“Leave it,” he said.
Jacob leaned back into the soft leather seat and fidgeted as he tried to find a position that didn’t cramp or stretch his sore side—political sex scandals, protests at the Alamo, and a dead body found in Riverside, near Nueva Street.
Shit. Jacob sat up as the name of the street where he lived caught his attention. He nervously ran the tip of his tongue over his upper lip. It could be a coincidence. Riverside was hardly a dangerous neighborhood, but it was popular, touristy, and sold booze, so things did happen.
Or….
Simon had heard it too. He flicked the volume up and filled the car with the smooth-edged voice of the presenter.
“A body was found in the San Antonio river this morning. According to reports, a man in his midthirties was discovered floating in the river this morning by a jogger. Bexar County Medical Examiner has yet to formally identify the dead man, but sources in the San Antonio Police Department have suggested that the body could be that of Harrison Clayton, founder of the PeaPod social network, who has been missing since Wednesday. Clayton was last seen in a coffee shop in the company of an unknown young man and may have made a tragic reappearance. In more cheerful news, the San Antonio Missions have signed a promising—”
The voice died midword as Simon flicked the volume to mute.
“Well, shit,” Jacob muttered. He glanced over at Simon, and one of them had to say it. “It could be a coincidence?”
Simon changed lanes and slid in behind a battered old SUV. “If you were that lucky, I wouldn’t have caught you at Syntech,” he said. “Whoever took you… they’re making a point that they know who you are.”
A man ran by, arms pumping as his sneakers hammered the pavement. A sweat-soaked T-shirt was plastered to his chest, and his blond hair was dragged back in a ponytail. Pretty, but…. Jacob twisted his mouth in self-directed annoyance. Even before last night, these days everyone was “pretty, but.” That’d teach him to stick to his rules in future. Because he wasn’t seeing any way to fix it, and he had a feeling this one might actually hurt.
And he’d always preferred ripping the Band-Aid right off.
“No,” he said. “They know who Jacob Archer is.”
Simon snorted. “Of course. I don’t even know your real name. I’d forgotten.”
“You’re not missing out on anything. It was a stupid name.”
“It was you.”
“It really wasn’t,” Jacob muttered. He dragged his attention back into the car and cracked a smile. “If it makes you feel any better, it did still start with a J.”
“They’re setting you up for Clayton’s murder.” Simon glanced over his shoulder as he changed lanes. “You really find that funny?”
The crack of Clayton’s head hitting the concrete floor wasn’t all that dramatic. It was a dull sort of thud. Stupid and clichéd, but it sounded like a melon hitting the dirt. The sound of Clayton’s heels battering against the floor as he seized was louder.
Jacob swallowed the clot of dust in his throat. “Not really. But there’s nothing I can do about it, is there? Except get out of town.” He leaned forward, cursed shortly under his breath as the seat belt pinched his ribs, and pointed. “Turn left here. It’s on Cevallos.”
SIMON STEPPEDfastidiously around the tangle of old jeans. “Tell me this is all a carefully plotted grid so you know if someone has been in your space?”
“It’s laundry.” Jacob considerately kicked a pile of towels under the couch. “Sit down.”
A sneer curled Simon’s mouth. “No.”
“Suit yourself.”
Jacob left Simon to disapprove of the mess and headed into the kitchen. There was a beer in the fridge, a strip of painkillers in the drawer, and a box of Christmas chocolates that he needed more than his sister did. He washed the pills down with a mouthful of cold froth and a coffee truffle and then leaned against the sink while he waited for the ibuprofen to kick in.
It didn’t. He shoved another two truffles in his mouth and coated his teeth and tongue with chocolate. Then he nearly choked on them when he heard his sister’s voice in the other room.
“Where the hell are you? I haven’t heard from you indays, and you’ve turned Find My Friends offagain.Why can’t you—”
He nearly tripped over his own feet as he lurched back through the door with “shut up” on the tip of his tongue. His sister wasn’t there, just her voice and Simon holding the old, unjailbroken phone that Jacob kept for his family.
“…whatever you’re doing, you had better remember to get me and the kids presents. I’ve e-mailed you a list. There’s a drum kit on there, but do NOT buy that for Jamie. Understand? And—”
Jacob stalked over, grabbed the phone from Simon, and glared at him as he swiped the speaker off. His sister’s voice dropped from clarity to an irritated, singsong mumble.
“…if you buy me that—”
