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I cleared my throat. “Here’s my very real warning to you, though. In a week, maybe two, you’re going to start rethinking who we are, and you’re going to remember what that girl told you—that she’s the sister of the missing girl. Because of that, I’m telling you right now that you won’t remember her. Ever. Not any of us—not the dog, not the men, not me who you won’t even get a glimpse of. Because if you do, I won’t send men for you. I will come myself. If you disregard this warning, you and your entire family will go to bed one night and none of you will wake up. I’m that kind of killer.”
I waited, letting him process that, and then I gave my last instructions. “You’re going to get in your car, you’re going to wait three seconds, and then you’re going to reverse and go home to your family. No calls except to say you’re ending your shift.”
I started to pull the gun away, and he lowered his hands. “How’d you know I haven’t called in yet?” he asked.
I eased back. “Because you never do until you go home to your wife.”
Yes. I did my research, in every town we visit.
He noted that, an odd look flashing over his face, and then he got into his car.
As his taillights faded, I went into the house.
Jake and Cavers were already packing everything up.
Gus bounded up to me, jumping and wanting attention.
I ignored him. Well. Fuck. I gave him two pats and went to find Ash.
She was in the office, packing as well.
She looked up. “I’m fine. Take one of the guys to go get your truck.”
“What was on the sticker?”
Her eyes flickered. “If I needed help, I was supposed to offer him water.”
That was smart—really smart. I nodded to her.
Jake was waiting for me at the door, his keys in hand. Not one word was spoken as we retrieved the truck.
When we got back, the Suburban was packed. We left two hours later, after clearing everything out and making sure the fire would burn fast. We ditched my truck an hour into the drive, wiped clean.
It was an hour after that when Cavers broke the silence. “Gus needs food.”
“I gotta piss,” Jake added.
“I’m sorry about your birthday, Jake,” Ash said.
Birthday? I hadn’t known.
He shrugged before glancing my way. “Don’t be sorry. I got a different show.”
I’d had enough. “It’s harder being the good guys. Think on that. Everyone else, shut up.”
We rode in silence as Gus’ tail beat against the vinyl.
38
Ash
Raize was on edge. I mean, more than usual. He was always on edge.
But he wouldn’t talk to anyone, even me.
We drove to Baltimore and took up residence at a motel with two connecting rooms. We could park right outside the doors. No one watched anyone at a place like this. There were a few girls working the corner, so Raize sent Cavers to find out who their pimp was. After that, he laid a bunch of papers out on one bed in his room, his hands on his hips as he studied them.
He’d been studying them for an hour now. Maybe two.
Cavers came back and reported who the pimp was, but Raize only grunted when he told him. He never looked away from those papers.
I was standing and watching Raize, trying not to be obvious about it. He shut the door, then motioned for me to follow him. Jake came over. Gus as well.
“What’s going on?” Jake asked in a whisper.
“No fucking clue,” Cavers said. “He told me at a gas station to get a car for him tomorrow, make sure it was fully gassed, and put all the weapons in the trunk. He wanted a nondescript car. I don’t know if I want to know what he’s planning, because whatever it is, it ain’t like anything we’ve done. Or I’m guessing anything he’s done—”
“I have twelve targets.”
Raize stood in the connecting room’s now-opened door. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, his eyes shining with a fierceness I’d only seen in a few private moments.
“And I have two days to hit them. Two. Days. And none of them are in the same fucking city.”
I started for him, but he jerked his hand up, his head twisting to the side. “No. Don’t touch me, not now.”
I ignored him, going right to him and plastering myself to his chest.
My hands tunneled up into the back of his shirt, letting him feel my skin against his.
He didn’t hug me back. I didn’t expect it.
But he did groan, and I felt that through his chest.
“I have to commit mass murder tomorrow night—enough to classify me as a serial killer,” he said. “You do not need to comfort me.”
I tipped my head back, finding his eyes. Some of that fierceness was gone.
