Hiding it behind her clutch, her heartrate shot through the roof when Damien called out, “Susan, what do you think you’re doing?”
Slowly, she rolled her eyes to Damien. Had he seen her? Her pulse ticked hard and fast as both men were now staring at her. She licked her dry lips, murmured, “I was just looking to freshen up in the powder room.”
Damien stared without blinking, as did Hyland. Susan held her breath, hoping Damien believed her lie. Seconds froze as her vision tunneled. Then Damien pointed across the room. “The ladies’ room is that way.”
Susan released the breath she was holding and forced herself to smile. Hurrying down the hallway, she pushed open the ladies’ room door and closed herself into an empty stall. It was just her in the bathroom when she checked her phone, noticing all the missed calls. She immediately called Samantha.
“Did you get my message?” Susan said as soon as Samantha answered.
“Where are you? Are you all right? I’ve been trying to call.” Sam’s words came flying at her as fast as bullets. Susan heard a car door shut on Samantha’s line and told her where she was. The sound of feet running over concrete filled Susan’s ears.
“Is he with you now?” Sam asked.
“Black is meeting with Hyland. I don’t know what’s going on, Sam, but something isn’t right.” Susan mentioned Damien’s strange behavior, including how he stole her phone. “I need to get out of here.”
“You’re in luck.”
Susan paused and looked up.
“I’m outside. Coming to you now.”
Susan rose off the toilet where she was sitting on the lid. “You’re here?”
“I followed Hyland. I was hoping he would lead me to you. Listen, I don’t have time to explain, but Hyland is in danger.”
“That’s what I was trying to say.” Susan mentioned what happened in the previous parking lot. “Damien is going to do something, isn’t he?”
“Just stay where you are and tell me about the pacemaker.”
“Oh, good. You figured it out.” Susan explained, but it didn’t make sense until Sam completed the puzzle. “That’s how he’s going to kill him?”
“Maybe.” There was more rustling through the phone line. “I’m inside. Where are you?”
Susan told her about the private room in the back. Suddenly, Susan heard shouts coming from Damien’s direction. “Oh, shit, it’s happening.”
“Stay where you are.”
The shouts increased and it sounded like a chair may have been knocked over.
“I’m going out. I have to see what’s going on.”
Susan dropped the call and rushed through the hallway, swinging her body back inside the private room. She yelped when seeing Ronald Hyland lying completely flat on his back. Covering her mouth with her trembling hand, she watched as Damien ripped open Hyland’s collared shirt. He did it. The bastard actually killed him.
“Damien?”
Damien’s head spun around as soon as he heard Susan’s meek voice. “Don’t just stand there, call for help, dammit.”
Susan turned to face the door just as Samantha entered the room. They both shared a look, then Susan began to cry.
Samantha snapped her neck to Damien. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. He fainted.” Damien had Hyland stripped down to his bare chest. “Something is wrong with his pacemaker.”
Samantha ran across the room, skidding in next to Damien on her knees. “How did you know about—”
Damien was checking Hyland’s pulse when he said, “Because I was the one he hired to engineer the software to prevent it from ever getting hacked.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
I couldn’t believe it. It happened so fast. Susan was still ghost white and pacing the room like a vulture circling overhead when I repeated what I just told King. “Damien Black isn’t Loxley.”
King asked, “How can you be so sure?”
I turned and looked over my shoulder. The EMTs that arrived shortly after Susan called 911 were wheeling Hyland’s body out of the restaurant on a stretcher. “Because Hyland is dead. It happened right in front of me.”
The line went silent and, for a second, I thought I had lost my connection with King. Then he asked, “Was it his pacemaker?”
I told King everything, spilling my guts with raw emotion pouring out of me. I shared my thoughts, even those that still hadn’t yet gelled. Even why I followed Hyland here, and that Damien was meeting with Hyland to help convince Susan to take him on as a new client. King listened without interruption, all the way until I told him Hyland’s pacemaker had malfunctioned.
“It’s no accident, Sam.”
A part of us all suspected it wasn’t. Loxley had killed Hyland just as he did the others. Even Damien couldn’t believe someone was able to override the security protection he wrote himself. But, again, we had nothing to prove what we believed was happening was actually true.
“Wait, back up.” King needed to be caught up. “Hyland hired Damien?”
King wanted to know everything I knew, and after I explained my side of the story, I shared that Hyland had hired Damien to write the software to protect his pacemaker from being hacked. “Hyland suspected he was on the list—”
“Why would he think that?”
I didn’t have an answer, but I could assume it had something to do with Nancy Jordan’s vigilante story. King groaned. I could imagine his skeptical eyes crinkling as he tried to make sense of the mess.
I said, “All I know is that we had it wrong.”
“Lieutenant Baker is still going to want us to get a statement from Damien.”
I flicked my gaze across the room. Damien was rubbing his hand in circles between Susan’s shoulder blades, whispering something into her ear. She was shaken up, but I knew she would get through this. We all would.
“I don’t think he’ll have issue answering your questions,” I said, thinking back to what Damien said about them coming face-to-face with a disguised man driving a black Ford Explorer—the same make and model that seemed to be following us all.
“There’s only one problem,” King said. “If Damien isn’t who we thought he was, then who the hell is Loxley?”
A text buzzed the line. I pulled my phone away from my ear and glanced at the screen. My heart skipped a beat. This couldn’t be coincidence.
Let’s have that drink. What do you say?
With a pinched expression, I brushed my lips against the microphone piece and said, “Someone who drives a black Ford Explorer.”
“Not helpful.”
“Listen,” I steeled my nerves as I prepared myself for the final showdown with the one person who managed to allude all of us, “Garcia just messaged me.”
“Just now?” King’s voice raised a notch higher.
“He wants to meet.” I told King where.
“I’m not far. I’ll meet you there. But, Sam—”
“I know. He’s dangerous,” I said, thinking about the man I thought I knew but didn’t.
“Please, don’t do anything until I arrive.”
I didn’t make any promises. Ending my call, I spun around. As soon as Susan met my eye, she asked, “What is it?”
I flitted my eyes around the room, wanting to look at anything but her. My mind swirled as I wondered if, and how, Loxley was choosing to watch us now—and if Garcia really could be him. The timing he chose to message me was remarkable. It was enough to make me think he was the man we were all after.
After I shared my plans with Susan, she called out to Damien. “Show Samantha the note that driver of the Ford Explorer gave you.”
Suddenly, I was lightheaded. Note? What note? Why was I just learning about this now?
Damien hurried across the floor, unfolding the small square of paper as he walked. Handing it to me, I read what it said. Sweeping my gaze up, I looked Damien in the eyes.
“I don’t know what it means.” He raised both of his eyebrows. “Do you?”
The poetic text I read flashed behind my eyelids. “I do now.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
“I don’t know, Sam.”
Susan didn’t know if it was Joey Garcia who gave them this note. I explained what he looked like again.
She responded, “I heard you the first time. He hid his face. I don’t know what he looked like.”
I pinched my lips, extremely focused on solving this problem before another victim was claimed. Ronald Hyland was the last name on the list King took from Garcia. We were now out of clues. What was Loxley’s plan? Who would he target next? I feared he would disappear before getting caught and we would lose him forever.
Still looking me in the eye, Susan said, “Honestly, Sam. I don’t know who this man was.”
It didn’t matter. I was losing time. Garcia texted and told me to find him at the Motel 6 on W. 49th Ave. and Federal Blvd. I knew exactly where it was. I passed the sign every time I was heading West on I-70. It was just north of Lakeside and I knew I could be there in less than ten minutes if traffic was good.
“I’ve got to go.”
Susan grabbed my arm before I could get too far. She asked, “Do you want company?”
I shifted my gaze to Damien talking with restaurant management on the opposite side of the room. “You okay staying behind with him?”
Susan’s brow wrinkled. “Should I be?”
I gave Damien one last assessment. “I think so.”
“Doesn’t matter, Allison and Erin are on their way.” Susan ran a hand over her head.
“Take a table near the front,” I said, gripping her hand. “Make sure an employee knows you’re there.”
She nodded. “I’ll be fine. Go, meet with Garcia.”
I leaned in and we hugged—told each other to be safe. I turned toward the exit and bounded toward the door.
“And don’t do anything stupid, Sam,” Susan called after me. “I want you to catch Loxley—whoever this asshole is—but I want you to come home in one piece, too.”
“Don’t worry.” I smiled, backpedaling my way out of the private room. “I’ve got this.”
Then I was off to have that drink with my colleague with hopes of putting an end to this madness. Despite what I told Susan, I was afraid. But I wasn’t going alone. King was meeting me there. So, with a white knuckled grip on the wheel, I made my way across town, reciting the note the mysterious driver gave to Damien. It read more like a poem, but was as creepy as everything else I received from Loxley. It had to be him.
You’ll find me at Motel 6 where rooms are rented cheap.
I didn’t want to have to kill these men, but their greed made it hard for me to sleep.
Now is my last stand before I’m buried six feet deep.
It was impossible not to think of Garcia’s struggles, his wife’s worries, and what language Loxley chose to use when communicating with me. But still, I didn’t want to believe he was actually behind these murders.
Pellets of sweat formed on my brow as I retreated deep inside my head.
I was excited and nervous, a flutter of mixed emotions rolling in thick waves through my entire body. I’d been waiting to confront Garcia ever since King found my Thompson article in his trash bin, and now it was about to happen. I thought about what I would say, what I would do if he reacted violently. Soon, the ache from a clenched jaw spread to my ears as I pulled into the motel parking lot. I slowed my wheels as I circled around looking for a black Ford Explorer. I didn’t see it anywhere, but I did find Garcia’s red Camry.
Suddenly, it hit home what was happening. It didn’t seem real.
I parked on the opposite side of the building and edged the wall until coming to the door that housed Garcia. It was on ground level. As I felt my shirt sticking to my sweaty chest, I listened to the sound of the highway humming along not far away. I looked for King, hoping he’d arrive soon. It was just me and the fate that waited for me behind this closed door. Nothing was more frightening.
My breath was shallow and I had my shoulders pressed so deep into the cool concrete wall, I thought we might just become one. But I wanted to make sure to stay out of sight. I stood like that for what felt like forever, then I heard the sounds of sirens wailing off in the distance. I crossed my fingers it was King. My heart lunged, and my entire body flinched, when I heard the single pop of a gunshot, now ringing loud in my ears.
It came from Garcia’s room, only feet from where I was standing.
As soon as I knew I was okay, my eyes flew open and I lunged for Garcia’s doorknob. The door opened with ease and it slammed into the back wall with a loud crash. I rushed inside to see what happened.
Blurry contrails filled my vision as I frantically looked to the bed, then the bathroom, before coming to an abrupt stop. Then everything stilled.
Slowly, I padded across the floor, heading in the direction of where I could see legs sticking out from behind the bed.
Garcia’s body was sprawled out across the floor between the wall and the Queen-sized bed, still neatly made. A Glock 17 lay next to him; a single gunshot to his head had his eyes left open and looking like white marbles. It wasn’t worth checking to see if he was still alive. I knew he wasn’t.
“Why, Joey? Why did you do this?” I took my eyes off the blood and called 911 to report it. I didn’t know what I said to dispatch. All I could think about was his family, and how he left Katie and Cecelia behind.
As soon as I was off the phone, I searched the room for clues. I was hoping Joey left a note, telling us why he decided to end his life here, now, after asking me to meet him.
He wanted me to find him. It wasn’t until I stepped up to his opened laptop perched on the small table near the window that I figured it out.
The curser blinked at the end of an opened Word document.
Tipping forward, I read his note where he confessed to extortion while blaming the rich for failing Katie. One sentence stuck out in particular.
They wrote the policies that erased human dignity and turned life into a piece of data that could be categorized into profit and loss.
It made me cry. There was a lot of truth to what he said. But he still didn’t have to end his fight like this.
“It didn’t have to be this way.” I turned my head and spoke directly to Joey.
There were other options he could have taken. But when I got to the part about naming each victim—Richard Thompson, Donny Counts, Parker Collins, and Ronald Hyland—I knew with Joey dead, it was game over.
I heard a police cruiser arrive, their sirens quieting to silence, quickly followed by the sounds of heavy boots hitting the pavement as they ran to the door. When I felt their cool breeze swirling into the room, I turned with tears in my eyes and stared at Alex.
He flicked his gaze to Garcia’s legs sticking out from behind the bed, then back to me. “Sam, are you all right?”
“I heard it.” My lips opened and shut as I struggled to find the words to describe what I witnessed. “When he shot himself,” I pointed with my right hand, “I was just on the other side of that wall.”
King stepped into the room, took me by the hand, and led me outside. Alvarez took over the room and assessed Joey’s body. I was babbling through blubbered tears, telling King about the note Joey left, confessing to his crime.
King took my face between his hands and stroked my wet cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
But I was so far from being okay. This one was going stay with me for a long time. “I was waiting for you to arrive when Joey decided life wasn’t worth living.”
King’s broad shoulders drooped. “It could have been so much worse.”
It wasn’t long before the entire squad arrived. Lieutenant Baker was on scene soon after King. King took me from the small motel room and sat me on the curb in a safe spot so he could brief his superior on what happened.
I sat on the curb, hanging my head between the shoulders, feeling dozens of eyes looking a
t me like I was the victim. Footsteps approached but I didn’t look up until an arm brushed against my body as someone sat. I lifted my head and was surprised to see Travis Turner sitting next to me.
He stared ahead at the chaos swirling around us before asking, “What happened here?”
His eyes sparkled in the sunshine like fire. “Garcia, he—” But before I could say he shot himself, I asked, “What are you doing here?”
Travis inhaled a deep breath, palmed his cellphone, and said, “I received a strange text from Garcia.” He turned his phone around to show me the same poem Damien received. “Told me to meet him here.”
I asked, “Why?”
Travis rested his elbows on his knees when he flicked his gaze between the boots shuffling past us. Then he turned his head and stared at the open door to where the detectives were now working. Lines of confusion deepened with each second that ticked by. Then he softly said, “I don’t know.”
I told Travis about Joey’s suicide note—how he confessed to the crime of extortion. Travis didn’t show any expression, and I attributed it to the same amount of confusion as I was also feeling.
“It doesn’t seem like Joey.”
“It’s absolutely bonkers,” I said.
A perplexed look twisted Travis’s face. He stood and offered me his hand. “I need to show you something.”
My thoughts froze as I stared into his eyes, asking myself, what now?
Travis pulled me to my feet and led me to his car. Opening the driver’s side, he retrieved an envelope, cracked the seal, and showed me what was inside. “Read it,” he said.
I took it between my fingers and read each page. “Is this who hacked the paper?”
“It seems like Joey might have had the same theory as I did.” Travis flashed a knowing look. “I got most of that information from his personal files.”
Joey knew? Why didn’t he say anything? I dropped my gaze back to the report and sorted through the data suggesting a conspiracy that was both far-fetched, and plausible. I said, “But I was just with Damien Black.”
“Excellent.” Travis sprang into action, sliding over the hood of his car, and opened the driver’s door. “Then you’ll know where we can find him.”
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