“This is nuts,” Liam said as he settled into a seat next to Kyle, pulling out a Twizzler and sticking it into his mouth while his eyes remained focused on Hillier, like he was watching a movie. Then he smiled at Kyle and nodded the crown of his head over to Hillier as they felt the rocking of the ferry breaking loose from the dock to begin its journey over to Staten Island. “Told you it was him, didn’t I?”
Kyle didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes on Hillier, whose hands were resting between his knees, his head down as the three anxious men watched his every move—watched and waited for something Kyle never thought could even be a smidgen of a possibility.
But here he was, convinced it was going to happen, that Evan Hillier was about to kill someone with nothing more than his mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
He looked down at his hands and saw the trembles. He clasped them together to make it stop and cursed as he watched. He kept his head down and the brim of his cap low, unable to stop thinking about how bad the next withdrawal would be.
At the same time, he felt the craving, the desire to reach that high, an incredible pull that became stronger as his body dove deeper into its spiraling descent screaming for more, begging for another fix.
As he sat down, waiting for a match, he convinced himself there was still hope. He just had to get through the rest of the season. That’s all. Just continue to push through, and then he would stretch himself out. Lower the dose, increase the intervals. That could do it. Just like he did when he was younger, like when they had forced him to push beyond his comfort zone.
If that didn’t do it and he needed help, he’d ask. It wasn’t as if it would be a surprise to them. Corin already told him they called, that they knew what was going on.
Which wasn’t a shock.
The cluster of strokes was definitely an anomaly, and had to have made their radar because every one of them save the one girl had died. But they knew she’d never wake, not in any type of functional way. So the fact that she was still alive wasn’t why they called. That’s not what concerned them.
No, they had the same concerns Corin had—that he was burning himself out and unnecessarily wasting bullets he should be saving for them.
But no one owned him. Which was what was so great about his relationship with Corin—he could do what he wanted, when he wanted.
And they knew that, so they weren’t pressing. Not yet. They were just letting him know they were aware of what was going on, and that they were monitoring the situation. They were just slightly lifting their heads from the sand, sending the message that he’d better start treading carefully, because if things began to escalate beyond their liking they would intercede. Which meant they really didn’t know much at all. Because if they knew how bad things were, how sick he was, they would have interceded already. There wouldn’t be any gentle treading. They would come at him with the full-court press. He was too valuable not to.
But they didn’t know. Not yet.
So the next one had to be clean.
It was with that thought in mind that he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He lifted his eyes to see who it was. A young woman.
His next victim.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
They all saw it.
It was the moment they’d been waiting for.
The young woman was Hillier’s next victim. She had to be. Hillier was up and following her not even five seconds after she started making her way out to the deck.
Every single nerve in Kyle’s body was on edge, stomach queasy and knees weak.
This was it.
Liam was up first. Eddie followed, grabbing his shoulder. “What are you going to do?”
Liam looked surprised. “What am I going to do?” he repeated. “Stop a murder, that’s what.”
Eddie let him go and turned to Kyle, who was now up as well, following Liam. “What the hell are we going to do?” Eddie whispered. “Tackle the guy?”
Kyle shrugged as he tried to keep up with Liam, who was quickly weaving his chunky body past the rows of seats to get to the exit leading outside to the deck.
“How does he do it?” Eddie asked. “Does he have to hold his hand up to her head or something?”
Kyle shook his head. “I have no clue.”
And it was true. He had absolutely no idea. He didn’t think Liam knew either. He didn’t think anyone knew.
Liam burst through the door and was already outside by the time Kyle and Eddie made their way out, the warm humid air thawing Kyle’s air-conditioned skin. Liam was about ten feet away from Hillier and the girl, the strong gusts off the New York Bay whipping back the portly man’s curly hair, revealing a slightly receding line. Hillier was by the railing, the girl next to him, hunched over looking at something in her hands.
Hillier’s eyes were glued on her, not even bothering to look up as the three men stared right at him.
Kyle wondered if he’d already started the process, whatever that process might be.
“Get away from her!” Liam shouted as he planted his feet firmly, forcing an almost comically deep baritone voice. “We know what you’re up to.”
Hillier finally looked up and glared back with stone cold eyes. Kyle looked at the girl, but couldn’t see her face. Her back was turned and all he could see was the wind tussling her long hair.
“I said back away from the girl,” Liam repeated.
The girl turned in what felt like slow motion. Kyle didn’t know what to expect, didn’t know what he’d see. Rolled up, trance-like vacant eyes? Blood dripping from her nose? Drool dribbling down her chin?
But that’s not what he saw at all.
What he saw was a nervous and confused looking young girl with a cigarette in her mouth and a pack of Newports in her hand.
Kyle’s focus turned back to Hillier.
The man remained silent as he continued to glare at Liam, angrily bearing down on him with the same unflinching gaze he used while working out of a jam, his icy, dark, intimidating cobalt eyes seemingly trying to knock Liam over with nothing more than their gaze alone.
But Liam didn’t budge.
“Not tonight, Hillier,” Liam said, boldly throwing out the cheesy line with a Christian Bale-like raspy tone. “It ends here.” Liam pulled up the jacket of his tracksuit revealing a fannypack underneath, the same one he’d kept the Twizzlers in. He calmly unzipped it and pulled something out. Kyle couldn’t see it at first; he didn’t have the proper angle.
But Eddie did. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Kyle turned a bit to get a better angle so he could see what had prompted Eddie’s question.
And then he saw what Liam was holding.
A gun.
A small black handgun.
Liam kept both arms outstretched, hands gripped tightly on the weapon and aimed it at Hillier’s torso.
“It has to end. He has to be stopped. And he needs to make Allie right.”
Hillier’s steely blue eyes went wide and his face paled as he stuck his hands up in the air. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“We know,” Liam said, narrowing his already squinty eyes behind his thick glasses. “We know you’ve been causing these deaths so you can absorb their energy in order to pitch better. And now you’re going to come to the hospital with us and give some of that energy back to my niece, and then we’re turning you in.”
Confusion flashed across the man’s face. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. What deaths? And who the hell is your niece?”
“Save the act Hillier,” Liam said. “We know. We know what you were going to do to her.”
“Would you stop saying we,” Eddie said, staring at the gun.
“Do to her?” Hillier repeated. “All I was going to do was get a damn cigarette.” He looked down at the shell-shocked woman, whose eyes were fixated on the gun. “Tell him.”
“That’s all he asked for,” she said, her lips quivering. “He just ask
ed for a smoke.”
“And then what were you going to do?” Liam asked, his gaze remaining firm, his arms steady.
Hillier tilted his head. “Then what?” He looked around at the nearly empty deck. “What the fuck do you think I was going to do with it, man? Smoke it. I was going to smoke the damn thing.”
Liam rolled his thick neck and squeezed the handle of the gun tighter. “You can’t fool us,” he said. “And now it’s over. Now you’re—”
But before Liam was able to get the next word out a hand reached out and yanked down both his arms. “Give me that thing before you hurt someone,” Eddie said, pulling the gun out of Liam’s hands.
Liam went to grab it back, but was instead met with a solid punch to his jaw, Hillier having leapt over as soon as Eddie grabbed the gun.
Kyle jumped between them and held up his hands to ward off the six foot five man and protect Liam, who was already lying on the floor. “Enough,” Kyle said. But Hillier ignored him and shoved Kyle aside, then grabbed Liam by his throat and pinned him against the ferry wall. Kyle picked himself up and latched onto Hillier’s right arm, the one pinning Liam. He yanked and pulled at it, but the thick, powerful arm had a vice-like grasp. “Enough!” Kyle yelled again. He looked back at Eddie who was just watching, the gun at his side. “A little help?”
Eddie shrugged. “The man did pull a gun.”
Kyle rolled his eyes and grabbed Hillier’s arm, with both hands this time, and again tried to pull it off.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Hillier screamed at a dazed Liam, who had droplets of blood trickling down his mouth.
“He was mistaken,” Kyle said, still yanking at Hillier’s arm. “He thought you were going to kill the girl.”
“Why the hell would he think that?” Hillier seethed, still holding Liam.
“Because people have been dying the day of every one of your starts,” Kyle grunted as he pulled against the pitcher’s arm. “We thought you were causing it.”
Hillier looked down at him. “You thought I was killing people?”
“Yes,” Kyle said, looking up at the tall man. “Your doorman said you left at midnight every night before your starts. So we followed you here. He thought you were about to kill the girl.”
Hillier loosened his grip and let Liam slide down the wall.
“Just for the record,” Eddie chimed in. “I just drove them. I never thought you killed anyone.”
Hillier glared at him.
“Although,” Eddie continued, gripping the gun a little tighter. “It is kind of odd that you’re on a twelve-thirty ferry to Staten Island.”
“It’s a superstition,” Hillier said as he turned to face him. “The night before my second start in New York I had insomnia. So I went for a ride at midnight and took the ferry to clear my head. I pitched a shutout the next day. So I’ve kept doing it. Same time, same ferry.”
“So this is where you’ve gone the night before each start?” Kyle asked.
Hillier nodded. “Go ask Joe. He’ll tell you.”
“Joe?”
“The captain. One of the crew spotted me early on. Asked me for an autograph and brought me up to Joe so I could take a hand at steering the ferry.”
Kyle and Eddie looked at each other, knowing that when they asked Joe that was exactly what he was going to say.
Eddie flashed Kyle an I told you so look, then directed his attention to Hillier, who seemed to have relaxed a bit, his gaze turning more to curiosity and frustration than fear and anger. Eddie pulled a ticket stub and a black sharpie out of his pocket and offered them both to Hillier. “I know this is a bit awkward. You know, given the fact that this moron just pulled a gun on you,” Eddie said, “but is there any way you’d autograph this stub for my son? It was his first Yankees game.”
“Seriously, Eddie?” Kyle said as he helped Liam off the floor.
“Why not?” Eddie said. “I’m the one who took the gun away. Besides, it isn’t even real.”
Kyle’s eyes widened. “It isn’t real?” He looked down at Liam who was rubbing his jaw.
Liam looked up, his glazed eyes looking even smaller without his glasses. “I couldn’t get my hands on a real one,” Liam said. “But we can’t let him get away. You guys aren’t buying his story, are you?”
“Buying my story?” Hillier asked. “You’re fucking nuts, you know that? I’m telling you, this is where I come before each start. Go ask Joe.”
“Like you didn’t pay him off already.”
Hillier turned to Kyle. “What the hell’s wrong with this guy?”
“Everything,” Eddie answered for him.
Hillier grabbed Eddie’s ticket and the sharpie and scribbled his name, then handed them back.
Eddie looked at the signed ticket and thanked him.
“Whatever,” Hillier said, then pointed his finger at Liam. “Just keep this whack-job away from me or I’m going to the cops the next time. You hear me?”
With that, Hillier left, walking inside the ferry as it started to dock in Staten Island.
Liam stood and narrowed his eyes. “It was a setup,” he said, looking at Kyle. “You realize that, don’t you?”
“How could it have been a setup?” Kyle asked. “How would he know we were following him?”
Liam rubbed the side of his face where Hillier hit him. “Because of you.”
“Me?” Kyle asked
“Yes,” Liam said. “And because of me too. We both talked to the police, to Slattery, about the connection between the strokes and Hillier.”
“So?”
“The KnightWare connection, remember?” Liam said. “They’re probably monitoring everything about this. They probably knew about the conversation with Slattery right after it happened. They’ve got their eyes and ears on everything.”
“But why would KnightWare be involved?”
“They wouldn’t be involved per se,” Liam said. “But they’re the top private security contractor in the world. You don’t think they have ears everywhere?”
“But why would they be so attuned to this? And why tip-off Hillier?”
“Because what he does is too close to what their guy does. They probably want to keep it secret,” Liam said, then paused. “Or, maybe he does work for them.”
“And pitches for the fucking Yankees?” Eddie cut in. “How much of a nut-job can you be?”
“Maybe he worked for them down in Mexico when he was pitching there,” Liam explained. “Or maybe he does stuff for them in the States during the offseason.”
“Look,” Eddie said, wagging his finger at Liam. “This guy is not killing people with his mind, got it? He isn’t killing anyone.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I think he’s right, Liam,” Kyle said as the large boat came to a halt and the passengers began filing off. “There’s no doubt the connection you made gave the appearance he was doing it. But I think we all let our imaginations get the better of us.” He gently put his hand on Liam’s shoulder. “We all wish there was an easy way to snap Allie out of that coma, but there isn’t a magical solution out there, Liam. And I think you’ve got to come to terms with that.”
Liam shook his head. “He’s lying.”
Liam went back inside and took a seat on one of the orange plastic chairs as the new passengers made their way in. Hillier was sitting about thirty rows away, ear buds from his iPhone now in, likely trying to wash away what had just occurred. His back was to Liam’s intense glare. Liam wasn’t giving up.
But Kyle Vine knew people, got a good read on them right away. And he was sure Hillier was telling the truth. The man wasn’t a killer.
So the question remained, if Hillier wasn’t behind the deaths, who was?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
He eased his way around the dark shadows of Union Square Park, following the young woman, knowing she was a match. She had short choppy hair and wore a tight yellow T-shirt with cargo shorts that revealed slender legs. A large, trendy h
andbag was draped over her shoulder.
She didn’t seem like the type to be buying drugs in the park. Not that she didn’t seem like the type to be using them. There were no types when it came to that. But there were definitely types when it came to buying them, and definitely under certain conditions, like in city parks at one in the morning. And she didn’t fit the bill.
He watched and listened as she approached a muscular man with tattoos covering his entire neck, a man he’d seen earlier and had pegged for a dealer. A fact he confirmed as he watched the woman hand him cash.
“Kinda late to be out here by yourself,” the tattooed man said as he pocketed the money.
“There are plenty of people out.”
“Zombies maybe, yeah,” the man said. “But they’re about it.”
She didn’t respond.
The man flashed a smile, showing off a metallic grill. “Maybe you want to do something else, get a discount?”
“I don’t.”
The tattooed man’s eyes lingered on her chest. “You sure? Be a good discount.”
She balled her hands into fists. “Either give me my stuff,” she said, “or give me my money back.”
His smile quickly vanished. “What money?”
“The money I just gave you.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know what you talking about.”
“Give it to me.”
The expression on the tattooed man’s face changed in an instant, a menacing scowl replacing the carefree indifference. “You better walk away now before you get hurt.”
But the young woman didn’t move. “Give it to me.”
The tattooed man reached out and grabbed her right bicep, his hand clamping down hard.
But the young woman didn’t give in, didn’t back down. “Get off me,” she said as she tried to wiggle free, “or I’ll scream rape.”
The man kept his hand on her biceps while assessing his options, looking around at the smattering of people meandering about the park, including the man, who continued to watch from a distance. The park wasn’t crowded, but it was crowded enough to avoid doing something stupid. It wasn’t worth it. So he let go and reached into his pocket, then tossed her a small brown bag and walked away.
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