Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
That last line should have affected me as much as it did. It felt like Andrew had been speaking specifically to me.
“We do have a lead,” I spoke up. “We think the person behind this is Nick Ricks. He’s Angel’s ex and has been the target of a separate investigation for one of my cases. He lives right down the block.”
“Did things end amicably between you two?” Shiro asked, a notepad out in front of him, the page full with bullet points.
“It wasn’t the easiest breakup, no. But the problem was more with him. Nick is extremely deep in the closet. The son to two influential church figures. He had a lot he needed to sort out.”
“Do the cops know about this?” Zane asked.
“They’ve been notified. My contact in Miami PD said they were working on getting an emergency search warrant to go into his apartment.”
“Good. In the meantime, does anyone have any idea of where he and Peter could be?” Zane’s baby, Lily, gave a content burp as the bottle finished, and Zane moved her over his shoulder, tapping her back to move along the burps.
The rest of the room was quiet. We all looked down at what we had, trying to put a string together, anything that would lead us in the right direction. Every second counted. Nick was unstable, and he’d already proved his capability of hurting others.
Penny sat up in her chair, as if an idea had struck her. “Has anyone checked the church his parents are part of?”
Angel shook his head. “It’s based out of Broward, so it shouldn’t be too far a drive.”
“All right,” Penny said, moving to stand up. “I’m going to go check it out, just text me the full address. My grandpa was a pastor, so I know how to maneuver my way around some pews. I’ll scout the place out.”
“Call us if anything pops up,” Zane said through the laptop. “Thank you, Penny.”
She gave a small bow before squirming past the crowded table and out the door.
I grabbed the scrawled-on napkin from Angel and went over each line with a fine-tooth comb, trying to pick up on any little detail that could potentially help. The handwriting was smooth, and the words were written in thick bold marker that ate through some of the thin paper. A halo was drawn at the top of the napkin in red pen, encompassing the entire note.
“Fuck,” I said out loud. All the eyes turned to me. “I found a halo drawn in blood at a crime scene. I didn’t realize it symbolized a halo when I saw it.”
“So he’s definitely involved with your case?” Beckham asked, adjusting his silver necklace so that it slipped back under his black T-shirt.
“I’m about ninety percent sure this is the guy.”
And then things went from worse to infinitely fucked-up.
My phone started to ring. I pulled it out, not recognizing the number on the screen. Initially I was going to decline the call, not wanting to deal with any telemarketers in that moment. But an instinct tugged at the corners of my brain. My finger slid across the screen, accepting the call.
Hazel’s voice greeted me. “Hey, Detective Hudson. Sorry to bother but Sam—”
“Is he all right?” My throat felt like it was beginning to close.
“Yeah, yeah.” She paused for a brief moment. “At least I think so. That’s why I’m calling.”
“What happened?” I stood up. When had I stood up?
“I’ve been trying to call him from my roommate’s phone. I lost mine and thought he might know where it was. Maybe I had left it in his car or something. But… he’s not answering. It’s been a few hours and it’s radio silence, which never happens with Sam. He’s an instant texter. Plus we were supposed to have dinner together today, and that was an hour ago.”
“What’s going on?” Angel asked.
“Sam,” I said, a bad feeling sinking into me. “He’s not answering his phone.”
“Maybe he’s sleeping? Or watching a movie?” Andrew offered, always the little spot of optimism in the darkness. I shook my head.
“It’s not like him. All right, Hazel, let me give you a call back. Where are you right now?”
“At the mall with Olive, my roommate.”
“Okay. When you’re done there, I want you and Olive to go stay at a hotel. Somewhere safe. Just for today.”
“What’s going on, Detective? Is Sam okay?”
“He will be,” I said. “We’re getting close to tying Nick Ricks to the murder of Jesse, along with a lot of other fucked-up shit.”
“Oh my God… Really? Okay, okay. We’ll stay at a hotel tonight. Please keep me updated.”
“I will.” And I hung up the call, feeling like ice had replaced the blood coursing through my veins. I knew, deep down to the marrow of my bones, that Sam had been taken.
Angel’s hand landed on my shoulder. He gave a few comforting circles. He was standing, too, the rest of Stonewall looking up at us with worry painted in their gazes. I called Sam. The phone rang once before going straight to voicemail. I called him again.