully.

While he waited for the concierge to get off the phone, Jacob put the box on the floor and feigned impatience. He placed his hands on his hips, tapped his foot, checked the time on his cellphone, groaned. Anything to seem like he was a man on a schedule, just someone trying to do his job.

“No answer,” the concierge said when he hung up.

“Fine,” Jacob said, sounding annoyed. He scooped up the box, did a one-eighty, and headed for the exit. “You know, this is the second time this has happened to me today.” He pushed through the revolving glass door, ignoring the concierge’s request for a delivery notification slip.

This wasn’t over. Jacob was going to get into Liam’s condo. He had to.

Liam Parker

Patricia showed up at eleven o’clock the next day. In a small room similar to the one in which Bash interrogated him, she told him his hearing would be Friday and that the judge assigned to his case was more likely than most of his peers to grant bail.

I only have to make it one more day, Liam thought, and then said it aloud as if he needed to hear the words for them to feel real.

“That’s right,” Patricia said. “That’s the good news. Now, as far as who saw you going into Elise’s apartment, I checked with the management office at her building. The only security camera they have is in the lobby. Unfortunately, it was on the fritz. They said they had maintenance scheduled for Monday and that it’s working now. But, for us . . .” She shrugged. “Nothing. So Detective Wyatt must have a witness.”

Liam shook his head. “Nobody saw me go in or out of her apartment.”

“The prosecution will have to hand over a witness list at some point. We will find out who it is. The problem is it will become your word against theirs, and when the jury weighs their testimony with the totality of the evidence, it’s hard to know who they’ll believe.”

Liam Parker

Liam was granted bail and Patricia told him to come by her office next week so they could get started on his defense. Liam said he would, then took an Uber home. He was tired and numb, looking forward to a shower and sleeping in his own bed.

When the driver pulled up to Liam’s building, there were reporters everywhere, all hoping to snap a photo of the crime scene circuit’s rising star. One saw him and pointed. They swarmed the car, snapping photos, shouting questions.

The driver cracked his window. “Get away from the vehicle! Hey!” He slammed on his horn, but it didn’t make any difference. The reporters crowded in closer, shouted their questions louder. “Don’t touch the vehicle!”

“Keep going,” Liam said.

Happy to oblige, the driver pressed on the gas, then the brake. The car lunged forward a couple of feet. Finally, the reporters jumped back, clearing a path. “What was that about?” he said, when they’d left the melee behind. “You somebody important?”

Liam shook his head. “Not particularly.”

The driver seemed to rightly understand that Liam didn’t want to talk about it. “So where are we going now?”

Liam wasn’t sure. He wanted to be somewhere that felt safe and familiar. Next to his own condo, the only place like that was David’s. When ConnectPlus was in its infancy, they’d spent many days there plotting their success. David had always lived alone, so unlike Liam’s house in the suburbs, which at the time was overrun with the chaos that was small children, it was also always quiet.

Liam pulled out his cellphone and called his friend.

“Of course, come on over,” David said. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

When Liam arrived, Elise’s Pomeranian greeted him at the door and Liam felt a strange mix of anger and betrayal, somehow directed at the dog even though the dog was a victim too.

“I’ve made up the guest room.” David handed Liam a glass of wine and directed him to the kitchen. He was wearing an apron with “Chefs do it with Spice” printed across the front. Even tied in place, the apron hung loosely on his lanky frame. “I thought a nice meal might do you some good. Feed the body, feed the soul. Lasagna’s still