“I don’t think so, but ever since Katie’s diagnoses, Joey has been trying to do anything he can to help pay the bills.”
Cecelia mentioned their struggles with health insurance, the cost of Katie’s care, and how Joey wasn’t making nearly enough to afford their seemingly simple life. I couldn’t know the full extent of it, how bad it truly was, but I could feel her worries of having to live in a constant state of unknown.
“I don’t know what to do,” Cecelia said, dropping her gaze to her wedding band. “It’s not like Joey has the time to take on a second job.”
I leaned forward and reached for her hand. “I might be able to help,” I said, telling Cecelia about Susan. Cecelia was aware of her company since the school shooting several months back. “I’m sure she would donate her time for Katie.”
Cecelia was open to the idea. I wondered how much emotional support she had because she suddenly opened up to me by saying, “I don’t blame Joey for what he’s done. He’s been under a lot of pressure.”
“What did he do?” I pressed, my interest suddenly piqued.
“He’s just blowing off steam,” she glanced a heavy gaze to the front door and touched her cheek, “but I expect him to be home soon. He wouldn’t leave me, would he?”
Cecelia seemed delirious and I wanted to attribute her odd comment to exhaustion. But I didn’t know where it came from. I told her Garcia wouldn’t dare leave her, but I had no idea if that was true.
By the time I was finished with my tea, it was getting late. On my way out the door, I told Cecelia to give me a call when Joey came back home.
With a shell-shocked look still printed on her face, she promised she would. That was the best I could have hoped for. I left with a heavy heart, knowing it was time for me to go home and work on my own relationship with King.
Chapter Sixty-One
I was concerned for Garcia, but mostly I was worried about how his behavior was affecting his family. Katie needed his strength now more than ever, and so did Cecelia. It was clear to me that Cecelia was hiding the pieces that had already been chiseled off of her, and that killed me to see.
But then I remembered the missing files on Donny’s exchange from Garcia’s past research. I still didn’t want to believe he was using the work he did at the Times to blackmail these people who were dead. But that was exactly what it seemed like was happening, and it still didn’t make any sense to me.
Was Garcia Loxley? Or was Loxley choosing his targets through Garcia’s research? Was that the reason the paper was hacked?
The house was particularly dark when I curbed my vehicle and glanced through the front windows. I looked for Cooper who was usually the first to put his nose against the glass, wagging his tail, welcoming me home. But even he was absent, sending my mind into a spiral of what-ifs.
Slowly, I exited the car and looked up and down the block. It was a quiet evening, and I relaxed when spotting King’s car parked adjacent to mine.
With him here, I was safe.
A minute later, I stepped through the front door and found King playing video games with Mason in a dark house. I never could get a hold of Garcia again, which concerned me. I didn’t know what he was up to, and not knowing drove me insane. I was afraid of his vulnerability—of his expressed fear—how he was choosing to handle the increased stress. But watching King and Mason joke and laugh quickly stripped away my own day’s troubles and the sight made me smile. I flipped on the light.
“Hey,” Mason argued.
“Hey to you.” I smiled.
King fixed his eyes on me and winked.
I smiled, impressed with King’s ability to disguise his workday—the difficult one I knew he’d had—and make the world seem brighter than it was. Especially that he could do it all so effortlessly in front of my son. It was something I wished I had myself but, more than anything, I was glad to finally be home.
King set his control down and came to me.
I took him by his hand and led him to the back, just needing to be held. His big arms wrapped around me, his thick lips pressing against my forehead. I nuzzled my face deep into his chest and closed my eyes. We stood like that for what felt like forever—frozen in time, without a single worry to make us doubt our decisions. Just as my mind cleared, freeing it from all its chaotic thoughts, King asked, “If the Times never reported on these people, would they still be alive?”
I opened my eyes and my breath caught in my throat.
How was it that he seemed to always know what was on my mind? The same fear had crossed my mind as I drove back from Cecelia’s. I was feeling personally responsible—that, once again, somehow my investigation, my reporting, was the reason a sick bastard was choosing his victims. I told King that, trusting him fully to listen, knowing he’d understand what it was I was grappling with.
“What Thompson did was wrong, but he didn’t deserve to die, and neither did anyone else,” I said.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Sam.” He palmed my skull and tugged gently on my hair. “You know this isn’t your fault. It’s not just your reporting I was referring to. It’s others at the paper, too.”
It still didn’t make me feel any better. Worse, I knew it was going to happen before it did. “I saw a flier on Garcia’s desk in the newsroom this morning about the event at MSU. He had my name scribbled next to Parker Collins. But I didn’t go, and, well… look at what happened.”
King was quiet for a minute as he mulled over his words. “It’s easy to know what to do in retrospect.”
We both had been down this road before. Our track record spoke for us. We couldn’t catch them all, even if we had all the resources made available to us. But I still wanted to believe we could.
“But the clues had been there and I had missed them both,” I said, telling King about the mysterious email sent to Dawson about Parker Collins being a fraud. The call had come too late.
“The department spoke with Joan Collins.”
I peeled my cheek off his chest, tipped my head back, and asked, “What did she say?”
“It was her, not her husband, giving today’s keynote.”
My thoughts churned. Loxley spared the women and seemed to only care for men. Was Loxley a woman who had a grudge against men? Or was Loxley a man like we’d been thinking all along who was jealous of what these other men had?
“Joan also said she and her husband were at Thompson’s wake this morning.”
I thought how ironic that was. Did that have any influence on how Loxley chose his next victim?
“But, get this,” King raised both his eyebrows, “strange things were happening at their house that couldn’t be explained.”
“Like what?”
King couldn’t believe it when he heard it, but it sounded similar to what happened with Thompson. “Like the thermostat not working properly, and a garage door that kept going up and down by itself.”
“Did she report it?”
“Not to the police, and she didn’t suspect anything wrong with Parker’s car when they drove it to Metro State, either.”
It had to be Loxley. But why test the home, only to have Collins die in a car crash? Did he know the police were figuring out his puzzle? Or was this a clue for me to follow?
Stepping away from King, I moved to the kitchen sink and gazed out the window into the neighbor’s yard. I stood there for a minute thinking about the list King found in Garcia’s office. I wondered if Ronald Hyland was preparing any upcoming speeches.
“That’s it,” I said, turning on a heel. “It has to be.”
“What?”
I cleared the kitchen table, retrieved my notes from my tote, and flipped the lid to my laptop. King hovered over my shoulder as I worked. I gave him insight into what I was thinking. “Collins was at the event with his wife earlier today, and Counts was part of a panel at DU earlier in the week.”
“Okay.” King nodded. “What about Thompson?”
My eyes lit up. “Thompson just did a big char
ity event that received expanded news coverage. His face was everywhere in the hours leading up to his death.”
King remembered. I wasn’t aware of Thompson being part of a panel discussion like the others, but two out of three? My hypothesis didn’t come without its flaws, but it was the best we had.
King scrubbed his hands over his face. “We’ll check it out. Along with Damien.”
I told him about Susan needing the night to think things over before making her decision to flush Damien out. Then I turned to my notes, realizing that Garcia knew more about each of these victims than I did. Did he cover the events these people spoke at? I didn’t know.
I told King about my visit with Garcia’s wife as I looked up Ronald Hyland’s contact information. Hyland was also on the list from Garcia’s office, and that concerned me. “We should at least warn him,” I said, speaking about Hyland.
King gave me a skeptical look. I knew what he was thinking. Hyland had a reputation for resenting journalists. Since I was one, it wasn’t going to be easy getting through his thick skull. But I had to try. I knew I would never be able to forgive myself if I was right and Hyland was Loxley’s next target.
My cell phone rang.
I checked the caller ID. It was Garcia’s home number. I quickly answered. “Is Joey home? Did he come back?” I asked Cecelia.
“He’s not here.” Cecelia sounded frantic. “But he took his gun with him.”
My vision blurred as I felt my blood pressure drop. Gun? Joey had a gun?
“I don’t know why I went looking, but I’m glad I did. I found his gun drawer empty.”
“Have you tried calling him?”
“His cell goes straight to voicemail. Sam, what am I going to do? Is my Joey going to hurt somebody?”
My lips parted but no words came out. I hoped he wouldn’t, but it seemed like he might.
Chapter Sixty-Two
The volume was turned down as Loxley sat quietly behind the wheel. The engine was off, his face hidden by a dark splash of shadow from a thick tree branch above. He listened to the news, waiting for details to emerge that someone was getting close to figuring out it was him behind these deaths. Instead, they only talked about Parker Collins’s contribution to the world and how much he would be missed.
Loxley stroked the point of his chin between his fingers, knowing the only reason Parker Collins’s name was mentioned at all was because of his extreme wealth. Any other man and the news would have found another story to tell. But not him. That was part of the resentment Loxley felt needed correcting.
“Of course he will be missed,” Loxley muttered to himself. “That’s the point.”
He was particularly tense and trying to put the upsetting information out of his mind when he noticed his finger had moved off the trigger guard and had curled around the trigger itself.
Loxley glanced down to his lap and stared at the metallic glint of the gun’s muzzle. It was tempting to forgo the discreet nature of hacking and instead choose to use a bullet. Though easy, guns were messy and they involved little skill. Anybody could pull a trigger. Not everyone could hack their way into a clever murder.
He lifted the weapon and moved it into the light. Studying it for what it was, Loxley never liked guns much but he understood their necessity in the world. Like most tools, there was a time and a place. This might be the time and place to switch tactics.
Placing the gun safely back onto his lap, Loxley looked to his computer propped up on a plastic filing box on the passenger seat next to him. The video feed was clear as the night and his erection stiffened every time Samantha’s face was perfectly framed in the lens.
Loxley took note of her tired eyes, wished he could be the one to rub the tension out of her neck. He listened to her words, internalizing and getting to the root of what she was saying. Only when she was responding to a text or checking her emails on her phone did he have a clear view of her beautiful face, as he had hacked into her cell phone camera and was now with her every step of the way.
Samantha stared directly into his eyes. He held her gaze and felt the flutters tickle his insides. This was his most difficult breach yet, but he’d managed—never giving up—and Loxley was thrilled by the thought of them always being together.
Sweeping his eyes off the computer, he stared at Samantha’s front door.
He had followed her here she spoke for a lengthy time with Cecelia.
The radio caught his attention. He turned up the volume, but only a notch. Tilting his head, he listened. Finally, someone was asking why the public shifted their anger off Thompson and Counts and over to Collins.
No one knew Parker’s crimes, and that disappointed Loxley. But they soon would. Loxley blamed his lack of preparation and the fact that Parker’s death happened far too quickly to allow the leaks of the man’s crimes against society to build an initial buzz. But time was of the essence. Due to a change in circumstance, tactics and procedures were forced to change as well.
Which explained the gun, Loxley thought, once again staring at the piece.
He just couldn’t decide which was of greater importance; Ronald Hyland or Joey Garcia.
Both men, Loxley wanted to kill. But which of the two would move his cause forward faster? And how could he turn the angered public on an award-winning journalist they trusted?
Planning… Loxley needed more time to plan. He needed to get this right. It was a delicate balance of choosing worthwhile victims and not getting caught. Loxley played the game well, enjoyed what he did immensely. But could he kill the man who fed him his first few targets? If he did, where would he get his leads once he was gone?
Everything changed when Loxley saw Joey Garcia blackmail Parker Collins in the parking lot of Metro State. He knew Garcia was a liar, but now understood why. How long had Garcia been extorting his subjects in exchange for favorable press coverage? Loxley could only imagine it was for as long as the coverage had been good. This was why Loxley had to take out Garcia. What he did was just as bad as what the other men died for doing. But with Donny Counts’s cryptocurrency exchange down, how was Garcia going to request anonymous payments now? Loxley chuckled softly.
It didn’t take Loxley long to uncover Garcia’s Bitcoin account. But what really ground on Loxley’s nerves was how Garcia purposely stood Samantha up.
Loxley needed them together, needed Samantha to see Garcia for the hypocrite he was. Even more than that, Loxley needed to manipulate the situation and control the narrative. I If he didn’t, things were certainly going to spiral out of control.
Loxley turned his attention back to his computer screen and stared, waiting for Samantha to show her face again. Wrinkling his brow, he refused to leave her alone. She needed his protection because Samantha didn’t know the danger that was coming for her.
Then, as if hearing her name being called, Samantha stepped into the kitchen window and showed her face.
Loxley felt his chest relax. Even from half a block away, he was close enough to reach out and touch the woman he loved. Her bangs framed her delicate eyes. There was a radiant glow highlighting her cheeks that had Loxley’s blood pumping fast. His erection was painfully hard now, his heart fluttering against his ribs like tiny butterfly wings that tickled his insides. Leaning back, he unzipped his pants and took his shaft in his hand. He stopped just before he was about to begin stroking.
Detective King stepped behind Samantha, wrapped her up inside his arms, and nuzzled his face into her neck. She leaned into him, closed her eyes, and smiled.
A pang of jealously stabbed Loxley’s side. Next thing he knew, he was holding his limp dick inside his cold hand as he watched the two tongue kiss. Loxley knew that something had to be done about Alex King if Samantha was ever going to see him.
“Endless obstacles; so many ways the code could be written,” Loxley whispered to himself as he zipped up his pants and started the car. “But I’ll find a way. When there’s a will, there’s always a way.”
Chapter Si
xty-Three
As soon as I opened my eyes, my mind went immediately to Damien Black. I couldn’t stop thinking about what King said about Damien being not only an award-winning hacker, but a convicted felon as well. Was he our guy? Maybe.
My thoughts churned over, bouncing between Black and Garcia before I finally flopped onto my side and flipped my legs around, dropping my feet to the floor. I padded across the carpet, making a turn to the toilet, before heading into the kitchen. Once at the table, I opened my laptop and began browsing articles covering Damien Black’s trial from five years ago.
It could have been me covering his trial, but it didn’t work out that way. Back then, the paper was financially stable. We had more than enough journalists to cover the same stories we now reported on with only a third of the staff. I remembered hearing bits and pieces of the case but, until now, none of the details sank in.
I read more about Damien’s corporate espionage. I began thinking about what Erin found in Collins’s car. I’d spent the better part of last night studying the dirt we found in the neatly packaged folder on Parker Collins’s business. Whoever put it together made a pretty convincing case that his social entrepreneurship was nothing more than a marketing gimmick to fatten his personal wallet.
Greed. It was quickly becoming the number one killer.
Leaning back, I paused to stare at the text glowing on my screen.
Corporate espionage and uncovering dirt on someone’s business and personal life was the same, but different. What I wasn’t sure of was whether I could put the two events in the same pile as Loxley.
I still believed that Damien could be Loxley, and that Garcia could be working with him, maybe as a side hustle to pay Katie’s medical bills. But was Damien still on parole? Who had the skills to complement Garcia’s if Damien wasn’t Loxley?
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