Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

“It’s the same.”

“What?”

“It’s the same as what happened at Todd’s place.”

Miles told Dorian about the spotless condition of Todd’s trailer when he and Chloe arrived. Then he filled her in about someone hiding under the bed, and the woman in the van who’d hit the brakes, creating a diversion.

“This is nuts,” Dorian said.

Miles placed his palms firmly on the counter, as though getting his bearings. “These aren’t coincidences.” He fixed Dorian with a hard glare. “Who else could know?”

“Know what?”

“The names. You know. Heather knows. The doctor and his assistant know. Who else?”

Dorian shrugged.

“You haven’t told anyone?” Miles asked.

“Of course not.”

“Is there any way anyone could have gotten the names from you? Hacked your computer? Listened in on your calls?”

“No. You know we do security sweeps all the time. Jesus, Miles, you think I’m some sort of mole or something?”

“No, of course not,” he said. “I’m sorry. But somehow... somehow it’s gotten out.” He took a moment to think. “Get the test done on Chloe. Then organize a plane. I need to connect with those that are left. That’s Nina Allman, Colin Neaseman, Barbara Redmond, and Travis Roben. Four stops, four days. Like I’m Drake on tour.”

“Yeah, like you’re Drake,” she snickered.

“Can you do that?”

“Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”

Miles put his elbows on the counter and rested his face in his hands.

“It’s going to be okay,” Dorian said. “We’ll get this sorted out.”

They heard the padding of feet on the floor and turned to see Chloe walking into the kitchen wearing a white robe she would have found in her bathroom. She looked sleepy-eyed and her hair was a tangled mess.

“Do I smell coffee?” she asked.

Fort Wayne, IN

Kendra Collins and Rhys Mills were still waiting for the right opportunity to deal with Travis Roben.

When Travis wasn’t with the girl, he was at home with his parents, or on the road in his van, or at the comic shop. There hadn’t been a moment when they could get to him without being seen by others. They were facing the prospect of taking out more than one person in order to get the target.

After observing Travis’s interactions with the girl in the bowling alley, Rhys believed some sort of sexual rendezvous was in the offing, but it hadn’t happened yet. They’d spent more of that day together, but hadn’t checked into a motel or gone back to her place, wherever that was, and Travis had gone back that evening to the house where he lived with his mother and father.

Once it was dark, they attached a tracker to his van — a shitty old Chrysler job that was rusting around the wheel wells — so they wouldn’t have to sit on his house all night long. They checked in to a local motel, renting rooms side by side, confident that if Travis decided to head out on a midnight drive, they’d know about it. Kendra had an alert set up on her phone.

So when there was a knock on Rhys’s door at one in the morning, he jumped out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and opened it to find Kendra standing there. He believed Travis had to be on the move, that an opportunity had presented itself.

Such was not the case.

Kendra placed her cold palm on him, entangling her fingers in the hairs on his chest, and pushed him back into the room until he was standing at the side of the bed, at which point she gave him a gentle shove. His butt dropped onto the mattress, placing him eye level with her breasts. Kendra placed her hands on his head and pulled him toward her.

“We’re going to be unprofessional,” she said. “I’ve been on the road too long.”

Rhys was willing to oblige. When they were finished, and Kendra had come three times, Rhys was expecting she’d spend the rest of the night with him. But she’d hopped off the bed, pulled on just enough clothes to get back to her room, and went for the door.

“See you in the morning,” she said, and left.

Several hours later, at a nearby diner, Rhys looked across the table at his partner and said, “About last—”

She performed a mini karate chop over her mug of coffee. “Stop right there.”

“All I was going to say is—”

“You’re going to say fuck all, that’s what you’re going to say.” She leaned forward and whispered, “You ever find yourself just going along, and out of the blue, you think, ‘I’d kill for a hot dog.’ You know they’re not good for you, but suddenly you’re craving one, and you’ve got to have one, so you go to some hot dog stand and you get one, and you eat it, and it’s good, and you kind of hate yourself, but it’s over.”

“I’m a hot dog,” Rhys said.

“There you go.” She took a sip of her coffee.

Rhys said, “Nothing on the phone?”

Her cell rested on the table next to her plate of corned beef hash. “Nothing.”

“Can’t see going into the house. Parents there. Too many variables.”

Kendra slowly shook her head in frustration. “This one’s taking too long. I’m getting sick of this.”

“You won’t feel that way when you get paid.”

“Something I’ve learned over the years is, doesn’t matter how much you’re getting, it won’t make you enjoy the work any more. It might make you tolerate it, but it doesn’t make you like it.”

“Agreed. But—”

Her phone dinged.

“Hang on,” Kendra said, picking up the phone. “Our boy’s going for a drive.”

Rhys threw a twenty on the table. Kendra was already headed for the door.

Sandy had told Travis to pick her up in front of the Dunkin Donuts. And she was right where she said she’d be, looking pretty hot in a pair of jeans, some Ugg boots (how someone could wear these when it was not winter was a mystery to Travis, but what the hell), and a pullover top that fit her very snugly. He had made one stop along the way, at a CVS, which should have been a quick stop, but it took him a while to work up the nerve to go to the counter with his purchase.

He swerved the van over to the curb, holding his foot on the brake instead of putting it into Park, and Sandy opened the door. She was carrying a bag and a cardboard tray with two drinks tucked into it. One, in a paper cup, looked like a coffee, but the other, in a clear plastic container, looked more like a milkshake, topped with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle.

“I thought you might like one of these,” she said, dropping into the passenger seat. “And I got donuts.”

Travis was still mentally pinching himself. A girl who wanted to have sex with him, and she brought donuts? Had he died? Was this heaven? And if it was, couldn’t he have been provided with a ride that was cooler than a rusted minivan?

“Awesome,” he said.

“Needless to say,” she said, holding up the drink topped with whipped cream, “this is yours. I just got a regular coffee.”

She transferred the drinks to the van’s cup holders, then tossed the tray back to the middle row of seats where it found a home next to other discarded fast-food detritus, a baseball bat, some comic books in clear plastic sleeves, a pair of boots, and a snow brush that had been there since last winter. She pried back the opening on her coffee cup lid and took a sip.

“Yikes, it’s hot,” she said.

“Like you,” he said, instantly wishing he could recall the two words. Talk about lame-o .

Sandy opened the top of the bag. “I got half a dozen. Chocolate dip, cream-filled, a—”

“Surprise me.”

She dug out a chocolate and handed it over, but he was checking his side mirror as he pulled out into traffic. Once he was moving, he took the donut and bit into it.