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“Come,” Gabriel said, his hand on my elbow. His grip was firm, but his eyes were soft, compassionate. This brick wall of a man was clearly affected by this. It made me scared, but it also made me realize how invested Gabriel was. Maybe too invested? Maybe this would cause blind spots, would create openings?
Doubt crept into my chest and nestled up next to the panic, creating a twisted little den of dark emotions. I tried not to let it grow, keeping it contained to a small piece of me. This situation was the darkest shit to have ever happened to me, but I had to somehow keep a positive outlook, or I’d be pulled under.
I looked into Gabriel’s eyes. Sunlight slashed into them. Blue and dark, just like the ocean. I thought of how easy it’d be to drown in them.
10
GABRIEL FERNANDEZ
Thiswasthe reason why we shouldn’t get close to our clients. Why I never should have allowed emotions to enter this equation. I should have kept the brick wall up.
I’d made a mistake. I wanted to see Tristan happy, wanted to see him smile. When they suggested going out for a walk and some lunch, red flags immediately shot up. I should have Tristan locked up in a room where only I could get to him, not traipsing around Atlanta with his friends, not when he was actively being hunted by a sadistic serial killer.
Instead, I let it happen. I went along for the ride, distracted by Tristan’s wide smile and carefree laugh. He had seemed the calmest he’d been since I arrived. It felt like a gift, one he gave me with every twinkle of his golden gaze.
That gaze was no longer twinkling. It was turned down to the floor, Tristan’s head in his hands. We were back in the Airbnb, the group gathered in the bougie living room, fear reflected on all their faces. Noah and Jake were on the couch, flicking through the crime reports I had acquired from the police, while Eric sat next to Tristan, a friendly hand on his shoulder.
Colton came down the hallway with a few bottles of water. He handed them out and sat next to Eric, eyes wide, as if he’d seen a ghost in the kitchen.
I cracked my knuckles and looked back down at my laptop. I had managed to get the surveillance footage from a few shops that were around us at the time of the text, but scrubbing through them was giving me nothing except a headache. Face and bodies swirled together as I sped up the tape, slowing it down, speeding it up. I’d look to see if there was anyone with a phone in their hands at the time the text was sent, which was actually quite a few people. And none of them seemed to be paying any attention to Tristan, who was just off frame in the one video I currently watched.
“What about calling the phone company?” Tia asked. She was sat at the small glass table next to one of the arching windows, the creamy white blinds drawn shut. “Can they tell us who sent the text?”
“I’ve already put in a request,” I said. “But I doubt they’ll get anything useful. Every text Tristan’s gotten has come from an untraceable burner phone.”
“Still, maybe we can at least get a location?” Jess suggested.
Tristan shook his head and sat back on the couch, rubbing his face. “We know the location. He was right next to us.” I could hear the pain constricting Tristan’s voice. I understood that fear. I felt it when I had fought alongside my friends, life-or-death decisions made on the fly as we jumped off our barges and infiltrated a run-down hideout, where bullets flew and lives were taken. I’d felt the same kind of fear that spread through Tristan like poison.
And I hated it. Hated that this had to be his path.
“Jess is right,” I said, wanting to inject a little hope into the situation. “Any information we get at this point is useful. Knowing where that text was sent from could help us narrow things down. Maybe they weren’t as close to us as we think.”
Noah perked up, nudging his glasses up his nose. He cleared his throat. “Could there be some kind of tracker on you?”
I cocked my head at that. Tristan shrugged, patting his chest and legs. “Nothing that I’m aware of.”
“Noah, maybe you’re onto something. Tristan, where’s your wallet?”
“My wallet? It’s over there on the counter.”
I set my laptop down on the blue-and-white rug and walked to the counter, grabbing the thin black wallet underneath a set of house keys. I opened it and looked through the different sections, taking out the cards and cash and setting them on the marble counter.
Nothing. It was worth a shot.
I started to place everything back when a card caught my attention. The expiration date was set for 2089… “Hey, Tristan, is this a mistake?” I lifted the slightly heavy red card.
Tristan tilted his head and squinted in my direction. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t recognize that card. Hold on.” He stood from the couch, grabbing the card from my hand. He turned it over, shaking his head. “No, I never opened this card. I don’t know…”
“Give it to me,” I said. He handed the card back. I went directly into the kitchen and grabbed scissors from the butcher block. I cut the card, the two pieces falling onto the floor.
A wire was hanging from one of the pieces. A wire that should never have been inside of a credit card.
“Holy shit,” Tristan said. He had followed me into the kitchen. He crouched and picked up the pieces of plastic. “This was how he’s been tracking me?”
“He must have placed it in there that night he broke into your house.”
Tristan dropped the card and leaned back on the kitchen island, his arms clutching tight around his chest. “So he knows we’re here? Shit.”
