No.
Absolutely fucking not.
My hands shook as I struggled to free my cell from my pocket. I chose Calvin’s name from the list of recent contacts and put the phone to my ear.
It rang and rang and rang.
But no response.
That was normal, though. Because Calvin was working. And sometimes he couldn’t answer.
This was New York City.
Crime happened.
People died.
And it was Calvin’s job to investigate the situation.
That was all. Because anything else—anything more—would absolutely be too fucking absurd to even consider.
Rossi reached out for the note on the counter, but I lowered the phone and grabbed the letter opener with my other hand.
“Don’t touch it,” I threatened.
“Those arehumanteeth.” He motioned at molars with his own phone. “I’m calling for backup.”
I raised the letter opener like a dagger and held it out at Rossi. “Just be quiet and let methink!”
“I can arrest you right now,” Rossi retaliated.
“Sebby,” Beth called.
“Put that thing down before you hurt someone,” Rossi continued.
“Sebby.” More insistent.
I clenched the letter opener and phone so tight in both hands, I was surprised neither broke. I felt completely overwhelmed, like my system was about to combust from the onslaught of sensory stimulation. At once, my dim and cozy shop was too bright, the unrelenting voices were too loud, too harsh, and as I struggled to breathe, all I could think was that the incentive to solve this case had never been about money, extortion, or even allowingmeto live—it’d been about Calvin.
Because I was not like most men.
I’d never gotten caught up in past mysteries for fame or fortune. My own safety hadn’t even been a factor. To the dismay of the Collector, I’d dug my heels into the ground hard this time, refusing to budge and taking my retirement from sleuthing seriously. They’d prodded my ego in all the right ways, but my future with Calvin was more important than their mystery.Finally. But whoever this Collector was, they got smart. They dangled in front of me the only motivation in this entire goddamn world that would make me walk barefoot through fire.
Calvin.
“Everybodyshut up!” I screamed as the seams that held my sanity together unraveled faster than I could stitch them closed.
A pin could have been heard falling a hundred yards away in the silence that followed. I dropped the letter opener to the floor and gripped the edge of the counter. My extremities felt cold and tingly—a dire warning of imminent dry heaves and a possible blackout. I fought to take a deep breath, but I could barely manage more than a gasp.
Was I having a panic attack?
A heart attack?
Stroke?
“I got a text from Calvin,” Beth said quietly.
I raised my head. She was holding her phone up, waving it back and forth. From where she stood—all the way across the showroom—she had no idea what this note from the Collector said. Beth had no clue at all what was transpiring at that very moment.
