“Did you find him?”
“He’s not here.” I glance around at the white walls with their photos pinned to them, at the dead body on the ground, and the bed behind me. “Are you sure he doesn’t have another house? He’s definitely a freak.”
Freak is an understatement, but…
“That’s the only place he has. He’s just a reporter, he can’t afford a second location.”
Second location. Oakley might be more of a psycho than I am. My phone dings and I pull it out, half hoping it’s Donovan telling me he was just playing a practical joke and everything is okay. He’ll probably forgive me for killing this guy…
Probably.
“Well, maybe you were wrong, because Donovan…”
I trail off as I stare at my phone. It’s a text from a blocked number.
It’s a picture of Donovan tied up in a dingy-looking room… wide-eyed and afraid but alive.
Come get him if you want him.
A second later an address pops up on the screen. It’s not where I am—it’s twenty minutes away from where I am.
And the dead man at my feet definitely isn’t the one texting me.
“Oh, shit.”
“What?” I half startle. I forgot I was even on the phone with Oakley. I glance between the dead body—which is honestly kind of his fault—and the photo on my phone. I’m already moving, though, because I have an address now. I know where Donovan is.
“I killed the wrong man.”
Uh… oops?
CHAPTER FORTY
DONOVAN
“Who the fuck are you?”I sputter as a man steps into the basement.
It’s not Kyle.
This man is tall and graying at the temples, his expensive suit drooping off his shoulders as he takes a step toward me. His skin is aged and gives me the impression of leather, like he’s been out in the sun for far too long without proper protection.
Or at least without sunscreen.
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” he replies, offering a smile that shows off a set of pearly white teeth. “You don’t need to worry about those details.”
“Why am I here?” I ask, because I have a right to know that. “What do you want with me?”
He wanders away from me, heading for the collection of newspaper clippings and pictures tacked to the wall behind my view. “It’s not you I want, Myers. Don’t flatter yourself. Bottom of the barrel goalies are a dime a dozen in this world. You’re nothing special.”
I prickle at his unfair assessment of my skills, but know that protesting that little bit is useless when there’s more to discoverfrom him before he does whatever he intends to do with me. “Who do you want, then?”
“He’ll be here soon,” the man replies with a smile. He turns to me, his face twisting into a scowl as he stalks over and grabs the collar of my T-shirt. “I told you to leave him be. You’re a distraction he can’t afford, Myers, and I warned you what would happen if you continued to interfere.”
Shock ripples through me. “That was you?”
His eyes scan mine for a second, then his lips curl into a wicked grin. “You thought it was someone else. Making enemies everywhere you go, are you? Tell me, who else have you fucked over?”
He pushes me back with his fist, letting go of my shirt collar as confusion clouds my entire mind. “How have I fucked you over? I don’t even know you.”
