We were at a crossroads, and Nolan didn’t even realise it. Our destination was in my hands, I didn’t have a satnav or even a map, and my sense of direction was no better than a moth’s in a hurricane.
But tonight, I had to make a choice. I could back slowly away, or I could speed headlong into the unknown and hope I didn’t crash.
Cole stood by Jez.
And I’d already lost Nolan once. If it was going to happen again, I might as well go down in flames rather than fizzling out like a damp squib.
“The food isn’t the problem. I have to work.”
He checked his watch. “Now? It’s eight o’clock.”
“No rest for the wicked, something, something.”
“Is this corporate work or a scheme Jerry cooked up?”
“Neither.”
“You have a third job?”
“Not a job, exactly. More of a calling.”
Nolan groaned and set down his bowl. “Tell me you’re not going to hack into the CIA?”
“I’m not going to hack into the CIA. Not tonight, anyway. I have to watch a woman die, and I usually throw up after that happens.”
Nolan stared at me. “Is that…a euphemism?”
“No, it’s an active investigation into a kidnapping and torture ring that the FBI have been trying—and failing—to close for the past year. I guess you could call me an expert informant.”
“You’re…you’re actually serious, aren’t you?”
“Almost always. Apparently, it’s one of my shortcomings.”
Nolan pushed his plate away. “I think I lost my appetite too. Fuck.” He ran a hand through messy hair. “How the hell did you get involved with this?”
“I stumbled across the first video by accident on a dark-web forum, and yeah, okay, I do illegal stuff sometimes, but not that sort of illegal stuff. I mean, kidnapping random women and killing them is totally over the line.”
Not even Jez would do that. If she tortured somebody, there was a damn good reason. Nolan stayed silent. Normally, I liked silence, but today it unsettled me.
“Anyhow, I’m gonna keep going until the torture bros are in prison or dead.” Preferably the latter. “And I’m also going to run my company and do some other stuff I can’t tell you about because national security blah-blah, and maybe that makes me selfish or obsessive or stubborn or one of the hundred other things my mom yelled at my dad while I was crying in the next room, but it’s who I am, and I can’t change. And even though I hate that you walked out on me all those years ago, it was probably a smart move on your part.”
Still silence.
“If I were you, I would have left me too. I can go if you want. I mean, I’m not going to be very good company this week because these assholes make me so angry that I want to throw my laptop at the wall and the FBI in the trash, and I actually did that once—threw my laptop, not the FBI—but it didn’t make me feel better. Anyhow, I’m sorry I ruined dinner, and I’m also sorry about the whole serial-killer-hunting thing because I know that’s a touchy subject for you, what with the FBI trying to ruin your life and your dad being in prison and everything.”
Nolan took a deep breath. In and out. “Are you done now?”
“Just getting started. The torture shows always kick off at midnight EST.”
“I meant done talking. That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one go.”
Oh.
“Uh-huh. I think so.”
A string of curses slipped from Nolan’s lips, including a little blasphemy. Ironic, considering his father had been a fine upstanding member of the local church when he wasn’t busy playing happy families, coaching Little League, or strangling women. As Brax had once said—when Nolan wasn’t listening, obviously—Eddie Calder did have excellent time management skills.
“Any more secrets? You don’t masquerade as Superwoman on the weekends?”
