I’m going to get sucked in! I screamed in my mind, realizing my mistake. Lady was a big woman—huge compared to me—she had the mass to handle this. I was small, light and thin like the student’s answer sheet with the letter B circled in red. I didn’t have a chance.
A sting came to my eyes, but I ignored it. I focused on my feet, demanding a push to where it was safe. I thought of the cameras then, and was thankful Nerd had shut them down. A video recording of my death would surely go viral, telling the world that I’d committed suicide just like my murdering mother.
An inch is immeasurable when it comes to a life-or-death situation. And in that narrow space, I saw my regrets surface like scum on a pond. I could’ve let them take hold of my soul like the train was taking hold of my body, but I wasn’t willing to give up yet. My lungs cramped as I rasped for a breath, and my head clouded, starved and dizzy. A cold tingle settled into my hands and feet, turning them numb. I couldn’t breathe and had the macabre thought that at least I’d pass out before feeling the first of the train’s sharp teeth. I held on, planting myself to the platform, but the vacuum was too strong. It continued to suck me in.
Terror struck me. My brain pulsed in time with the harsh beating in my chest, and I squeezed my eyes shut, welcoming the darkness. The train’s steel lips brushed my own and I tensed and turned rigid, emptying my mind in preparation for the train to swallow me whole. I was vaguely aware that I’d begun screaming—a deathly, primal scream. The train roared in my ears like a tornado-warning siren, drowning out everything. I screamed until I felt a set of hands clutch my arms and jerk me backward in a violent lurch—doing for me what I couldn’t do to myself.
They saved me.
Cool air whisked over my wet face as I spun around, pirouetting on one foot like a dancer.
“I knew it! I just knew it was you!” a voice yelled.
“What?” I asked. My legs were fading, and I started to fall over. The hands that saved me held on, tightening to help prop me up. “What did you say?” I was crying, and the words came out in a wet babble.
“You’re safe now,” he assured me. “Open your eyes.”
I’d kept my eyes closed, squeezing them until they hurt, too afraid to face what was coming. But I listened to the voice and did as I was told. I lifted my eyelids until thin slits of daylight cut in. I squinted and blinked, forcing myself to focus on the blurry face peering down at me.
“Garrett?” I asked, recognizing my husband’s replacement—the same face I’d seen at Messenger’s murder, and who I now suspected had been on the scene at Ghoul’s murder too.
A hunter is the most vulnerable when hunting, I thought, knowing I’d been hunted.
And that I’d been caught.
“I know who you are . . . who you really are!” he yelled over the train’s fading noise.
The last car had just passed behind us and was leaving the station.
“What are you doing here?”
I shook my head, disbelieving my eyes and telling myself that seeing Garrett—and being saved by Garrett—was impossible. And then I heard Nerd’s warnings in my head, his warnings about the recent cases and the alterations to the software Steve and the station had been using. Garrett had been the source of those posts. I was sure of it.
“We have to talk!” he said, his voice low and gritty, like a growl. A contemptuous smile sprouted in the corners of his curling mouth. He raised a brow, and his eyes beamed. “I have a proposition for you.”
He finished with a wink and gripped my arms. I looked after the train, suddenly wishing it had taken me after all.
THIRTY-FIVE
THE BELL ABOVE THE diner’s door rang out, and the warm smell of food hit me. My stomach growled with a hunger pang, and I instinctively took a whiff. I wasn’t there to eat, though. Even if I tried, I wasn’t sure I would be able to keep anything down. I was there to find out what Garrett knew and to figure out what I’d do next.
Most of the diner was empty, save for a few patrons sitting at the counter—their heads down, shoulders slumped. I saw a head turn, but the interest in our arrival was brief. And from behind the counter, the waitress with the bluish hair saw me and gave me a short wave. She picked up a menu, motioned to one of the empty booths. Her name tag read Ms. Potts, and it triggered my memory. I remembered her from the day of Ghoul’s hit, from when I ordered a pastrami on rye with spicy mustard and ate it calmly while waiting for him to die. She gave her biggish glasses a push and greeted me with a smile. But the cheeriness in her face dimmed when she saw my watery eyes.
“Allergies,” I lied, confused by the sudden emotion.
Garrett was following close behind, nearly stepping on my heels as he hurried inside. I didn’t wait for him and let go of the heavy door, feeling it spring from my hand.
“Can’t we be civil?” he asked through a tight smile as he grunted against the sudden weight. The bell chimed again while I slipped inside and took to the same booth I’d sat in before.
Was Garrett watching me that day?
Now I thought he might have been, but it didn’t matter. Not now.
“Girl, you look as pale as a ghost.” Ms. Potts said, wiping down the table.
Garrett stood behind her, tapping his toe, waiting to sit. For a moment, I almost thought he was going to push her out of the way, but he was polite and courteous and took the moment to check his cell phone. I reached into my pocket, thinking I could try and call Nerd—have him listen in on whatever it was Garrett had planned.
“Feeling bad, are you?”
I nodded to her, but said nothing and instead looked over her shoulder. Ms. Potts followed my gaze and spun around, startled.
“Oh my,” she said, playfully clutching her chest. She waved a tattered rag between them, laughing at her own reaction. Garrett leaned away, his face cramping while he covered his mouth. The sight made me smile, but my good humor quickly faded. “I didn’t know you was with this pretty thing. Thought you’d gone and sat at the counter.”
“We’re together,” he answered. His voice was flat, his expression uninterested. He took the seat across from me and added, “Diet soda with lemon, please.”
“Sure thing, honey,” she answered, stuffing the rag back into her apron’s waist. “And for you? Maybe something to put that smile back on your pretty face?”
“She’s fine,” Garrett answered for me. Ms. Potts shifted uneasily, hearing the impatience in his voice. She pitched a foot in one direction and raised her brow. Garrett ignored her reaction, adding: “She’ll have the same.”
“I’ll have some coffee, thank you,” I corrected him, throwing a scowl in his direction. That brought a smile to her face. “And some creamer too.”
I didn’t need Garrett ordering for me, but I did want the waitress to leave us alone so that I could find out what he knew. I wanted to get this meeting over with. I thumbed the burner’s screen, glancing into the space between the tabletop and my lap. A faint glow turned my fingers blue, and I hit what I thought was the Redial button. Nerd’s was the only phone number it had ever called. That was the point of the burners: security.
“Coffee it is,” Ms. Potts said, smiling in my direction. She turned and slowly raked Garrett over with a stern look before adding, “And a soda for you . . . with lemon. Will that be all?”
“Nothing else,” he said, waving his hand at her and shifting to face me.
“You’re welcome,” she replied. Her shoe let out a squeal when it turned on the tiled linoleum as she turned to leave, as if signaling to Garrett that he should begin.
“What is it you want?” I asked, glimpsing a change of colors in my lap. My heart lifted, hoping to have Nerd as backup on the other end, but the phone’s screen faded to black. It was lifeless. “I don’t know why you were following me, or what you think you know—”
“I just want to talk,” he said, interrupting. “But since you’re jumping ahead, then why not?”
I shook my head, confused. “Why not what?”<
br />
“Let’s start off with these,” he said, wasting no time. He reached into his coat and pulled out an evidence bag. I stopped breathing and nearly dropped my phone.
“Where did you—” I began, but I couldn’t finish. What dangled from his fingers should have been safely hidden away by Steve, should have disappeared forever, never to be seen again. I darted a look around, scanning the diner to see if anyone might be watching, to see if anyone else had glimpsed the evidence from my first murder.
“Nobody here cares,” he said, tossing the evidence bag from his fingers. The buttons clunked against the tabletop, facing us with a stare.
“What are those?” I asked in a low voice, careful to hide my reaction.
“Like you don’t know,” he laughed. “Your husband certainly knows . . . knows enough to sit on them awhile anyway. Now, why do you suppose he’d do that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lied.
“Sure you do!” he answered. His voice’s pitch rose as he said it. He was teasing, having fun, and I detested him for it. “Charlie hired me to take over all of your gimpy husband’s cases. And that includes the ones he’s never processed.”
“And what’s that got to do with me?”
He picked up the evidence bag between two fingers—the buttons dangled in there like an evil charm, mesmerizing.
“Maybe your husband simply overlooked the case. Or maybe he doesn’t care enough to protect them anymore. I’m sure the district attorney would like some background. What do you think?”
His words knifed my insides. I reached across the table, the tips of my fingers touching the plastic. I trapped the evidence bag against the table like I was catching a spider. I almost believed I could take the buttons with me and be done with Garrett.
Our waitress returned, her smile fixed as she set down a cup of coffee in front of me and a glass in front of Garrett. I glanced at the evidence bag, then to Garrett, and then to Ms. Potts. Her face emptied when she saw what was at the center of the table. Without a word, she set a tiny pitcher of creamer next to my coffee and left us alone.
“Isn’t it funny how people react when they see anything that looks official?” he said jokingly. He ripped the evidence bag from my grasp and waved it around his head while whistling. Nobody moved. “You see . . . they don’t care. Only the DA will care.”
“Maybe I don’t care either,” I added.
He dipped his chin and furrowed his brow. He saw right through my lie, saw right through me. I wasn’t going to get anywhere.
“Let’s dispense with the trivial shit. You care,” he answered, plunging the evidence back into his suit jacket.
“You don’t know what you have,” I said. “Why don’t you ask my husband?”
He began to laugh then, and patted his jacket pocket. “I have a confession to make. You’re right about the buttons. You’re one for one,” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure of what I had until I saw your reaction. Only thought it was odd your husband sat on the case.”
Motherfucker! I screamed in my head. My insides exploded, and a flash of heat rocketed into my neck and face. I’d been mind-fucked by his little game, and played right into it. My hands shook, and my heart made huge, walloping beats. I stabbed a quick glance at the table settings, thinking I could sink a fork into his eye or maybe jab the prongs deep into his throat. Just breathe, I warned myself, swallowing hard and holding back from doing what I was born to do.
“Playing poker?” I asked, clearing my throat. I’d shown my cards to his bluff, showing I wasn’t much of a poker player. I chewed on my upper lip—another nervous tell.
“I’m a cop, Amy—I’m always playing poker,” he answered in that same stony voice he’d used on the train platform.
It was my turn to laugh, and I let out a guffaw that turned the heads at the counter. His lips thinned and he sat up, air squelching from the booth’s seat. I’d embarrassed him. Good.
“You’re no more a cop than I am,” I told him. “You don’t even dress like a cop.”
As if he knew I’d measured him up, Garrett ran his hands down the front of his suit jacket and then pushed his hair back in a single motion. He was good at looking rich, but I’d put him on the defensive.
“You’re right again,” he agreed. “Call that two for two—but you’ll never guess the third.”
“Right about what exactly?”
“I’m not really a cop,” he said and then rocked his head from side to side. “Technically I am, but I haven’t worked as one for a very long time. That’s what happens when you marry rich. Very rich.”
As he talked, I fixed my coffee with a touch of creamer, watched a swirly galaxy come into being, and wished I could disappear into my cup.
“My wife’s family? They’re rich. Me? I just get an allowance.”
“Must be some allowance,” I muttered, pointing to his $1,000 suit. “You don’t seem to have a problem spending her money.”
He sipped his soda and cringed. “That’s not diet,” he said, complaining. He motioned to the waitress.
But the soda wasn’t really the problem. I’d struck a nerve about the money.
“Awww,” I continued in a snarky voice. “Mommy not giving you a big enough allowance?” I made sure to use my most condescending tone.
“Shut it about that,” he scolded, the color in his face flaring. “Whole family spends like there’s no tomorrow, and I marry a philanthropist. Should’ve married her slut sister.”
I thought I’d lose it. I thought I’d laugh as loud as I could, poke at his pride like a finger prodding an open wound. And while my insides came alive, I held back, keeping my composure. He had something on me, and I needed him to finish what he started. “Oh poor you. I can tell you’re suffering.”
Ms. Potts came to our table, bringing back a ghost of her smile, noticing the evidence bag had disappeared from the table. “Ready to order something?” she asked, pushing the thick frame of her glasses up her nose. “Breakfast, lunch or dinner—any time of the day.” The smell of chicken and waffles nagged at me. My earlier hunger pangs were still with me.
Just a bite, I thought. Just something to put in my stomach.
“Could I get some fries?”
“And more coffee?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you.” I glanced at Garrett, who’d started to fidget, annoyed with his soda.
“And for you?” she asked. Her smile paled while she waited.
“Could I just get some diet soda?” he asked, sounding unsettled. He picked up his glass and perched it on the end of the table. “This is regular.”
“Right away,” Ms. Potts answered, taking the glass without looking down. She shot me a grin before leaving us alone again.
“Why am I here?” I asked, growing impatient. “You’ve got an evidence bag. So what? As far as you know, it means nothing.”
“And that would be number three,” he answered, with confidence returning to his voice. “Must be driving you mad.”
“Get on with it,” I blurted, but lowered my tone. I shifted in my seat, the air trapped under the vinyl moving around as I went back on the defensive. I glanced at my phone to check the time, making sure he noticed. I wanted him to think I still had other plans for the day. “Well . . ?”
“I know what you’ve been doing—”
I shook my head without letting him finish. “I—”
He raised his hand. “I’ve been following the links for a while now—shopping, you might say. Just another Deep Web customer. So imagine my surprise when I found you on the other end of those links. Then again, given the family history, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised at all.”
“Book publishing. E-book publishing,” I said, choosing to ignore the comment about my mother. “My company is called Team Two. You can look us up, we’re incorporated. I’ll even give you the website address.”
At some point, I’d lost him. He’d dropped his chin to search his phone—a giant tablet t
hing that reminded me of Nerd’s.
“I’m talking about this,” he said, sliding his phone across the table.
On the screen, I saw Nerd’s software, listing all the cases we’d taken. My mouth went dry, but I hid my reaction. And though my coffee had grown cold, I drank it anyway.
“And how am I supposed to know what I’m looking at?”
“We’re not talking about some homeless man here,” he answered, letting out a gruff laugh. Ms. Potts’s shoe chirped, announcing her return. She placed the basket of fries between us and freshened my coffee. I could only stare at the basket of food—my appetite had been swallowed by nerves.
“Better?” she asked Garrett, waiting for him to try his soda. He offered a cursory glance and took the glass.
“Yes,” he answered without looking up. But when Ms. Potts didn’t move, he gave her an annoyed smile and added, “Thank you.”
When we were alone again, I told him, “If we’re done here . . .” and made like I was going to leave. “You’re wasting my time.”
“Is that right? Well, you—you and whoever else works at ‘Team Two’—are going to murder my wife for me.”
“What—” I began to ask, sitting down.
He turned back to his phone again, waving his hand, dismissing whatever I was about to say. He flicked the screen with a scrape of his finger, and in his eyes I saw a blue reflection: a video. The corners of his mouth curled up like they had on the train’s platform. I felt sick.
“While I’ve got all of your online activities documented—illegal purchases, murder solicitation, and whatnot—I also wanted to make a stronger case, but not for the DA. For me. For a little extortion.”
“Videos?” I asked.
My first thought was to have Nerd hack the shit out of Garrett’s computer and phone. My second was to have Nerd hack his online existence, killing him. By the time we were done, Garrett wouldn’t exist—virtually, that is.
Affair with Murder The Complete Box Set Page 45