Page 50 of You Know Why

“Atlanta.”

A hand snakes out and grabs hers, pulling her arm flat against the table. The knife jams through the dorsal surface, embedding itself in the wood. She howls in pain.

“Don’t make me drag this out of you. This can go very easy, or it can go very hard. Where. Is. He?”

“I don’t know. I swear I don’t. Please. Please.” Sweat has formed on her forehead, is dripping down her face. The pain is excruciating.

“What were you doing at Eden Barrow’s house?”

“Meeting a friend of hers”—the knife twists—“who wanted to know more about Chloe Locke’s murder! God, please, stop. I’m cooperating.”

“Cooperate more. What did you tell the second Mrs. Locke about her precious husband?”

He knows too much. How did he know that? “It doesn’t matter. She’s dead.”

He tsks, clicking his tongue sarcastically. “Don’t lie, or this will go very badly for you. She’s not dead. She’s very much alive. And now she knows who her husband really is. I’ll ask you once more. What else did you tell her?”

“Nothing. I swear it. Nothing! I don’t know anything else about him. It’s been ten years.”

The knife jerks free of the wood at an angle and slices its way out of her hand. She cradles it against her chest. It throbs in time with her heart. She’s in trouble, she knows it.

She has one chance here. She throws the dice.

“I don’t know where he is. But if I can find him, then what?”

The man laughs, low and mean.

“Then you hand him over to us. And you won’t die.”

“How much is he worth to you?”

“You’re bargaining with me?” Genuine amusement, if a feral wolf can be amused.

“I’m offering to help. I want him as much as you do. Maybe more.”

“We’ll make it worth your while. Oh, and Theresa? It would be best if you didn’t mention our little tryst this evening. We wouldn’t want any more people to expire prematurely.”

“Fine. We have a deal. I’d shake on it, but . . .”

He melts back into the darkness, and she feels the cold breeze from the back door. He’s gone.

Theresa collapses into the chair. Son of a bitch. This is not good. Not good at all.

Outside, in the dark, the man speaks into his mobile.

“They didn’t know, and she didn’t, either. But she’s incentivized to find him.”

“Are you sure you’re up to this? Because I need that man in my presence, now.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll find him. Don’t worry.”

A Grim Discovery

Trying not to freak out, the minute the house is secure and Theresa finishes bandaging up her hand, she pops some Advil and crosses town to the Lockes’ place. She needs stitches, but she needs to check on them first. She has a bad, bad feeling.

She presses the button to the gates impatiently with her left hand, gritting her teeth against the pain in her right. It’s early, barely dawn, and she’s probably going to wake them up, but she doesn’t care. This is a welfare check as much as an interrogation. With psychopathic strangers in town looking for Andrew, she needs to make sure the Lockes are okay.

There’s no answer. She is not deterred. She calls the head of the fire department, Joe Markey. He answers with a crisp hello.