Go Huskers.
Ledger tapped the link and read the headline while the rest of the page loaded.
“Sutton County Sheriff loses son in tragic single-vehicle accident,” he said. He skimmed the article as it resolved on the screen and summarized as he went. “According to this, James, that’s Syder’s eldest, had been busted at a party where underage drinking had happened. Syder had come to pick him up, and on their way home, they went through the barrier on County Road fourteen B. Syder managed to crawl out of the car before passing out, but James was impaled by a tree branch and bled out.”
Wren held his hand out expectantly for the phone. Ledger handed it to him and let Wren scan the story for himself.
“You think he sacrificed his own son?”
“It was two years ago,” Ledger said as he grabbed the bottle of water off the desk. He twisted the top off and took a drink. It wasn’t cold, but it was wet, and he was thirsty. He swallowed and gestured with the bottle as he went on. “Around the time he’d have started to see the symptoms. Around the same time Bell’s prison records first note that he’s showing symptoms. I doubt it was the first time he tried it, but it was probably the last. I don’t know why it didn’t work. It should have, but—”
“Some people can’t,” Wren said. He tossed Ledger’s phone back to him. “They could do every part of a rite perfectly, and it still wouldn’t work. Their souls are just set to the wrong pitch. Like that whale, the one none of the other whales can hear.”
Ledger hadn’t known that. He took a moment to absorb it and then pressed on.
“So maybe we do know why,” he said. “Syder doesn’t. He thinks Bell hid some part of the process from him: a book, altar, or special knife. Something solid. That’s why he keeps asking me if Bell had any secret hideouts.”
“You think he killed Bell?”
“Maybe,” Ledger said.
“Why?” Wren pointed. “Bell was his ticket to a get-out-of-cancer-free card.”
Ledger shook his head. “Nothing was free with Bell,” he corrected. “And Sutton isn’t like it used to be in Bell’s day. There’s metadata, social media, air tags, true crime podcasters—and Syder’s a cop. He knows people don’t disappear the way they used to. If Bell had him running around trying to clear the tab, Syder maybe decided it was easier to just kill Bell. He wasn’t getting what he wanted anyhow.”
“Maybe,” Wren said. His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket to glance at it. “Add that to all the other maybes you have in that theory. It wouldn’t exactly stand up in court.”
He rolled off the bed and stood up. His jeans slouched down his hips as he walked around the bed. Ledger dragged his eyes away from the suggestive slice of exposed skin and tried to keep his mind on track.
“Not yet,” he said. “Give me time.”
Wren tugged his boots on—left and then right—and left the laces trailing over the floor. He didn’t even bother to do a desultory search for his T-shirt. Instead, he grabbed something from the “lost and found,” otherwise known as Ledger’s already ripped-apart suitcase.
“Sorry, can’t do that,” Wren said. “Boss’s orders.”
The reminder brought the reality of Ledger’s situation back into sharp focus. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten what was going on, but he’d pushed it to the side. The countdown had been a steady tick in the back of his brain. Now it tolled like a bell.
Two days. That was how long he had left.
Ledger felt the panic try to ooze through the cracks of the box he kept it in. He just shoved it further into the back of his mind.
There’d be time to scream and cry and rage against how fucking unfair it was that he’d gotten fucked over by Bell one… last… time if he failed. Plenty of time. It didn’t sound like Earl was going to be in any hurry about the bone-removal process.
“You have to go?” Ledger asked.
Wren pulled the T-shirt on. “We’re not married,” he said, words muffled by white cotton. “I don’t have to tell you where I’m going.”
Ledger snorted. “Great self-confidence,” he said. “But I’m more worried about what Earl’s up to in his spare time, not so much you.”
“That’s the same thing,” Wren said. He ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it down. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow. If you need anything, let me know.”
Ledger rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’tknowWren or what he was. It hadn’t exactly been a good idea to get in bed—admittedly, that was the one place they hadn’t gotten, but the point remained—with him. It would be a worse one to pretend that none of the above was true. Still…
“Are you OK?” he asked.
Wren looked up from buttoning his pants. His all-black eyes hadn’t changed, but suddenly they were hard to read. His jaw was set, sharp despite the softening blur of stubble. “Why wouldn’t I be? I told you, I wanted to fuck you. Nobody made me.”
“I get that,” Ledger said. “It’s just… you seem off.”
