“Laird stepped back from the business nearly twenty years ago,” Bishop continued. “He’s still got resources and connections. Strings to pull. But they’re old strings, and some of them are going to snap.”
Darius nodded. “He’ll be dead within the week. Unless Kit wants us to take our time.”
“The faster the better,” Kit said, without hesitation. His anger brightened to determination. “He’s gotten enough time.”
Bishop liked that look in Kit’s eyes. He hated everything that put it there, but that ruthless determination?
That was gorgeous.
Bishop rose reluctantly. “I should swing by the station. Apparently, the chief wants to distract me with another case. I’ll pretend to let him.”
“What other case?” Darius asked.
“A missing kid. Something sympathetic, as Paula put it.” Bishop sighed. “The chief has my number on that count, at least. If it was just Archie out, I’d take the distraction.”
“Wait,” Kit snapped, all that determination turned brittle as ice. He sat still, as if any movement would break him. “What does the missing kid look like?”
42
insane situations called for insane measures
Orion Dechane. Fifteen-year-old white male, last seen leaving school two weeks ago. Five foot five inches tall, with black hair and brown eyes.
Kit read the news article again. And again. His boyfriends watched in silence, waiting.
Thankfully nobody tried to stop Kit from obsessively rereading. He would hurt somebody—probably himself—in the ensuing fight.
Some details were off. But some details always were. Kit couldn’t take comfort in Orion’s brown eyes. Not when the news article included a smiling school photo of Orion. One look at that photo and certainty twisted Kit’s lungs.
Either this was a message to Kit, or it wasn’t. Kit couldn’t decide which was worse. Either way, he knew what he had to do.
“James,” Kit said, finally handing over his phone. “Can you unblock Dad’s number? I need to text him back.”
Ugh. Nobody moved from their tense array in the basement lounge—where everyone had gathered because Kit hated windows again. Darius sat on the couch next to Kit, and Holden lurked by the door. Bishop stood in the center of the room like he needed to observe everything.
James stood in front of Kit, pointedly not taking Kit’s offered phone.
Thoughtful of everyone to gather downstairs. If only they could thoughtfully enable contact with Kit’s evil dad now. This was hard enough without having to persuade people. But Kit understood why James looked reluctant, and he couldn’t expect them to just obey his deranged demands.
Too bad insane situations called for insane measures.
Kit waved his phone. “Did I stutter?”
James finally took Kit’s phone but didn’t do anything useful. He just sat on the coffee table. “Trust us. We’re close. Now that I have the right timing, I can track him down. You don’t need to talk to him.”
“How long will that take?” Kit asked, cold.
James couldn’t answer.
“Kit’s right,” Bishop said, standing over James’s shoulder. “If Laird has a hostage, we’re on a timer.”
Holden shifted from his place leaning against the wall. “Unless…”
“Unless what?” Darius asked. He placed a hand on the cushion between him and Kit. Casual.
Kit didn’t want to hold hands, but he appreciated the option. Twisting his own hands painfully together was better. “Holden’s probably right. Just say it.”
Besides Kit, Holden understood Laird Renaker best. He’d had the longest to mull over the facts of the case. And he understood not just the urge to kill, but the necessity of control. How to indulge without getting caught.
