A Reagan Keeter Box Set: Three page-turning thrillers that will leave you wondering who you can trust

by Reagan Keeter

  CHAPTER 24

  Olin and Connor moved from room to room, pitching theories but accomplishing little, until they worked their way up to Connor’s bedroom, where Connor took a seat at his desk and Olin perched himself on the edge of Connor’s bed.

  “I was thinking about that guy from the website,” Olin said.

  Connor looked confused.

  “The TruthSeekers guy?”

  “Dylan? What about him?”

  “Do you think he could be involved in this?”

  “I did in the beginning. But not anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve been to his house. It doesn’t seem like—”

  “What? You know where he lives?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And you told the police about all this, right?”

  Connor shook his head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Same reason I didn’t tell them about Roland right away. I wasn’t sure there was anything to it. Besides, the whole thing—hacking into his site—wasn’t exactly legal.”

  “But we’re going to tell them about Roland now. I mean—there was nothing at your dad’s office, so now we have to, right?”

  Connor considered that. He still didn’t think Roland was involved in the abduction. But he also knew the evidence he had used to reach that conclusion was weak. And since he had gone as far as he could with that lead on his own, there was only one answer. “Yes.”

  “And TruthSeekers. We’re going to tell the police about that, too.”

  “Listen, I’ll admit the thing with Roland is strange. But TruthSeekers—I found Dylan. I started that. Even if I still thought he might have been crazy enough to take my parents, why would he take yours?”

  “I don’t know. I mean—who’s to say there’s a connection at all between the abductions? Whoever it was took my parents. He took your parents. Maybe there were others.”

  Connor looked at the photograph again. “Our parents knew each other. Seems like a hell of a coincidence if the abductions aren’t related.”

  “Not necessarily,” Olin said. “For all we know, our parents haven’t seen each other since that trip fifteen years ago. I mean, my parents have never talked about you guys. Have yours ever talked about us?”

  Connor didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Olin already knew the answer, and didn’t even pause long enough for Connor to speak, had he tried.

  “Maybe my parents were on his radar because . . .”

  Because they’re rich, Connor thought. It was probably exactly what Olin was going to say, too, but he seemed to catch himself and said instead, “. . . because of what my father does for a living. For all we know, you just poked the bear. Just unlucky. If you hadn’t gone snooping around his website, your parents might not have been taken at all.”

  Connor still thought it was too much of a coincidence to be true.

  “How about this?” Olin said. “We’ll go talk to him. Just like with Roland. Then we’ll take it from there.”

  Connor didn’t like that idea. A man who put up a website like TruthSeekers was probably unstable, even if he wasn’t a kidnapper. But he could also tell Olin wasn’t going to let go of it. If Connor didn’t help, Olin would definitely take it straight to the police. And then, even if Olin was wrong, Connor would still have to explain why he was hacking into the TruthSeekers website and why he hadn’t told the police about it before. He doubted any answer he gave them would make them happy.

  But, while confronting Roland had been their only option for getting information from him, it wasn’t their only option for getting information on Dylan.

  “I have a better idea.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Olivia was still annoyed with her captain. She was just starting to scratch the surface with Aden when he had knocked on the interrogation room door and then poked his head in. “Can I have a word with you?”

  The captain, Lucas Flemmings, was a slim man and shorter than average. He made up for it a little by always standing with his shoulders back and chest out. Olivia had gathered it was something the Navy had drilled into him and suspected he made a point of standing that way for the extra inch it gave him. His suit jacket was buttoned. His tie was perfectly knotted and positioned. He was the epitome of military precision.

  Olivia followed him out of the room.

  He waited until the door was closed before he spoke. “You’re done with him.”

  “What? But, Captain—”

  “The FBI and ATF are taking over.”

  Olivia noticed a small group of men and women huddled together a little farther down the hall. She didn’t know any of them. But something about the way they looked, dressed, and stood was enough for her to know those were the agents Lucas was referring to.

  She thought about pleading her case, reminding him that she had found the bomb, she had made the arrest. She at least deserved a chance to finish questioning Aden. But she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Lucas was inflexible. Even if he wasn’t, she doubted the agents beyond him would allow it.

  She turned and headed toward the exit without a word.

  “It’s for the best,” he called after her. “You’ve got your hands full, anyway, with that murder case, don’t you?”

  Suddenly, the pieces fell into place. The only way the FBI or ATF would have known about Aden would have been if someone had told them. And the only person besides Olivia who had known what Aden had been up to was Lucas. It wasn’t even a mystery how they had gotten to the station so fast. Olivia had called Lucas as soon as she had made the arrest. He must have turned around and called the federal agencies as soon as she was off the phone.

  The implication was clear: Solve the damn murder.

  She rerouted to the coffee maker and poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup. To hell with giving it up. If the only vice she had was coffee, she was doing all right. She went back to her desk, called the babysitter to say she would be even later, and pulled out the Callahan file.

  Olivia was determined to find something she had missed. On some level, she knew Lucas was manipulating her, that this was exactly what he wanted her to do. But since it was also what she wanted to do, she didn’t mind. She knew they were going to have to hand Aden over to the federal authorities sooner or later. What did it matter if she got the information out of him or they did?

  Besides, she had only started looking into Aden because she was feeling bad about her lack of progress with the Callahan murders. But, really, when you’re stuck on a problem—any problem—the key isn’t to go work on something else. It’s to dig deeper.

  So that’s what she did.

  Olivia stayed at her desk studying the file until the babysitter called to say she had to leave. Then she took the file home with her and continued to study it there. After she checked in on her daughter to make sure she was sleeping soundly, Olivia propped herself up against a stack of pillows on her bed and spread the file’s contents out in front of her. There were copies of the reports filed by the officers who had first arrived at Connor’s house. Notes from her conversations with him. Photos of the disarray the kidnapper had left behind. More photos of the fire at the parking garage. And on and on it went.

  She must have gone through every item more than twenty times before she finally saw it. Actually, she didn’t exactly “see” it, since there was nothing to see. It was more of an idea—maybe even a wish. But it was enough of a possibility to be worth a follow-up. Olivia was disappointed in herself for not thinking of it sooner.

  Olivia didn’t sleep well. She was anxious to get up and get moving. After she dropped Erin off at preschool, she went back to the 7-Eleven that had sold the cellphone to the killer.

  The manager was in his twenties—practically a kid, as far as Olivia was concerned—with a patchy beard. She suspected he was hoping it made him look older. It didn’t. Instead, he looked like a kid who couldn’t grow a beard.

  She showed him her badge. “Remember me?”


  His name was Howard, and he was the same man who had given her the information about the cellphone the first time. He grunted, which she had gathered from their last interaction was as close as he got to a yes.

  “You guys have CCTV here?” Olivia had looked around the store when she had arrived and hadn’t seen any cameras, but sometimes they were hard to spot.

  Another grunt. This one a no.

  The wish evaporated.

  “Not inside.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Then he strung together the single longest sentence Olivia had heard from him. “We have a camera facing the parking lot.”

  “Can I see the footage?”

  Howard shrugged. What did he care? He took her to the office at the back of the store, showed her to the computer, and logged in. Then, he mumbled something unintelligible about customers and, before she realized it, he was gone. That was fine with her. He creeped her out. She was glad she wouldn’t have to go through the footage with him looking over her shoulder.

  Olivia did her best to line up the time of the purchase with the time on the video. Fortunately, there weren’t a lot of customers that day. It wasn’t hard to figure out who had bought the cellphone.

  Unfortunately, she could only see him from the back. He was in his forties, she guessed, from his build. But if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that he could just as easily be thirty as sixty. It was hard to tell a lot about a person’s age from behind.

  Then he got into a Mustang and drove off, giving her a clear view of his license plate in the process, and she thanked her lucky stars that the ping-pong game of fortune had ended in her favor.

  Olivia stopped the tape and called in the plate number. A minute later, she knew who the car was registered to and where she could find him. She hurried out of the store with barely a thank you. Howard responded with even less.

  CHAPTER 26

  Connor drove Olin to 121 Forrest Creek Drive. Dylan Naese’s house. “Truth seeker extraordinaire,” as he called himself on the website. Connor pulled up to the gate.

  “What if this doesn’t work?” Olin said.

  “Then we’ll come back in the morning and try again.” He pressed the button on the callbox and waited. When no one answered, he pressed it again. For ten minutes, he kept pressing that button. Long enough to annoy anyone if they were at home. Then he pulled up to the next street, made a left, and parked along the curb. His was not the only car on the side of the street, and he hoped, even though it had seen more wear than the others, it would not stand out.

  “Let’s go,” Connor said, opening his door.

  Olin was slow to move. He looked to Connor like his nerves might get the best of him.

  “Let’s go,” Connor repeated.

  Then Olin nodded his head with a little too much vigor and got out of the car.

  Connor made a come-here gesture as he closed in on the back of the property. He slipped between the brick wall and the fence like he had last time.

  Olin slid in beside him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  Connor was already on the move. Ten feet in, he stopped, kneeled down, interlaced the fingers of both hands. Olin reluctantly stepped onto them, and Connor lifted him to the top of the wall. He watched as Olin got one leg over, stabilized himself.

  “Come on,” he whispered, reaching down to offer Connor his hand.

  Seconds later, both boys were over the wall.

  The backyard was an expansive manicured lawn. An assortment of bushes and flowers were strategically placed. There was a fire pit and a swing close to the house, accessible via a pair of French doors that seemed to lead into the kitchen.

  “I don’t know what you think we’re going to find out just by looking through the windows,” Olin said as they crossed the lawn, because that was what Connor had told him they were going to do.

  Connor had insisted they might see something that could help them figure out who they were dealing with. It sounded ridiculous to him as he was saying it. He had no intention of merely looking through the windows. But it was the pretext Olin needed to come with him.

  At least that was what Connor had assumed until he grabbed one of the door handles on the French doors.

  “What are you doing?” Olin whispered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said we were just going to look through the windows.”

  Connor took a deep breath, exhaled loudly. “I lied. If we want to know what’s going on, we’ve got to go in. We’re not going to touch anything. They’ll never even know we were here.”

  “And I’m supposed to trust you now?”

  “Stay out here if you want.” Connor pressed down on the handle. He didn’t expect it to turn. Getting in wouldn’t be that easy, he was sure. But it did turn. Perhaps someone had left it open by accident, or perhaps, with the house ensconced by tall brick walls, Dylan didn’t feel any need to ensure all of the doors were locked when he left.

  Whatever flavor of crazy he was, an unlocked door was more proof in Connor’s mind that he wasn’t the kidnapper. Still, they had come this far. It was worth seeing what they could find out.

  Olin held out his hands. “Wait! What if they have an alarm?”

  “Then we’ll run like crazy,” Connor said, and yanked the door open.

  They both froze. Listened.

  “No alarm,” Connor said. He went in.

  Olin looked around, cursed under his breath, and followed him.

  “Close the door,” Connor said, and Olin did.

  “What are we looking for?”

  “I guess we’ll know it when we find it.”

  Connor looked left, then right. The kitchen was huge—custom cabinets, stainless steel appliances, marble countertops—and led off to other rooms in both directions. They had to prioritize their search, he realized. Otherwise, they could be here for hours, and who knew when Dylan would get home?

  “Look for a basement or an attic. Let’s start there.”

  “Why?”

  “Where would you hide things you wanted to keep secret?” Connor said, already moving toward a door just beyond the kitchen. Something about it reminded him of the one that led to the attic in his own house. Here, though, it opened into a pantry.

  They followed the adjoining hall to the living room. The space was furnished with leather sofas, antique bookcases, an Oriental throw rug, and a velvet fainting couch near the windows. There was only one door within sight, and it led to a half-bath.

  When Connor had first visited this house, he had been surprised by the grand nature of the exterior. It did not seem like the kind of place where he would expect to find a man as unstable as the one behind the TruthSeekers website. Now that he had made it inside, it seemed even less so. But this was the registered address for the domain, so they would keep looking.

  The only other doors on the first floor led to a coat closet and garage. Apparently, the house had no basement. Just as well. Although Olin hadn’t commented on the trespassing since he had followed Connor inside, he looked nervous.

  From the pictures Connor had seen of Olin online and around his house—playing soccer, sailing, posing on hiking trails with his friends and father—he had expected the boy’s confidence to translate into courage. It had not. At least, not when it came to something like this. Maybe the risks associated with hacking into strangers’ websites had made Connor better suited for this task.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Connor said, already leading the way.

  At the top of the stairs were a small sitting room that overlooked the foyer and a hallway that forked at the far end. They moved together to that fork, opening doors that led to a laundry room and a linen closet along the way. Connor gestured toward one of the hallways. “You go right. I’ll go left.”

  Olin nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The first door Connor came upon led to the master bedroom. It looked like it was right out of a magazine, with a four-poster bed and
a tray ceiling. And just like the rest of the house, everything seemed to be in its place.

  The idea that this room, and all the rest of the rooms, looked like they were straight out of a magazine tickled something in the back of Connor’s brain, and he had only one conscious thought: Is that what’s happening here? The underlying idea that had formed all at once and without words was that the entire house was staged to simulate Dylan’s idea of normality. It suggested a degree of self-awareness Connor had not expected from someone who ran a site like TruthSeekers.

  “Hey, Connor.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Come here.”

  Connor stepped out of the bedroom, saw Olin at the other end of the hall, looking through another open door. “What is it?”

  “You said we’re looking for a guy named Dylan, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Olin pointed at the doorway in front of him. “I think you should have a look.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Olivia pulled up to the house where the license plate was registered, with two black-and-whites behind her. She noted the old Ford pickup at the top of the driveway and a car of some sort covered by a tarp at the bottom. Olivia intentionally parked in front of the driveway to seal off any chance for escape. The cruisers parked behind her.

  The neighborhood was poor, with small, ramshackle houses and weed-infested lawns.

  She started moving toward the front door as soon as she was out of the car. The four uniformed officers who had followed her here fell in behind her.

  She looked over her shoulder. “You two take the back.” There was no way this guy was going to escape.

  Olivia stepped onto a porch that badly needed a fresh coat of paint. Rusty wind chimes hung from the ceiling. Olivia knocked. Her mouth went dry. Her jaw tightened. She was on edge. But it was the kind of edge she liked being on. These were the adrenaline-fueled moments that made the job worth doing, right up there with sweating a suspect in the interrogation room.

  There was also a part of her that hated it. That part of her worried every day she might not come home, and it worried her on days like this more than most. She worried what her daughter would do without her, whether her ex would buck up and be a real father. As things stood, it didn’t seem like he could be a father at all—just missing the gene, her mom said—and she hoped that at tomorrow’s custody hearing the judge would agree.