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

by Reagan Keeter

  Rick kept his distance. Alice went to the concession stand closest to her gate and Rick meandered up behind her, pretending not to notice her. He cleared his throat a few times, hoping she would say something first. When she didn’t turn around to look, he said, “Excuse me, Miss?”

  When she did turn around, her expression suggested she didn’t recognize him.

  “Didn’t I run into you at the mall earlier today?” He waited. There it is, he thought when her face changed.

  “You were the guy at Urban Outfitters.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  Alice nodded, seemingly pleased with herself for remembering who Rick was. “All right, well, nice to see you.”

  She was about to turn away. Rick could tell Alice wasn’t interested in having a conversation with him. That wouldn’t do. He had a question to ask, but because he felt like he first needed a segue, he said, “Good band, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she said, pausing briefly.

  “My friend, Joe, couldn’t make it, so I’ve got an extra backstage pass. You interested?”

  The line in front of Alice moved forward. Her gaze cut to her gate and back.

  “May I take your order?” shouted a man in a white bowling shirt with Bowards Arena emblazoned on the breast pocket.

  Rick glanced over Alice’s shoulder and saw the arena employee was talking to her. “Once in a lifetime opportunity,” he said with a smile.

  “I’m sorry. My friends are up there. I can’t.”

  Rick didn’t think this was about her friends. If he was younger, perhaps better looking, she’d have gone with him. It would have made everything so much easier.

  Alice stepped back, spun on her heel, and approached the concession stand. She ordered sodas and popcorn. Four Cokes—one diet. The arena employee handed them to her in a disposable cup carrier.

  Rick ordered a bottle of water, dropped a five on the counter. With Alice moving back toward her gate, he didn’t wait for change. He came up behind her and grabbed her arm. “Your mother is Catherine Parker,” he whispered. “She lives at 2421 West Brook Lane. You have a brother named Thomas; you call him Tommy. You’re a student at Aubury High.”

  Alice’s expression remained unchanged but her complexion faded and, unlike when he’d first grabbed her arm, she became still.

  “They’re both okay for now, but that could change.”

  She jerked her elbow once. Rick’s grip tightened.

  “What do you—”

  “Lower your voice.”

  Alice took several ragged breaths. Her eyes darted left and right even though her head didn’t move. The corridor was largely empty. Most attendees were inside, enjoying the show. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “Right now, I want you to walk,” Rick said. He jerked her arm forward to put her feet in motion, shoved the water into his coat pocket, and wrapped his other arm around her waist so they might look like a couple to anyone passing by.

  He led her through a steel door with a glowing “Exit” sign above it. “Drop the drinks,” he said as they entered the stairwell, and she did. He likewise got rid of his water. They went down a flight, where another exit sign hung above another steel door and Rick led Alice through that one too.

  It dumped them out in front of the arena parking lot. Rick looked around to get his bearings, then pointed. “This way.”

  As they crossed the parking lot, Alice started to whimper.

  “It’s going to be fine,” Rick told her. “Do what I ask you to do and this will all be over soon.”

  He opened the passenger door of his rented Ford. “Get in.”

  Alice looked at the car seat, then at Rick. She shook her head, let out a weak and whiny “No.”

  Rick shoved her a step closer—“Get in”—and wrestled her into the seat. Looking down at Alice, he said, panting, “Why are you making this hard? This isn’t about you. This isn’t about your mom or your brother. But I’ll make it about all of you if you keep this up. One phone call and they’ll be dead before you get home, you hear me?” He didn’t actually have anybody he could call who would kill Catherine or Tommy, nor did he think he could give that order even if he had someone to follow it. It was all just part of the show, like the earbuds he’d worn when posing as a UPS employee. Rick was merely playing his part.

  He pulled out of the lot and drove west across the city. Alice had a death grip on the door handle. She never took her eyes off Rick. Finally, she asked, “Why?”

  The word came out so soft, Rick hardly heard it. “What?”

  “Why?” Alice asked, louder. “Why are you doing this?”

  Rick ground his teeth together. He could tell her. Perhaps he should tell her. She deserved to know. But he decided it would be better coming from somebody else. “Ask your father.”

  Liam Parker

  Liam was in over his head. His questions had led only to more questions. David had turned against him. How long could he keep running around the city with a fake ID chasing down leads before he got caught? Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to let Ryan Reyes look for the killer. Maybe he should take that flight to Belarus. He fished around the inside pocket of his army jacket and found the crumpled ticket. He still had several hours until the plane left, more than enough time to get to the airport.

  Liam wasn’t sure how to square the plane ticket Rick had given him with the notepad he’d found in Rick’s apartment or the pictures of himself online with Rick’s name. But a ticket was a ticket—what did it matter right now? Ryan would be far better suited to investigate those things than he would. As long as Liam got out of the country, the rest would eventually be okay. He could set up bank accounts in countries around the world, funnel money through them until it was untraceable. He could live comfortably in Belarus while he waited for Ryan to unravel these mysteries.

  He should have done this from the beginning. It was stupid to think he could solve a case the police couldn’t. It was stupid to let Anita help him. He’d put them both in enough danger.

  The alley dumped Liam onto a busy road. There were no cops there waiting for him. He headed north, moving away from The Crown at a healthy clip. He flagged taxis until one stopped and told the driver, “Take me to the airport.”

  The farther he got from downtown, the safer he felt. This was definitely the right decision.

  Richard Hawthorne

  Rick parked a block from Liam’s building. For the first time since Alice had gotten in the car, she took her red and watery eyes off him. “What are we doing here?”

  “You’re going to get me into Liam’s condo.”

  Alice shook her head. “No, I—”

  Rick gently took hold of her hands. They were shaking. Although he expected her to pull away, she didn’t. “Hey, I know this is scary,” he said, in as soothing a tone as he could manage. “I just need you to walk me past the concierge and unlock the door to Liam’s apartment. That’s it. You do that, and you’re done. You’re safe. Catherine is safe. Everyone lives happily ever after, got it?”

  “You’ll let me go?”

  “Once I’m done, you’ll never see me again, okay?”

  “My dad isn’t home. If you’re looking for him—”

  “I’m not.”

  Rick could see the front of the towering glass building where Liam lived, and when Alice turned toward the windshield, he knew that was what she was looking at too. She was weighing her options, he figured. He imagined the thought process: What does this madman want? What’s he going to do once he gets inside? Am I betraying my father by going through with this? But what choice do I have? This madman will kill my mother. He’ll kill my brother. Maybe I can warn the concierge when we get into the lobby. No, better not. He’s not working alone. He said he has someone he can call. If I try to warn anyone, my family might not make it.

  She looked back at Rick and nodded. She wiped her eyes.

  Although Rick believed she’d ruled out the option of warning the concie
rge, he didn’t know that for certain, so he said, “You know what will happen if you try to signal for help.”

  She nodded again.

  “Let’s go.”

  He got out of the car. Alice didn’t move.

  Rick went around to the passenger side and opened her door. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  Alice looked at him with as much hatred as he had ever seen. But she got out. Rick wrapped an arm around her waist like he had at the arena and guided her toward the building.

  Liam Parker

  The taxi dropped Liam off at the airport. He made his way to the security checkpoint. The line weaved back and forth, following the roped path until it ended, and from there another fifty feet or so. Liam had completed the TSA Pre-Check months ago to avoid lines like this, but since it would be a bad idea to do anything in the airport under his real name, he resigned himself to a long wait.

  He wasn’t going to feel safe until he was on the plane. Standing still like this, just waiting in line, was the worst. A sheet of stainless steel tacked to the wall reflected a man in a pair of sunglasses. Liam had gotten so used to wearing them he’d forgotten he had them on. They would draw attention when he reached the checkpoint, so he took them off.

  It won’t be long now, he told himself. Relax.

  When he got close to the checkpoint, he decided he should call Anita. No—he’d text. She needed to know what he was doing and where to find her gun, but there were too many people here who could listen in on his conversation.

  He pulled out his phone and felt a pang of sadness in his chest when he realized he wouldn’t be able to call his children as long as he was in hiding, nor would he have any chance of keeping them in Illinois. Even if he hired a lawyer, there was no judge in the world who would rule in his favor as long as he was on the run.

  Liam pushed away the heartbreak that came from knowing he would lose his kids for a long time, if not forever. It was too much for him to handle. He had to take this one step at a time. He’d lose custody if he went to jail and he’d lose custody if he ran. He needed to focus on the things he could control.

  He typed: Thank you for your help. I have to go away for a while. I will be hiring Ryan Reyes to continue our investigation. I have your gun in the safe in room 132 at the Best Western. The code is 5342.

  While Liam felt like he was letting Anita down, this was better for them both. He’d already put her at too much risk. But that didn’t stop him from adding “I’m sorry” at the end of the message and sighing when he pressed SEND.

  If she texted him back, he wouldn’t respond.

  Liam looked around for a trash can. With the text sent, he didn’t need the phone any longer. But, facing only one more switchback in the security line and surrounded by travelers, he’d have to wait until he reached the other side of the checkpoint to get rid of it.

  A TSA agent waved him forward. “Ticket and ID, please.”

  He handed over both as confidently as he could. The agent looked at the picture on the license, then at him. She compared the names, scanned the barcode on the ticket with a digital reader. It beeped, flashed red. She frowned and tried again. Another beep. Another red flash.

  “Could you step over here?” she said, as a second TSA agent approached Liam.

  Richard Hawthorne

  Alice and Rick entered Liam’s building. Rick kept his head down and his baseball cap low until he was sure the concierge working the desk was not the same one who’d denied the delivery.

  Getting through the lobby went better than Rick had expected. The concierge waved and said, “How you doing, Miss Alice?”

  “Just going up to see my dad,” Alice said, trying to force a smile.

  The concierge looked concerned once he saw Alice’s face—he could probably tell she was upset—but he wasn’t concerned enough to say anything. Likely he thought it was a personal matter. Walking as they were, with Rick’s arm around her waist, he probably believed they were a couple. Alice might not have thought Rick was boyfriend material by looking at him, but that didn’t mean the rest of the world agreed.

  “You’re doing good,” Rick said as they approached the small bank of elevators.

  Alice puttered to a stop in front of the elevators and stood there, arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t press a button, didn’t turn to look at Rick or see if the concierge was still watching them.

  Rick suspected it was some sort of protest. A way of saying she would help him because she had to, but wouldn’t do any more than was necessary. He didn’t care. As long as she did what he needed her to, she could have as many of those little protests as she wanted.

  He pushed the elevator button. The car came quickly. Once they’d reached Liam’s door, Rick gave Alice her next instruction. “Unlock it.”

  She pulled a keyring out of her pocket, found the right key, inserted it into the lock, and turned, all with a slowness Rick assumed was deliberate.

  He pushed her inside and listened for an alarm. When there was none, he guided Alice through the condo, keeping her in front of him so he could see her at all times. He found a small sunroom that had been converted into an office and told Alice to lie down on her stomach. He removed a rope from his jacket. It was part of the show, Rick told himself again as he tied her hands to her feet, making it impossible for her to get up.

  “Stay there.” Rick noted the irony only after he’d already moved the three feet from Alice to the computer. The first trick would be getting past the login screen. That would be far simpler than most people imagined. Rick inserted a USB stick with software downloaded from the Internet, then restarted the computer, forcing it to launch from the stick instead of the hard drive. The software that loaded let him reset the password to nothing and, with one more restart, he was in.

  While Rick waited for the machine to finish booting up, he heard Alice crying. He could tell she was trying to do it silently, but still she whimpered and sniffled, her chest shuddering, her breathing uneven. He imagined how he would feel if Alice was his daughter and cursed Liam again for putting him in this situation.

  Finally, the computer was ready to go. Time to get to work.

  Liam Parker

  Four TSA agents escorted Liam into a small room. He thought about running, but he was surrounded. “I’m sure it’s a mistake,” he said, hoping that was right. Had Rick given him a forged ticket as well as a forged ID? “The barcode probably got messed up carrying the ticket around in my pocket like I was.”

  “Probably,” said the large TSA agent leading the way. He spoke without looking back and walked with his thumbs clipped under his belt.

  Unlike the public parts of the airport, which had a sleek, modern feel, this room was made of linoleum flooring and painted cinderblock. The only windows ran along the side facing the terminal. There were a few plastic chairs for people to sit in and a security camera mounted to the ceiling.

  Liam was directed to a chair that faced away from the window. “Stay right here,” the agent instructed. “We’ll get this straightened out in no time.”

  Liam sat, leaned forward. The longer he waited, the more his panic grew. He’d been hoping they’d take him directly to the Delta counter to get the matter resolved. At least there he’d be able to see what was happening.

  The room brought back memories of his cell. He should have tried to make a break for it. He’d probably have gotten arrested, but he was going to get arrested anyway, wasn’t he? They were going to find out the ticket was fake, the ID was fake, and that would be that.

  Don’t panic. You don’t know how this is going to play out. Maybe the ticket really was damaged. Just wait and see what happens. Besides, what choice do you have?

  Damaged. Yeah, right.

  Liam looked at the camera, then the door. While there was probably somebody watching him, there were no TSA agents within sight. Was he sitting here like a sucker when all he had to do to escape was walk out of the room?

  He got up, made his wa
y over to the door as casually as he could, and tried the knob. The door wouldn’t budge. So much for that.

  Richard Hawthorne

  Liam kept a two-drawer filing cabinet behind his desk. Rick leafed through it. The documents were well organized, making the search a breeze. He found statements from Bank West and Fidelity, which appeared to reference personal accounts. He turned to the computer, cracked open and awaiting his command. He scoured digital folders, checked Liam’s browsing history, and compiled a list of seven financial institutions that he believed held the entirety of Liam’s wealth.

  Now it was simply a matter of logging into them and setting up a series of wire transfers. This, more than anything, was why he had to get into Liam’s condo. With the two-factor authentication most financial institutions had these days, it was nearly impossible to log in without being on an authorized computer.

  Rick brought up the Bank West website, hoping Liam had saved his login information into the browser so that it would autofill the required fields. He had saved the username, which was partially obscured by a series of dots. But when he clicked to the next screen, the field for the password was blank.

  All the while, Alice continued to whimper. She couldn’t see what Rick was doing and didn’t ask.

  Rick went back to the digital folders in search of a file containing Liam’s logins, but came up short. Fortunately, people were predictable, and despite all the warnings out there not to use the same password on multiple accounts, many did. All Rick needed was one good login from anywhere and odds were Liam’s digital world would open for him.

  Bank West was the only financial institution he knew Liam used before arriving at the condo, and he had tried to get that login through phishing emails—“You have an important notice from Bank West. Click here to read it.”—but Liam hadn’t taken the bait.

  Rick plugged in a second USB stick. Before Chris Bell had shown up at his apartment, he had installed a brute force program on it and loaded it with all the information he’d collected on Liam. He fired the program up and put it to work. It began attacking Facebook and Twitter, using Liam’s email address and a sort of educated guessing system to generate passwords.