Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
He forced his eyes from Argus and glanced around the room. There were two phones on the edge of the counter, and Gavin walked to them. One belonged to Sienna. He recognized the red phone case. And the other was his mother’s. Sitting next to those was a note in the handwriting he recognized from the letters he’d been asked to read, looking for clues that might turn the police in the right direction.
Danny Boy.
Danny Boy had killed Argus, and now he had Sienna and his mother.
A jolt of fear and adrenaline tensed his muscles. He blew out a sharp breath, looking down at the note.
Gavin—Don’t call the police if you want to see your mother or girlfriend again. I’ve left you all you need. Ask Violet about me; she has the key. If you involve anyone else, it will be game over. You play fair, and I will too. You’re such a big winner, Gavin. I have all the confidence in the world that you’ll find us. But time is of the essence. Soon the countdown will begin. Danny
A surge of pure rage went through him. This psycho had the two women he loved most in the world, and he expected Gavin to play some sick game in order to find them?
Anger gave way to frustration, laced with fear, and underneath that was still the grief over Argus that he could not address, not now. Later, but not now, even as his body scented the room with death.
What was he meant to do, search this house for some small trinket that would lead to another trinket? Where would he even start? The only thing Danny had left him was the note and the two phones. He read through the note again, forcing himself to do it more slowly. Who the fuck was Violet? He tossed it down, cursing, his eyes moving to the phones. He picked up Sienna’s first and brought it to life.
The image on her screen was of two palm trees, one bent in front of the other, a red sunset behind them. It reminded him of something, and he had to stare at it for a few moments before it clicked. It looked like a photo version of the Paradise Estates logo. Just to be sure his memory wasn’t playing tricks on him—though he didn’t think it was; he’d looked at that logo almost every day for the first eighteen years of his life—he brought his phone out and did a search. He made a concerted effort to still the shaking of his hands. The mobile home park’s website came up, and Gavin stared at it. The logo had been updated and now featured some type of tropical plant with a swish of water behind it. Which made absolutely no sense, but then neither did the name of the community. Sienna had always made fun of it, called it ironic. Which of course it was, and the fact that it wasn’t purposeful irony made it all the more cringeworthy.
His chest ached. Sienna.
No, he was pretty damn sure this screenshot was a very close representation of that old logo, the one that had been on the sign at the entrance of the community they’d grown up in. And he was also fairly certain it hadn’t been on her phone when he’d seen the text from “Main Squeeze” come through.
He brought Mirabelle’s phone to life and saw that the picture on her screen was the same one that’d been there for months, if not a full year: Mirabelle and Argus sitting in lounge chairs beside her pool, glasses of lemonade in hand. He’d taken it himself.
He had to stuff down the ball of grief that rose up inside him at the sight of Argus smiling next to Mirabelle. Not now, not now.
He went to her text messages, but nothing seemed unusual. He opened her web browser and found that the only page open was the front page of a local news station. He frowned. Mirabelle didn’t look at news. Although she had said she was paying more attention now that Sienna was in town. Was this related? He let out a frustrated growl low in his throat, tossing the phone on the counter. This is insanity.
He opened Sienna’s phone and found the text that had been sent to him, the one he could only assume had actually been sent by the man who had her.
Helplessly, he looked around the kitchen, keeping his gaze purposely averted from Argus’s body, but nothing was out of place that he could see. The only clues were the phones.
“Jesus,” he muttered, his hand on his firearm as he once again left the house, took the same route he’d taken from his car, and got inside.
He steeled his resolve as he drove away, hating that he couldn’t even call the cops to notify them about Argus’s murder. I’m sorry, Argus. But I know you would be telling me to focus on our girls now.