“What’s up, Connor?”
“I think I would like to take you up on that offer. To stay at your place.”
“Sure. Like I said, mi casa, su casa. I think it’s a good idea, really. Just bring some stuff with you to work tomorrow so you can come straight here afterward.”
“Actually, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon come over tonight. I can’t sleep in this house anymore.”
There was a rustling on the other end of the line. “Hey! Get down!” Austin said, the phone clearly away from his mouth. Then he was back. “Sorry. Damn cat won’t stay off the kitchen counter. Yeah, sure. If that’s what you want, come on over. I just got to put some sheets on the bed. It’ll be ready for you when you get here.”
Connor thanked Austin and hung up. He had refused the offer originally because he had thought it would be awkward—staying with his boss. But now that he had accepted it, it didn’t feel strange at all, and he realized that somewhere along the way they had actually become friends. Perhaps it was inevitable, working side by side like they had fixing up that house.
Connor grabbed a backpack and a carry-on suitcase. In the backpack, he stored his laptop, power cord, cellphone charger, headphones, and an assortment of other electronics he deemed essential. In the carry-on, he packed enough clothes for a week and his toiletries.
After he zipped up both bags, he went through a mental checklist to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything, and decided he should take the Ambien, as well. Although he was hoping for natural sleep, he couldn’t take the risk that he wouldn’t get any at all.
Austin’s apartment was in a gentrified area of the Bronx, with a sushi restaurant on the corner and a twenty-four-hour mini-market that sold organic vegetables across the street.
He had told Connor it might be hard to get parking, so Connor considered himself lucky when he found a spot along the curb on his first pass around the block.
It was a tight fit. But with numerous turns, inching the car back and forth, he squeezed his Ford Fiesta in behind a new Mercedes and in front of a rusted-out Suzuki. Such is the nature of the Bronx, he thought.
Austin buzzed him into the walk-up, and Connor climbed the black-and-white checkered stairs to the fourth floor. Connor had never been in a walk-up before, and he stopped to look down only once. Between the flights of stairs, he could see all the way to the lobby. It was dizzying. He felt like he might fall, like somehow, simply by standing where he was, he might just tip over the edge and tumble to the ground. He grabbed the handrail for stability, closed his eyes.
As far as Connor knew, he wasn’t afraid of heights. He had been in his share of tall buildings over the years—in both New York and California. Until today, it had never bothered him.
But he also remembered reading somewhere once that such a phobia can develop suddenly as a reaction to trauma, that it sometimes stemmed from a fear, conscious or not, of being injured by things beyond one’s control.
He wasn’t sure that was true, or if it was the case here. Maybe he was suffering from low blood sugar. Whatever the cause, he was not looking down that stairwell again.
“Hey, you coming or what?” Austin shouted.
Without answering, Connor opened his eyes, kept his gaze aimed straight ahead, and climbed the last of the stairs.
“Man, you’re slow,” Austin said with a smile, as Connor stepped into his apartment.
The space was warm and inviting, with a lot of soft colors, and everything just so. Throw pillows arranged on the sofa and in colors that complemented the drapes. Built-in bookshelves framing the window opposite the door. Sometimes, when deep in the muck and mess of the remodel, Connor wondered if it was really going to turn out okay. The look of the apartment did a lot to assuage his concerns. Although decorating wasn’t remodeling, Austin seemed to have an eye. But instead of saying all that, Connor summed it up with simply a “Nice place.”
Austin glanced over his shoulder at the apartment. “It’s home.” He closed the door, pointed to a hall that led off the living room. “Your room’s over there.”
Connor hauled his luggage down the hall. Austin’s cat scurried out of the bathroom and, at the sight of a stranger, took shelter under the sofa.
“Name’s Biscuit. True definition of a scaredy-cat. She’ll warm up to you.”
The bedroom was small and, because of that, the bed had been pushed against the wall. But the space had received as much attention to detail as the rest of the apartment had. The bed was dressed in white linens with military corners. A furry white throw rug had been placed in front of it. There was a small desk and a bedside table, both mahogany, and a floor lamp that seemed to cast just the right amount of light for the room.
Connor put his carry-on in one corner and his backpack by the desk.
“Can I get you anything?” Austin said from behind him.
Connor turned around. “No, thanks. I just want to get some sleep.”
And he meant it. Because, he’d realized, he could sleep here. The constant anxiety he had felt since his parents were taken, the fear that they might never come back—none of these were gone. They would be with him until his parents returned. But being out of his house, away from the constant reminders of that horrible night, and no less being here, in a room that practically told you to sleep—it was exactly what he needed.
CHAPTER 19
Connor didn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t remember dreaming, and didn’t wake up until Austin knocked on the bedroom door.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead. Coffee’s in the kitchen. We got to get moving. Today’s going to be a short day. I’ve got stuff to do up at the cabin in the afternoon.”
Connor had been planning to bow out early, claiming he had a doctor’s appointment. But he was glad he wouldn’t have to, and not just because he thought the excuse sounded flimsy. He didn’t like to lie. He especially didn’t want to lie to Austin. The man was as much of a friend as he had in New York anymore, and you didn’t lie to friends.
Which was why, he decided, he should tell Austin about Uncovered.
He waited until after Austin had used the electric saw to cut the smooth lines in the drywall that would frame the opening between the living room and the kitchen. Then, once they had taken measurements and cut a series of two-by-fours for the extension jamb, Connor made his move.
“Listen,” he said as he held two of the boards together, end to end and at a ninety-degree angle, “I need to tell you something.”
Austin took the nail gun, positioned it over the joint, and fired. “What is it?”
“That show I told you about. Uncovered. Remember how I said they came to me, asked if I would be interested in being a part of it?”
“Sure. You said it would be a bad idea.”
“So, I changed my mind.”
Austin fired a second nail into the joint, and the two men moved as one to line up the next board at the other end.
“You’re going to do it?”
“That’s the thing. They filmed yesterday.”
“Okay.”
“You’re not upset?”
“Why would I be? It was your choice. I don’t think anything will come of it except a bunch of nut-jobs phoning in garbage leads. But you have to do what you think is best. Maybe I would have done the same thing in your position.” He aimed the nail gun over the second joint and fired. This time, though, nothing happened. “Shit.” He tried again. It still didn’t fire.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Hell if I know. I’ve got a hammer in the truck. Go grab it, would you?”
Connor patted his hands together to shake off the dust and went outside. He felt a little foolish for thinking Austin would care whether he did the show, but he was still glad he’d told him.
He searched the toolbox in the bed of the truck. No hammer. He checked the cab, and it wasn’t there either. Maybe Austin had left it at the apartment.
Connor looked over at the shed and thought it
wasn’t unreasonable he would find one in there. The double doors on the shed, however, were secured with a padlock. So much for that.
“No hammer,” he told Austin, when he went back inside.
“You sure?”
Connor nodded.
“All right.” Austin looked around the dusty room. “Let’s get all this swept up, and we’ll call it a day. Start back early tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 20
Deerfield Park was on a small plot of land about a mile from Connor’s house. It had a jungle gym and swings, benches for parents to sit on while they watched their children play. Other than a narrow stretch of grass big enough to picnic on, that was it. Across the street were a series of tennis courts. But they went by the name Deerfield Courts, so Connor discounted them as a likely place for the meet.
He texted Olin when he arrived and Olin, who had been sitting with his back to Connor on one of the benches, stood up and waved. He was wearing a blue button-down, tucked into a pair of khakis.
Connor went over to join him.
“Where do you think we should be looking?” Olin asked.
Connor gave a half-shrug. “He’ll probably come sit down on one of these benches, that would be my guess.”
“Okay.”
“Just watch for anything.”
“Got it.”
Then Connor and Olin sat in silence for a while. They had already discussed the plan, so there was no need to go over it again. Connor watched half a dozen children play around the jungle gym. Four of them seemed to be engaged in a game of tag. He glanced at the parents. All but two were women.
One of those men could be Roland, he thought. There was no way to tell by looking at them. He would just have to watch, wait, see what happened.
At some point, Olin asked how Connor had slept, then how he was holding up and whether he really thought confronting Roland would amount to anything. Connor didn’t have much in the way of answers. But he also suspected Olin wasn’t looking for any.
Eventually, both of the men left with children, which cleared the deck, Connor thought. Odds were good now any man who showed up without a child was their guy.
“Which one’s yours?”
The voice came from Connor’s left. He turned, saw a woman not much older than he was in a floral-print dress. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was striking.
Connor wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t do well talking to women, especially not those he found attractive, and especially not now, when any answer he gave would have to be a lie. He licked his lips. “Umm . . .”
“We’re just taking in some fresh air,” Olin said, getting to his feet and smiling in a way that seemed both charming and practiced.
The woman’s own smile faltered. She did her best to recover, wished them both a good day, and went to sit on another bench.
“Good job,” Olin said. “Now she’s going to think we’re some kind of pervs or something.”
Connor would have told Olin he didn’t care what that woman thought of him if he had been listening, but he wasn’t, because on the other side of the park, at the edge of that strip of grass that masqueraded as a lawn, was a man. He hadn’t been there before. He was tall, heavyset. He had a goatee and was wearing a red bowling shirt. Under one arm, he was carrying a newspaper, but he didn’t seem interested in finding a place to read it. Instead, he looked around—left, right, over his shoulder twice.
Connor tapped Olin’s arm and nodded toward the man. “That’s him.”
“You sure?”
No. Not completely. He made for a likely candidate, though. “You know what to do. I’m going in,” Connor said, already on the move.
He took his time crossing the park, meandering around the jungle gym and the swings. He didn’t want to spook the man, and Olin needed time to get into position.
Roland—this has to be him—glanced at Connor more than once, but not in a way that was meaningful. He was looking at everyone. He pulled his phone out of a holster on his belt and typed something into it.
A second later, Connor felt a vibration in his pocket. It was his father’s phone. Roland had sent a message: I’m here. How far away are you?
Connor put the phone back in his pocket. Got you.
He continued his slow approach until he saw Olin in the distance, blocking Roland’s path if he tried to run, or worse—tried to drag Connor away with him. Roland was too big to be the man who had abducted Connor’s parents, but he could still be dangerous if he was involved. Frankly, since Connor didn’t know the nature of Roland’s meeting with his father, he might be dangerous even if he wasn’t.
“Excuse me,” Connor said, once he was only feet away. “You’re Roland, right?”
Roland’s nervous gaze focused in on Connor. “What is this? Who are you?”
“You’re looking for Frank Callahan. I’m his son.”
“Oh, this is bullshit.” Roland turned, started to walk away. “I don’t know what Frank thinks he’s doing sending you here. That’s insane. If he has something to say to me, tell him he’d better do it himself.”
Okay, so he definitely wasn’t involved in the abduction. Knowing that made Connor braver. He grabbed Roland’s arm. “Wait. Listen—”
Roland shook him off, dropping the newspaper as he did so. “Don’t touch me! Your dad and I had a deal. If he’s thinking about doing anything to undercut that, he’s going to regret it. You tell him that, too.”
Connor saw Olin closing in on them. Not quite running, but moving fast, for sure.
“What are you talking about?”
Roland stopped, looked at Connor. “You don’t know? He sent you here to talk to me, and you don’t even know what you came to talk to me about?” He blinked, looked like he was trying to process information his mind couldn’t accept. It was probably how he would look if Connor had just presented him with evidence that aliens existed. “What did he want you to tell me?”
“He didn’t send me to tell you anything. That’s why I’m here. He’s—”
Roland turned, ready to start moving again. This time, instead of Connor stopping him, Olin did.
Olin held out his hands. “Hey, big man. We just want to talk to you, okay? Tell us what you know about Connor’s dad, and we’ll leave you alone.”
Roland could have looked from one boy to the other by simply shifting his eyes, but he turned his whole head instead. Back and forth, like he was watching a tennis match. “Oh, you two are batshit crazy.” He tried to push past Olin, and Olin grabbed him, wrapping him in a bear hug.
“Let go of me!”
Then another voice joined the conversation. “Hey! You two!” It was a cop, coming up from behind Roland.
“You can tell us or you can tell the cop,” Connor said. “Your choice.”
Roland was still struggling to get free. But Olin was lean, wiry, strong, and he wasn’t letting go.
Roland’s face turned a bright red. He huffed and puffed so much Connor wondered if he might pass out.
“Just tell us,” Connor said.
“Let go of him!” the cop shouted.
“I’m not letting go until you tell us what we want to know,” Olin said. “We can all go to jail for all I care.”
Roland expelled a breath in Connor’s direction that smelled like tuna and garlic. He stopped struggling, then calmly said, “Fine with me. We’ll see how your father likes it when Lee—”
“Hey!” It was the cop again, only now he was almost on top of them.
“Forget it. Let’s go,” Connor said, already starting to move. Olin followed his lead, and Roland took off in the other direction. The whole thing lasted less than a minute but seemed to Connor like much longer.
“Stay where you are. I need to talk to you two!”
CHAPTER 21
When the hacker had bought this house, there was no cell coverage, no hope of internet access. Which, in those days, was okay with him. Years had passed, though, since he had been to the property. A lot of b
ad things had happened.
One good thing that had happened—at least, right now, he considered it good—was the proliferation of cellular service and the wi-fi speeds that had come along with it. There were very few places anymore where you couldn’t get a signal.
He set up his laptop on a rustic dining room table and connected to his cellphone. Then, before he got down to business, he made a pot of coffee. He always drank coffee when he worked, usually one cup after another until he was so wired up his fingers would shake and he felt like he couldn’t hold onto his thoughts.
Out here, he also made the coffee for the smell.
The place had been unoccupied for so long, it had an odor to it that wouldn’t go away. He had tried opening all the windows, burning candles, lighting a fire. Still, that stale, musty stench remained. The house probably just needed a good cleaning. When all this was over, he would hire someone to come in and do that.
The hacker downed cup number one in a single long drink. It burned a little, which he didn’t mind. Then he poured a second cup and got to work.
It will all be over tomorrow, he thought. And while his life would never be what it once was, after the job was done, it could return to something close. Or so he told himself.
But breaking into this particular computer system was not as easy as he’d thought it would be. The back door he had been counting on had been sealed up. He would not be beaten that easily, though. His freedom, maybe even his life, depended on his success.
He tried another method, and then another. Hours passed. He finished his first pot of coffee and brewed a second. Finally, when he had reached the point where the caffeine was keeping him from thinking straight, he got in.
The hacker familiarized himself with the systems but changed nothing. Most things worked the way he thought they did. When he was finished, he left a back door of his own behind so that when he returned tomorrow, he could hop right in.
A Reagan Keeter Box Set: Three page-turning thrillers that will leave you wondering who you can trust Page 8
