A Reagan Keeter Box Set: Three page-turning thrillers that will leave you wondering who you can trust

by Reagan Keeter

  Once they were both inside, they stood as still as they could, listening. Trying to figure out where Austin was. But the house was quiet. If Austin was moving at all, he was being careful not to be heard.

  Connor wondered what was so important that Austin would have broken into the house to get it. Was there additional evidence stashed somewhere in here? Something even more incriminating than what he had already found? It seemed possible.

  The window had dumped them into the living room. Connor tapped Olin’s shoulder to get his attention, then made a “follow me” gesture and quietly crept deeper into the house. If there was anything to be found here, he suspected, it would be upstairs. He and Austin hadn’t gotten to remodeling the second floor yet. Actually, except for the time Austin had walked him through his plans for every room, Connor hadn’t even seen it.

  But he had barely put his foot on the first step when there was a scream from outside.

  Dylan.

  Connor’s instinct had been right. Austin wasn’t in the house. The broken window was a red herring, and Connor was pissed he had fallen for it.

  Immediately, he and Olin broke into a run, this time heading straight for the front door. Connor pulled it open and they stepped outside, then turned as they heard an engine start. Connor looked toward the shed. Dylan was nowhere to be seen.

  The van’s headlights came on, and the van lurched forward a foot. Connor wasn’t sure what that was about, but he was crystal clear on the big picture. Austin was behind the wheel of the van. He planned on getting rid of the evidence. And as an insurance policy, perhaps, he had taken Dylan with him.

  CHAPTER 53

  The van sped away, veering off the driveway into the front yard to get around the dumpster and kicking up dirt as it went.

  “The truck,” Connor said, and Olin seemed to know what he meant. They raced for the GMC they had come here in. Connor knew there was no way they could keep up with Austin—by the time they even got to the truck and got it started, the van would be out of sight, probably impossible to find—but they had to try.

  Then a voice behind them: “Guys!”

  Connor whirled around to look. It was Dylan. She was standing just beyond the shed doors, waving her arms over her head.

  Oh, thank God.

  Connor and Olin stopped running. Since Dylan was safe and the odds were they wouldn’t catch Austin anyway, the best thing they could do was regroup. Maybe working together, they could figure out where he was going. After all, they had already gotten further working as a team than Connor ever would have on his own.

  “I heard you scream,” Connor said as he and Olin hurried toward her. “What happened?”

  “Austin came around the corner over there.” Dylan pointed toward the side of the house as she likewise trotted over to meet them. “He looked like he was going to come right up to me. It scared the crap out of me. But he got in the van instead, and I guess you know what happened next.”

  “Do you think he didn’t see you?” Olin said.

  “Oh, he saw me.”

  It sounded to Connor like what had happened to him when Austin had returned for his phone at Connor’s house.

  Dylan looked at the Mustang. “Did you know he had another car?”

  Connor shook his head.

  Olin put his hands on his hips, took a series of deep breaths. “What do we do now?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s going to go dump the van somewhere it’ll be hard to find. Maybe even sink it. He’s going to get rid of the evidence.”

  “Can you put a tracker on his phone like you did Dylan’s?” Olin said.

  “No. Certainly not without a computer, and even then, it might not be possible.”

  “We need to get him to tell us where our parents are,” Olin said.

  A thoughtful expression crossed Dylan’s face, and she cocked her head just an inch. “You know, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if he’s getting rid of evidence and your parents are still alive, they might not be for long.”

  It seemed like a fair assumption. Connor would kill his parents, too, if he was in Austin’s place, then find somewhere he could get rid of the bodies. “Maybe we don’t need to get him to tell us where our parents are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Austin has four keys on his keyring, not counting the one for the truck. Two we know go to the apartment, and the other two I assumed must go to this house. But he told me once he has a cabin somewhere. I bet only one of those keys goes to this house, and the other one is for the cabin. That’s probably where he’s keeping them.”

  “Do you know where it is?” Olin said.

  “I’m not sure if he ever said.” Connor turned to Dylan. “But you can find out, can’t you?” She had found his original birth certificate, after all. And since all property sales in New York were a matter of public record, he was certain she could find this, too.

  Dylan smiled. “Can I see your phone?”

  Connor handed it over. Then he and Olin waited while Dylan tapped the screen, scrolled, and tapped some more. Connor paced back and forth impatiently. With nothing to do but think, he asked himself the same questions he had already asked himself a thousand times. Now, though, they came fully formed with a clarity he hadn’t had before.

  He no longer wondered: What did the kidnapper want? Why had the kidnapper taken his parents?

  Now he wondered: What did Austin want? Why had Austin taken his parents?

  They also came with a new question: Why had Austin befriended him before the abduction?

  He knew he would not be able to think his way to the answers, but he couldn’t help trying.

  “Full name?” Dylan said, her fingers poised over the screen.

  “Austin Jones.”

  She hesitated. “Jones? Like Matthew Jones?”

  Connor blinked in surprise. He hadn’t put that together until now. “Jones is a pretty common last name,” he said. But he knew there had to be more to it than mere coincidence. In truth, because the name was so common, this was a connection he hadn’t made until Dylan made it for him. Now that she had, he could see clearly it was part of the puzzle—and went a small way toward answering the question of why Austin had taken his parents. But since it went only a small way toward answering that question (and seemed to raise more than it helped answer), he wanted to stay focused on the task at hand. Whatever Austin’s relationship to Matthew was, it wasn’t going to help them find the cabin.

  Dylan tapped and scrolled some more. “Well, that’s interesting.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got the address. But I don’t think you’re going to like how I found it.”

  Connor was about to ask her what she meant when his phone rang. For no particular reason, he had a feeling it might be Austin and grabbed it out of Dylan’s hand to check. “It’s Olivia,” he said, which made more sense, but not by much. It was the middle of the night.

  She must have something important to tell him.

  “Listen to me,” she said when he answered. “Your father isn’t who you think it is. Your real father went with your mother and four other people to Prague on that trip you told me about. This is going to be hard to hear, but you need to know.” She took a breath. “He never came back. He was having an affair with Frank Callahan’s wife. She tried to call it off while they were overseas, and he killed her. He has spent the last fifteen years in a Czech jail. But . . .”

  Connor had a bad feeling about this. “But what?”

  “He was supposed to be there for much longer. But something happened. It’s not clear what. Oldrich Kozar, the detective I spoke with over there, is looking into it. Either way, Matthew got out. No one knows exactly what happened to him after that, but I think he came back here. I think he’s the man who kidnapped your parents. I don’t know what he wants with them or what this has to do with Olin’s parents, other than that they were all on the trip together. He’s been locked up a long time. Maybe he’s got it in his head tha
t they are all responsible for what happened to him and wants revenge. Either way, you need to be careful out there. He might come back for you, so stay away from people you don’t know. I doubt he would use his real name, but in case he does, it’s Matthew Austin Jones, got it?”

  Connor flashed back to the marriage certificate he had found. Matthew A. Jones. It seemed so obvious now, but he could still hardly believe what she was telling him. “He’s here.”

  “What do you mean?” Olivia sounded alarmed. “Do you mean you’re with him right now?”

  “No, I mean he’s here, in the country. I’ve met him. I . . .” He decided his working relationship with Austin was beside the point. It would only prolong the conversation, and what mattered right now were two things: Austin was his father, and Austin had his parents—or the parents who had raised him, anyway. “We think we know where he’s taken my parents. We’re going there now.”

  “What? Where? Who’s we?”

  “I don’t have time to explain.”

  “Connor, don’t do that. Let us handle it. I don’t want you—”

  He hung up. There was nothing Olivia could say that would stop him from going to the cabin.

  “What was that about?” Olin said.

  Connor wasn’t sure how Olin would react if he said Austin was his father, so he decided to keep it to himself. Besides, no matter what their genetic relationship might be, Austin wasn’t the man who’d raised him. “Nothing we didn’t already know. Let’s go.”

  He passed the phone back to Dylan as he led her and Olin to Austin’s truck. “Put the address in the GPS.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Oldrich had left the prison angry and confused. When the guard had told him the prisoner had been released, he had demanded to see Matthew’s cell, to verify for himself that the guard wasn’t making a mistake. Then Oldrich had demanded to see the paperwork authorizing said release.

  It was all in order. Requested by the chief of police, Anton Mira, and approved by the warden.

  And that may have been the only unusual part about it. Although Anton had the right to request prisoners be released early (and what warden would refuse a request from the chief?), he had never known Anton to use it. Even when a prisoner came forward with information that might help an ongoing investigation, the best he could have hoped for would have been a reduced sentence.

  So why this time?

  Oldrich had a sickening feeling he knew the answer, and decided to do something he had never done to find out for sure. Before Anton had gotten married, he and Oldrich had been friends, regularly hitting the bars on Friday nights and taking in the occasional game of billiards. Because of that, he knew the man banked with Ceska Sporitelna. He had seen Anton’s debit card often enough. Anton had liked to pay for the drinks. Oldrich had thought it was a subtle way of showing off how much money he made. But he also hadn’t cared. If Anton got off on buying their drinks, that was fine with him.

  Oldrich stopped by HQ long enough to call Olivia, then walked to the nearest Ceska Sporitelna branch. It was only two blocks over. More trouble to take the car. Besides, the weather was pleasant this morning, and he figured a few extra steps wouldn’t be bad for his waistline.

  He stopped at the ATM outside, then went in and waited to speak with a personal banker. He showed her his badge, placed a stack of bills on her desk without saying a word about it, and asked if she could pull the records for one Anton Mira.

  Oldrich had never taken a bribe himself, but he had been on the receiving end of enough offers when he had worked traffic to know how it was done. Speeding ticket? Oh, Geez. I’m really sorry, Officer. It won’t happen again. What? You want to see my license? Sure. By the way, pay no attention to the money I’ll attempt to hand you at the same time. As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t even exist. Wink, wink.

  As he hoped, the banker didn’t acknowledge the money. She didn’t even look at it. She did, however, say she would see what she could do for him. And he, in turn, asked if he could use the restroom while she got the documentation together.

  When he returned, the money was gone. In its place: bank records for Anton Mira going back eighteen months.

  Anton thanked her for being so helpful, picked up the stack of papers, and left.

  He wanted to review them somewhere private. Last thing he needed was for someone in the department to figure out what he was up to.

  Oldrich found a dive bar far enough from his home and HQ that it was unlikely he would run into anyone he knew. The place smelled of cigarette smoke, and everyone looked like they were well past “one too many.”

  He ordered a beer from the bartender and took a table as far from everyone else as he could get. He perused the documents line by line to make sure he didn’t miss anything, starting with the most recent month and working his way backward. Most of what he found was exactly what he expected to: deposited paychecks (no wonder Anton always got the drinks), utility payments, trips to the grocery store. But it didn’t take long before Oldrich found what he was looking for. Right at the top of the fifth page, there was a deposit that had come in via wire in the amount of 2,335,499.00 koruna and dated two days before Matthew had been released. The sender was Aden Tindol.

  Oldrich was devastated. He had hoped there would be another explanation.

  He folded the papers, slid them into his coat pocket, and finished his beer.

  The right thing to do would be turn Anton in. This wasn’t even close to accepting a bribe for a traffic ticket (or to offering one in exchange for bank records), but he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to do it. At least not without talking to Anton first.

  There had to be an explanation. He had to be missing something.

  CHAPTER 55

  Austin’s cabin was in a remote part of the woods. His nearest neighbor was a mile away, and more often than not he had the small lake on the edge of his property to himself.

  The road that got him there transitioned from two lanes to one to gravel to dirt. And by the time he was within sight of the house, it was so tight there was no turning around. At night, with that last stretch of road visible only thanks to his headlights, it looked like something out of a horror movie.

  He pulled up to the cabin, left his headlights on while he made his way up the wooden steps to the porch. The kids still had his keys. But there was always another way in. And here he could do it without breaking a window.

  At the far end of the porch there was a statue, about eighteen inches in height. A stone frog standing on two legs, wearing a tuxedo jacket. It was just the sort of kitsch Kim loved, although she had never seen it. Not until recently.

  Austin had bought the cabin a month before their trip to the Czech Republic. And, yes, he had done it without telling his wife. But it was cheap, and he had been able to pay for it outright with an inheritance he had gotten when his mother passed away years earlier.

  At the time, he hadn’t planned on keeping the cabin a secret forever. He had intended to bring Kim and their four-year-old son Connor up here for a surprise trip to celebrate their anniversary in September.

  Ever since Austin had known her, Kim had talked about having a place like this. Somewhere they could go to get away from the noise of the city. (In those days, the three of them had lived in a walk-up much like the one Austin lived in now.) He was sure she would love it and, from the stone frog to the afghan throw on the sofa, had decorated it with her in mind.

  He picked up the frog with two hands and moved it to the side. Underneath was a spare key to the front door. Not exactly high-tech security, but it was at least as secure as the fake rock Kim hid a key in at her house, and this far out, it hardly mattered.

  Austin turned on all the lights. He stopped in his bedroom to remove a pair of keys and a gun from a small safe, then headed for the cellar. The door creaked. So did the stairs. He could hear muted voices whimpering. He flipped the light switch.

  There were two wire cages in the middle of the room, not quite big enough
to sit upright in. Kim and Frank were each locked in one of them. They were wearing gray sweats Austin had made them put on when he had taken their clothes. The sweats were too big on Kim, too small on Frank. Their hands were bound.

  Each cage had a water bowl on one end (although his guests couldn’t drink from them with their mouths gagged) and a pot on the other for use as a toilet. The room stank.

  They looked weak and tired—no surprise, since they hadn’t eaten in days—and they were squinting from the sudden light of the bare sixty-watt bulb in the ceiling. Also no surprise, since they had been kept in darkness just as long.

  Kim’s pleas for release came out incomprehensible and muted.

  Frank, who was sitting cross-legged and hunched over, his head pressed against the top of the cage, said nothing. He seemed to understand Austin did not intend to let him go.

  “Today’s your lucky day,” Austin said.

  Finally, Frank made eye contact. A look that said he would kill Austin if he could.

  There was a small wooden table along the wall next to Austin. It had been here when he had bought the place and was the only piece of furniture in the cellar. Rotting and discolored, it looked just as old as it was.

  He used the keys he had taken from the safe to unlock the cages, then tossed both the keys and locks onto the table. He stepped back and pulled the gun from the waistband of his pants.

  “Come out slowly,” he instructed.

  They did. But, bound as they were, there really wasn’t any other way for them to come out.

  Kim continued to try to speak through the gag. It annoyed Austin. He couldn’t understand her, and he wasn’t taking it off. “Shut up.”

  She didn’t.

  Austin slammed one hand down on the table while, with the other, he kept the gun trained on the couple. “I said shut up!”

  This time, she got the message.