With Donny out of the way, Loxley was itching to get on with his next hunt. Which got him thinking, was his next victim awake yet?
Within minutes, Loxley was scrolling through a dozen live video feeds when he caught movement in the far right corner of the screen. He stopped, zoomed, and stared.
“There you are.” Loxley grinned. “Good morning.”
The man was extremely wealthy and the face he put on for the public wasn’t too different than what Loxley saw on both Richard and Donny. It was one of deceiving innocence and something that made Loxley sick to his stomach.
Loxley’s next victim moved through his sprawling mansion, bickering at his help, mumbling different complaints both to himself and to others, as nothing seemed to bring him joy.
Though they lived side by side, he and Loxley moved in different worlds and played by different rules. Even now, as Loxley watched the asshole interact with his seemingly perfect wife, living his seemingly perfect life, Loxley knew the truth and it was time to send him a wakeup call to see if he was listening.
A surge of great energy traveled over Loxley’s body. He felt invincible, like he could cancel out one wrong to make a thousand rights, and do it again and again without the faintest hint of remorse.
A small twitch between his legs let him know he was still alive, and when he felt the blood swell, he flicked his gaze to the photo of Samantha perched on top his desk. “One day, baby, we’ll be doing this together.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Joey Garcia had just arrived to Rose Medical Center when he heard on the radio that Donny Counts was dead. He felt his stomach drop with sudden disbelief and he parked in the first open space he came across. Turning up the volume, he sat still—frozen stiff in his seat with a gaping look planted on his face—as he listened to the complete report.
Flicking his gaze up into the hospital’s windows, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His stomach rolled with nausea. A part of him wanted to flee, to go back in time and have a redo on his year. Just one chance to get it right.
Rubbing his aching head, he stared up into the windows reflecting the soft light, framing a single cotton ball cloud lazily skirting across the blue sky above. Time seemed to stop for him as Joey struggled with deciding what to do next. His plans to solve all of his life’s problems were unraveling as quickly as his daughter’s health. Now he was more lost and confused than when his troubles first began.
Once the cloud left the window, Joey dropped his gaze to his dash. He wiped the dust off with his hand and flicked it onto the floor with defeat.
Since saying goodbye to Cecelia, Joey had hoped that Donny’s initial report of being in critical condition wasn’t true. It was wishful thinking, but that seemed to be all he had lately. And even those candles were nearly all gone. But Donny’s sudden death explained why Joey didn’t receive the payment promised to him. He hated reducing Donny’s life to pure monetary terms, but Joey had been counting on those payments to reduce the stress he knew his wife was feeling, too.
Joey’s head hit the back of the headrest as he sighed.
Worse was that he’d just met with Donny yesterday and didn’t know what secrets could be traced back to him. There had been many, and he’d been so careful to remain discreet when keeping things as anonymous as possible. But now he couldn’t be sure who knew what and what they would do about it if those secrets were ever discovered.
He closed his eyes, rubbed his face inside his hands, and groaned a little when trying to shake away his thoughts of despair. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. His thoughts drifted back to his wife and daughter—the only light remaining in his life that was worth fighting for.
Turning the key over in the ignition, Joey put the car in reverse and backed out of the space, leaving the hospital, to figure out how he would get himself out of the hole he had dug.
As he made his way across town, he regretted taking that meeting with Donny yesterday. If only he’d delayed it for just one more day, then maybe he could have had better luck at escaping the questions he knew were heading his way. But he hadn’t, and now he was going to have to face the fact that he was probably one of the last people Donny ever spoke to in person. Because of that, his name would soon move up the list of suspects the police would want to interview.
“Christ, Garcia, you’re smarter than this,” Joey yelled as he punched the dash.
He hit rush hour traffic and the wall of cars slowing his pursuit only made him angrier. His body was on fire—an intense flame scorching his skin—as he squinted into the blinding sunlight hitting him square between the eyes from the rearview mirror.
Joey kept the radio off. He didn’t need to hear any more of what was being said about Donny. He knew everything that he needed to know—and didn’t want to know how he died. The less he knew the better, even if his editors would eventually tell him otherwise.
The earlier broadcast played on repeat inside his head. Rushed to the hospital…Doctors unable to save him. Again, Joey was asking himself how this could have happened.
He slammed his hand on the wheel and roared through clenched teeth.
His fingers trembled as fear took hold. Traffic barely moved as Joey reached across the console and retrieved his legal pad, needing to not forget a thought that just came to him. Biting off the pen cap, he jotted down a quick note for the article he knew he’d be asked to write. Then he grabbed his phone and made a call, but the person he was hoping to speak with didn’t answer.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he mumbled to the commuter traffic that surrounded him.
He drummed the steering wheel as he glanced in his mirrors. When no one was coming, he cranked the wheel hard to the right and hit the gas. Driving on the shoulder, he took the next exit, knowing he needed to get ahead of this story before it was too late.
Weaving his way through neighborhoods, he soon pulled onto the street where Donny Counts lived. Joey had been here once before—long before they began working together—and hadn’t forgotten the address. Surprised no TV vans were here, he parked across the street and waited a minute before stepping out. The tsunami was coming. He could feel it in his bones; he needed to act quickly before the first wave arrived.
He glanced to Donny’s house. It looked dead inside. And though Joey didn’t want to do it, he didn’t have a choice. This was his future he was fighting for; everything was on the line.
Hurrying to the front door, he jabbed the doorbell repeatedly with his index finger until he heard the deadbolt click over. The door opened and he found himself staring into a sad, but beautiful, pair of green eyes. Her otherwise long black hair was tied up on her head in a messy bun. Joey assumed that she’d only just gotten home herself. He knew who she was, but had never been introduced.
“Are you Rose Wild?” he asked.
The dark bags beneath her oval eyes were heavy with grief and told of the night she’d endured.
“I’m—” Joey started to introduce himself.
“I know who you are.”
Joey jerked his head back. Her tone was more aggressive than her appearance suggested and it caught Joey somewhat by surprise. “You do?”
Rose’s eyes sharpened like daggers. “And I know why you’re here.”
Joey stared, not knowing what to say.
“He died, you asshole,” Rose cried. “There is nothing else for you here.”
“I’m sorry about Donny.” Joey paused. “But he and I had an agreement.”
Rose’s jaw muscle bulged as her nostrils flared with heavy breaths of air. “Whatever agreement you made is no longer valid.”
“What did he tell you?”
Rose reached into her back pocket and tossed a crumpled ball of paper between Joey’s eyes.
“Go fuck yourself.” She slammed the door in his face.
Joey stood still for a second with his eyes closed before turning to glance over his shoulder. No one was watching from the street or a neighbor’s window. When he was certain
only the birds had seen, he bent over and scooped up the ball of paper and hurried back to his car.
Once safely tucked behind the wheel and out of sight, he opened up the paper and recognized the key code printed on it immediately. He also knew how much trouble he was in.
“Shit,” he whispered as he closed his eyes.
Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, it had. Clenching his abs, he sped away from Donny Counts’s house, promising to strike first before he went down in flames himself.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Susan was still catching her breath when we locked eyes. I hadn’t moved—my legs rooting firmly into the floor as my head spun around on the top of my shoulders. I still couldn’t believe what Susan just shared. Had I been right about Loxley’s message? It frightened me to think that I was.
“Sam, did you know him?” Allison asked me.
My eyes were open but I was lost inside my head as my thoughts traveled back to the Bitcoin paper wallet found with my article on Thompson’s desk. I couldn’t figure out how the two were related, but something told me they were.
“I knew of him,” I said.
Feeling lightheaded, I needed to sit down. I moved to the table, leaned forward, and perched myself up on the points of my elbows. The blank wall in front of me allowed me to focus my thoughts without interruption.
Could Counts be the death Loxley was warning me about? It had to be. But what did Counts do to gain the attention of Loxley? It could have been his affiliation with Josh Stetson, but that was months ago and I hadn’t heard of anything since. Counts must have done something else, but what?
When I rolled my neck, I caught Allison staring. The look on her face said she was stunned by the news as well. Donny Counts was someone she would have followed, as they were both making waves in the fast-paced world of technology.
“Sam,” Allison cleared her throat as if trying to stay strong, “you know that’s why he sent you the note.”
I held her round eyes inside my own. We were too afraid to admit it, but even before Susan shared the news, I knew it was only a matter of time before the next death caught up with me.
“You weren’t writing a story on him, were you?” Susan asked.
I blinked and rolled my gaze over to her. “No. Not currently,” I said, giving the girls a quick summary of my coverage of Josh Stetson, his SIM swapping, and how I was warned to keep my eye on Counts, for he would be the next to fall.
Susan shifted her gaze to Allison. Then Allison asked, “Who told you to watch Counts?”
“I don’t know his name.” I tried to remember the details from that day, but it was thin.
“Could it have been this Loxley guy?” Allison jutted her chin toward the note from Loxley.
“Wait one second.” Susan held her hands up and showed us her palms. “What note are you two talking about, and who the hell is Loxley?”
Allison beat me to it when we both reached for the note from Loxley. She handed it over to Susan, saying, “Sam’s computer network was hacked last night and he sent this note through her personal printer.”
I watched goosebumps prickle their way up Susan’s arm as she lowered her eyes and began reading the note. When the room fell quiet, I found myself rubbing my own arms warm.
I didn’t want to believe it was Loxley who told me to keep an eye on Counts after the Stetson sentencing. That would mean he had been watching me for nearly a year without me knowing.
My whole body rocked through a foundation-cracking tremor.
“Jesus, Sam.” Susan shook her head and glanced at me. “Loving admirer?”
“He’s bringing me into his fantasy world.”
“You think?” Susan set the note back down on top of the kitchen table. “And you think he killed Donny?”
“It’s possible.”
“Maybe Richard Thompson, too.” Allison caught Susan up to speed with everything we’d discussed before her arrival.
“But we’re only making these assumptions by reading between the lines. There is no other evidence suggesting a homicide even occurred. For either of the victims.”
“How did Donny Counts die?” Allison asked.
No one knew. I needed to get Erin on the phone. I stood and moved to the counter, diving my hand into my purse to retrieve my phone. Allison pulled my laptop around and immediately searched for more information on Counts’s death. Word about his death seemed to be traveling slowly and when I asked Susan about how she heard, she said she had been talking on the phone with Benjamin early this morning.
“He was the one to tell me. Heard it from a colleague,” Susan said.
“Isn’t he in New England?” Allison asked.
Susan nodded.
“Did he get the job?” I asked, dialing Erin’s number and pressing the phone to my ear.
Susan lowered her gaze and frowned. “Didn’t ask.”
Next thing I knew, Erin came flying through my front door. “Sam. You here?”
“In the kitchen,” I called out.
“Oh, good, you’re all here.” Erin hit the brakes and locked eyes with me. “Our killer struck again.”
“Donny Counts,” the three of us said in unison.
Erin squished her eyebrows together. “Why didn’t you call?”
I lifted my hand and showed her the phone I was still holding. “Just did.”
“Oh. Well…” Erin bounced her gaze around the room. “What else have you all learned?”
Allison mentioned how she confirmed Samantha’s network had been hacked, and Susan shared how she thought of Sam and the Bitcoin paper wallet as soon as she learned of Donny’s death. We all understood Loxley’s message wasn’t a hoax, but we still needed to prove he was the one behind these sudden deaths.
Erin turned her eyes to me. “That’s scary shit, Sam.”
“I know.”
Everyone started talking at once, their words worming their way into my subconscious. Next thing I knew, a twenty-ton epiphany was nearly knocking me to the floor. The digital key code wasn’t a missed clue, it was the clue.
I sank deep into my thoughts, ignoring the chatter happening around me.
Was that even possible? Could Loxley—if he was the one to have killed Thompson—been able to put it in Thompson’s possession knowing that it would eventually find its way to me? If that was true, then why did he want me to know who his next victim was? What else was I missing? Was he planning to kill again? My blood shook.
“Tell us what to do, Sam.” Susan pushed her shoulders back and tipped her chin up. “We’re here to help.”
“First,” I went to work, “we put together a list of hackers who are smart enough to pull this off, but also who might have past white collar criminal convictions.”
“I’m on it, Sam,” Allison said.
“And I’ll help her.” Susan stepped forward, reminding Allison, “We have that meeting with Damien Black later today anyway. Might as well make it a day.”
Allison didn’t object.
“Good,” I said. “Erin, you find out how exactly Counts died. We need to confirm that these deaths are even the slightest bit related before we start spreading rumors.”
“You got it.” Erin nodded. “What will you do?”
“I’m heading into the newsroom. I’m sure Dawson will want me to cover Counts’s story in some form or another.”
Allison pushed my laptop away. “I’ve strengthened your firewall, Sam, so you should be good to go but,” she rolled her eyes to my smart speaker perched like a tiny lighthouse on my countertop, “if I were you, I would make sure to keep that thing unplugged just in case he’s listening.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Parker Collins thought his house was noticeably cooler than it should have been. Fumbling with the thermostat, his head was tipped back as he cycled through the controls. Pushing his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose, he grumbled, “I swear Maria keeps changing these settings.”
“Don�
�t be ridiculous,” Parker’s wife, Joan, said as she passed behind like a stiff cold wind.
“Then it must be you.” Parker turned his head and glared at his wife. “Because it ain’t me, babe.”
Joan rolled her eyes with annoyance and disappeared into the master bathroom to finish getting ready.
Parker turned his attention back to the thermostat and chuckled. He enjoyed pushing his wife’s buttons, teasing her with the same jokes and pranks he’d been telling her for the twenty-two years they’d been together. But this thermostat wasn’t a prank, and Parker certainly didn’t think it was funny that it wasn’t working.
“Joan, honey, is there hot water?” he called out to his wife from the bedroom. Something must be wrong with the boiler, he thought as he listened to Joan turn on the faucet.
“It’s hot,” she called back.
“Then it must be the thermostat,” Parker muttered as he turned back to face the device attached to the wall.
It was the latest in state of the art home technology. Despite it being pitched as intuitive, Parker thought it came with a steep learning curve—then again, maybe he was just too old for some of this stuff supposed to make their lives easier.
Joan passed behind him. “Just call John,” she said.
Parker hemmed and hawed his way through the settings, too proud to ask for help. “I’ll figure it out,” he told her.
Joan stood and faced her husband as she pulled her left sleeve up to check the time. “In this lifetime, or the next?”
Parker swung his head and gave his wife a look above the rim of his glasses that said, very funny.
Joan smirked. Then her expression changed when she pointed to the front of the house. “There it goes again.”
“The house is haunted,” Parker said, finally happy that he’d set the temperature to his liking.
Joan hurried out of the bedroom and Parker finished getting ready. He quickly slung a tie over his neck and tied it. Then he slid his arms through a sports coat and met his wife near the kitchen. Joan was holding the phone in one hand and searching through her list of contacts when she said, “The garage door opened again without explanation.”
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