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Wyatt would make damn sure of that.
That evening, a predator stalked his prey.
Wyatt followed Hal through the darkening streets as he made his way back to his suburban house after closing Joey's Pizza for the night. His gaze never left the back of Hal's head, watching, waiting.
When Hal finally turned up the front walk of his modest home, Wyatt hung back, blending into the shadows. He watched as Hal unlocked the front door and flicked on a light.
Right before stepping inside, Hal paused and glanced around, as if he could feel eyes on him. Wyatt held his breath, remaining perfectly still in the shadows. After a moment, Hal turned back, and went inside. The dark windows lit up as he turned on the lights.
Wyatt prowled up onto the front porch as silently as a big cat on the hunt. No-one else was home, and with trees blocking the way, the neighboring houses didn't have clear lines of sight to Hal's door.
Recon was half of Wyatt's job, and he was good at it.
And he was even better at the second half.
He rapped his knuckles against the door and schooled his features into a neutral expression. When Hal opened the door, confusion crinkling his brow, Wyatt gave him a sharp, dangerous smile. "Pizza delivery."
Hal rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I don't want any fucking p—"
Too late, Hal finally noticed that Wyatt wasn't holding a pizza box. His eyes went wide with dawning realization and confusion.
He tried to slam the door shut, but Wyatt wedged his boot in the gap. He forced his way inside the house, his hand slapping over Hal's mouth.
"We need to have a little talk," Wyatt growled, a savage grin splitting his face. "Step into my office, please…"
Chapter eight
Zachstaredupatthe water-stained ceiling of his apartment, trying to will his mind into numbness. He took another long hit from the joint pinched between his fingers, holding the acrid smoke in his lungs before exhaling slowly.
The familiar haze wrapped around his thoughts, muting the sharp edges, but it wasn't enough. It never seemed to be enough, lately. No matter how much weed he smoked, he couldn't escape the bone-deep sense of worthlessness that clung to him like a second skin.
Zach took another hit and sighed, shifting on the lumpy mattress. He knew he had to start looking for work, but the thought exhausted him.
He closed his eyes, willing his racing thoughts to quiet. He just wanted to sink into oblivion, to feel nothing at all. But he knew that there was nothing that would do that for him.
So he laid there, staring up at the ruined ceiling, waiting for the high to take him far away from everything he was trying so hard not to feel.
The stifling silence was broken by the feel of his phone buzzing in his pocket. He fished it out, the cracked screen refracting the alert into a dozen splintered slices.
He'd eventually been able to piece it together after he'd smashed it by throwing it at the wall — mostly. But it was clear that it wasn't going to last long. Another thing that would need money…
Zach squinted at the broken screen.
A new message from Chuck.
His stomach sank. The last message had sent him into a tailspin. It had made him do something that, even now, he wasn't sure about.
Had Wyatt listened to him? Had he gone to the pizza store, and seen what Zach thought he'd see? Or was this all in Zach's head? Did Wyatt think that Zach was just some delusional freakshow?
Letting out a frustrated hiss between his clenched teeth, Zach swiped open the message.
Yo! Did you see the thing with Hal?!
Zach's stomach churned at the thought of the sleazeball who had used and abused him for years. But curiosity won out and he typed Hal's name into the search bar with shaky fingers.
The results made him gasp aloud.
Local Business Owner Found Dead in Home.
