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It was the club downtown—the one we often chatted up contacts at. The one Slade had recently discovered was owned by the mysterious Beckett.
I froze, momentarily thrown off my game, and the man at the truck shooed us away from the crates awaiting loading. “Every bottle of booze in those is worth more than your fancy sneakers. Steer clear.”
I glanced at my friends, but I couldn’t tell them what I’d seen and show it’d mattered to me while the reception guy was still hovering nearby.
He seemed to have had enough of us anyway. “You’ve had the full tour,” he said, getting brusque again. “Did you have more questions? We can go over anything else back in the office.”
I debated arguing that we wanted to take a closer look, but that might sound odd, and we were supposed to be avoiding suspicion. We didn’t have any proof that this place was at all involved in the attacks on Maddie’s family or the Vigil’s office. If we found some… then it’d be a different story.
“I think we’re good,” I said. “Let me just give you my email for that price sheet, and we’ll be back in touch if we decide to use your services.”
Back at the reception desk, I rattled off an email I used specifically when I didn’t want any chance of the recipient using it to track down other private info on me. Then we headed out.
I kept my mouth shut until we’d reached the corner a few buildings away from the trucking company. There, I turned toward the others.
“What did you see?” Slade asked immediately. He knew me well enough to have picked up on the momentary change in my demeanor.
“That last truck,” I said. “The one with the fancy booze. It was going to Beckett’s club.”
Slade’s expression darkened. “Beckett has some kind of connection to this place? To a place that’s also connected to the assholes we’re investigating?”
“It doesn’t necessarily indicate that he’s up to no good,” Dexter pointed out. “There were other legitimate businesses using their services. The club could be just another of those, totally unrelated to whatever illegal jobs they’re carrying out secretly.”
I shook my head. “I don’t like it. It feels like too much of a coincidence.”
Dexter smiled tightly. “I agree. I’m just making sure we don’t jump to conclusions too quickly.”
“We don’t even know for sure that this company is taking any illegal jobs at all,” Slade added. “Although the whole armed truckers thing and the atmosphere in that place definitely doesn’t give the impression of sunshine and roses.”
I rubbed my jaw. “We could stake out the club—wherever they’d bring in deliveries. See if there’s anything handed over other than the crates of alcohol. Maybe get a chance to peek in those crates and make sure itisjust alcohol.”
“Or we keep an eye on who else comes into the trucking company. They’re the ones—” Slade cut himself off at the sound of footsteps.
A guy who only looked a few years older than us had ducked out from the alley beside the trucking company building and was hustling toward us. He was dressed in a tee and jeans like the truckers, but he didn’t hold the same air of menace. The opposite, really. His gaze flitted from side to side as he approached as if he were afraid of being seen.
He came to a halt a few feet away from us, his stance tensed and his eyes still twitchy. We all turned to face him. He swallowed audibly before he spoke in a hushed, ragged voice. “Are you looking into the death of Evan Silver?”
My eyebrows just about shot right off my head as my pulse hiccupped. It took me a second to respond. “What do you know about that?”
The guy’s mouth tightened, his shoulders hunching defensively. But he seemed to take my response as a confirmation. “I’ve heard things… I’ve seen you other places and now here… It’s not the kind of thing I think should be kept quiet.”
“Who are you?” Slade demanded, glowering at the guy.
The guy winced at Slade’s sharp tone and glanced around anxiously again. “I—I work for a man named Beckett Alderman. He’s all mixed up in that murder—his family, from way before—and he’s been working to cover it up since he noticed people were poking around.”
My breath stopped in my throat. “Do you have any proof?” I asked, fighting to stop my voice from rising.
The guy shook his head with a jerk. “I’m sorry. It’s been hard enough just telling you this. I’m putting my neck on the line. But if I don’t say something, I don’t know how far he’ll go next… or how many more people might die to cover up his family’s crimes.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
Madelyn
As Beckett drove me toward the campus, my panic completely subsided, and a growing sense of victory emerged in its wake. The Vigil needed solid evidence of criminal dealings to get the police involved, and if the video I’d taken wasn’t enough, it had to at least get us partway there. I quickly brought it up on my phone and made sure it was backed up on my cloud service so it couldn’t be accidentally—or purposefully—deleted.
With that done, a smile stretched across my face. The guys had thought they were going to send me off to be pampered, but I might have discovered even more than they had with their own investigations.
Beckett drove right onto campus at my directions and pulled into the parking lot near the café where the Vigil guys and I were supposed to meet. As he put the car into park, he glanced over at me.
