Rick didn’t give him the chance to finish. Rick fired the gun. The sound was loud in the empty lot and Elliot jolted like he’d been shoved. His face went slack with shock, his eyes wide, his breath stuttering. A wet sound came out of him as he looked down at his chest.
He slowly looked back up, his mouth falling open. “Rick—” He didn’t finish before his legs gave out and his knees hit the ground. For a second he stayed there, braced on one hand, trying to breathe. Then he tipped forward and went down face-first onto the ground, his phone skittering out of his hand and spinning across the ground before it stopped.
Rick didn’t immediately move. He stood still and listened. All he heard was the distant sound of traffic and the faint hum of electricity from the lights. He scanned the lot, the gate, and the door. He glanced at the dark strip near the loading bay, but there was no movement anywhere.
Rick crouched, searched for Elliot’s wallet, and tugged it free. He didn’t bother checking what was inside. He straightened, looking down at Elliot like he was something that had gotten under his shoe.
“Stupid bastard,” Rick muttered, and then he turned and walked toward Elliot’s phone, where it lay on the ground. Rick stepped over and picked it up. He turned it in his palm, then used his sleeve to wipe the glass clean before he slid the phone into his pocket.
Glancing at Elliot’s body, Rick noticed the watch. It wasn’t an expensive model, but it was nice enough to justify a robbery. Rick crouched and unfastened it, the clasp catching for a second before it gave. He pocketed it without looking at it, then he made it look like someone had searched him.
Rick stepped back and checked the area again. From the staff entrance, it would look like a man had gone down beside his car. From the main drive, it was harder to see. Rick nodded to himself, then turned and walked back to his own car. Once there, he got in and sat for a minute, simply breathing.
When he was ready, he started the engine and pulled out, driving the route he’d already chosen. Not the one that took him straight home. The one he’d picked took the long way back. He merged with the slow line of late traffic and became another set of taillights heading home.
At a red light, he took the phone out and looked at it. It was still unlocked. Elliot had been mid-call when he’d died. Rick scrolled quickly, checking calls and messages, and notes. Finding nothing important, Rick switched the phone off and slid it back into his pocket.
When he got home, he pulled into his usual space and sat for a minute before getting out. Inside his apartment, he locked the door behind him and went straight to the utility room.
He stripped off his outer layers, folded them, and shoved them in the washing machine. In the bathroom, he washed his hands with hot water and soap, scrubbing under his nails even though he’d worn gloves, then he took the gun out, checked it, wiped it down, and put it away where it belonged.
Only after that did he deal with what he’d taken. He emptied Elliot’s cash into a drawer and tossed the wallet and cards into a bag by the door. The watch went in with it along with the phone, which was last. Rick stood over the bag for a second, then tied it off.
Pouring himself a drink, Rick sat down and ignored his phone when it buzzed. Leaning back, he picked up the remote and turned the TV on, keeping the volume low. He didn’t watch anything, and he knew Elliot wouldn’t make the news yet. Someone had to find his body first and report it to the police. Sometime after that, it would hit the news, and Rick would see it.
He sipped his drink and let the smile he’d kept back spread across his face. Elliot would be found, and it would be a robbery gone wrong, just as Rick had planned it. Rick continued to smile as he focused on what mattered. Elliot wasn’t going to talk again, and nothing Elliot had said would spread any further than it already had.
Chapter Eighteen
Sighing, Allen closed his eyes as another caller launched into a tirade about their bill. He kept his voice calm and polite, gave the usual apology, then explained what had happened and what offers were available. He’d done it so many times he could do it on autopilot, and today he was grateful for that. Autopilot meant he didn’t have to think. The only problem was that it allowed him to keep thinking.
The caller kept complaining. Allen held the phone away from his ear for a second, then brought it back, exhaling heavily. When the man finally paused for breath, Allen murmured, “I understand,” and waited for the next wave. His eyes drifted to his phone sitting on the desk beside his keyboard and, without meaning to, he saw the card in his mind again. The thin border and the hotel’s name. Briar House. His stomach rolled, and he shut his eyes like he could erase it, but it didn’t work.
When the caller finally wound down enough for Allen to speak properly, Allen walked him through the account again and gothim off the line without promising anything he couldn’t deliver. He ended the call, made a note, and forced his attention onto the next ticket in the queue. For ten minutes it worked. Then another caller mentioned a hotel, and Allen’s mind went straight back to the card in Rick’s car. He shook his head, annoyed with himself, and tried to push the image away again.
By the time work ended, Allen’s shoulders ached from how tense he’d been. He got home, dropped his keys in the bowl by the door, and went through his routine the way he always did. Shoes off. Shower hot enough to sting. Fresh clothes. He made dinner and ate most of it standing at the counter, scrolling mindlessly through nothing. Anything to keep his brain busy.
His phone buzzed, and when he looked, he saw a message from Rick.Meet up tonight?Allen stared at it longer than he needed to, teeth worrying his lower lip before he caught himself. He swallowed and typed back a yes, thumb hovering for a second as if the word might change. He told himself that he was being stupid. Rick wanted to see him. That was a good thing.
He’d wanted this for a long time, and now that he had it, he wasn’t going to ruin it because he’d seen a hotel card in a car and watched too much news. He hit send, then sat there for another minute with the phone in his hand, tapping the edge, restless.
He tried to leave it alone, but he couldn’t.
Allen opened his laptop and told himself this was for peace of mind. Five minutes, ten at most. He’d look at a couple of sites and prove to himself it was nothing, then close it and move on. He started with Rick. Not in some weird way, not digging through fan accounts and old gossip. He went straight for the obvious things he could find. Old interviews, credits, projects, names he’d worked with. The kind of information that was readily available.
When Allen found an older article about one of Rick’s singles, he read the credit list properly. Producer. Manager. Backingsingers. His eyes stopped on a name, and his stomach dipped.Cassandra Lane.He clicked it without thinking, then froze with his hand hovering over the trackpad. He glanced around the room, then shook his head, and he coughed out a laugh. “Idiot.” Cass was a common name. People shared names all the time, and Allen had nothing to worry about.
The page loaded with a brief bio, and the photo was the same one the news had used. Allen stared at it until his eyes started to sting, scrolled back up, reread the credits, and saw another name underneath.Graham Barclay.The surname tugged at something in his head. Frowning, Allen tried to recall what it was that he’d seen recently, but couldn’t quite recall it.
He highlighted the name, copied it, and searched. The first results came up fast.Graham Barclay, found dead. Investigation ongoing. Police appealing for information.Allen’s mouth went dry. He clicked the article and read it, then clicked another article about Graham and read that too.
The details didn’t match Cass’s death, but the fact of it did. Another person connected to Rick, gone. He sat back with the laptop warm under his hands and stared at the open tabs along the top of the browser. Two people. Two deaths. Two names that had been linked to Rick.
Biting his lip, Allen opened a new tab and typedBriar House Hotel.He added the city name from the news report. He hit search and scrolled, looking for the easiest answer. Another Briar House somewhere else. A chain. A different hotel with the same branding. The results came back, and the logo appeared again — that same stylized branch. Allen clicked through to the hotel’s page, then backed out like it burned. He tried the other angle instead, searching forCassandra Lane, backing singer,and scrolling through credits and short bios and lists he had to search for. She’d worked with more than one act, movedbetween tours. And there it was again, buried in a list he had to scroll through—Rick’s name.
Allen sat very still, eyes fixed on the line. He wanted to stop. Instead, he clicked another link. Just to be sure, and another page loaded with the same layout as the last one. A photo, text, and a column of related stories down the side. Allen barely registered the headline he’d come for. His eyes jumped straight to the sidebar because one of the titles had a recent date and the name was too familiar.
Body found. Identified.
