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“Thank you, Zane. I think I’ve got it from here.”
“Do you want me to fly in? I can get on a flight and be there in the next three hours, tops.”
I considered it. But that meant more waiting, which meant giving more time for this killer to slip back into the shadows. “You can if you want, but I’m going to start working this lead the second we hang up.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less. I’ll let you know. Stay safe, Gabe.”
“Will do, and thank you. I think this could be it.”
“Don’t thank me—thank Andrew from the Miami offices. He’s the one that pieced things together.”
“I’ll buy him a drink the next time I see him.”
We hung up, but I was on another phone call before I could even blink.
“Hello, you’ve reached the front desk at the Iconic. How can I help you today?”
“Hi,” I said, switching my tone over to friendly and custodial. “I’m sending a package to one of my friends and want to make sure it gets to him. Can you make a note to take extra care when that package gets there?”
“Sure thing,” the cheery guy on the other line said. “Name and apartment number?”
“Marlin Brooks. He’s in apartment… shit. I always switch the numbers. Apartment 215?”
I could hear a keyboard clicking before the guy answered with a “hmmm.”
“Was I wrong?”
“Yeah, I think you mean apartment 134. That’s where I have a Marlin Brooks registered under.”
“Perfect, yup. I’ll be sure to write that down. Thank you.”
I hung up before he could respond. A cold sliver of ice slipped down my back, as if someone had trailed a frozen finger down each bump of my spine. It was a vicious dread. I pulled up my contacts list on my phone and started typing out a name into the search bar.
Stev—He popped up before I finished typing.
I tapped his name.
The contact card filled the screen.
His phone number was up top. Directly under it was his address.
The Iconic. Apartment 134.
Steven wasn’t actually Steven.
He was Marlin Brooks. He was the Midnight Chemist. He had been inside Tristan’s home, shared drinks with his friends, read books and tossed around jokes and sat right there next to Tristan on the couch. Always next to him. Never far. He hadn’t shown up tonight. Was he worried I was already on his trail? Was he preparing for something else to happen tonight?
I had to get to him. Maybe I could trick him into meeting with me? He didn’t know I’d put the pieces together yet; I could still leverage some element of surprise over him.
For the third time in less than three minutes, my phone was back against my ear, ringing.
Ring.
Ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Steven,” I said. It was rare I got nervous, especially on the job. I had stomped out those nerves from my time in the Marines. Being able to have a razor-sharp focus sometimes meant the difference between life and death.
