A Reagan Keeter Box Set: Three page-turning thrillers that will leave you wondering who you can trus by Reagan Keeter (fiction novels to read txt) 📗

and apologized. She said she knows what it’s like to lose someone and I told her no, this not her fault. So see? I couldn’t have had anything to do with it. This is Carlos’s fault.” She poked the table with each of the last two words, as if merely repeating the statement wasn’t enough.

Connor believed her. Adriana had no idea what had happened to his parents. But there was something she had said, something he’d almost missed, that didn’t seem right. “You said she came here? That she told you she knows what it’s like to lose someone?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure that’s what she said?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Do you know what she meant?”

Adriana shook her head, then wiped away a tear with her thumb.

Connor wasn’t sure what to make of that. Both of his mother’s parents were dead, but that didn’t seem like the kind of thing you would say when you were talking about a parent, especially since both had died of natural causes. “All right. I’m sorry for bothering you.” He headed to the door.

“Hey,” Adriana called after him. “You tell the police not to come back here anymore, you hear me?”

Connor turned around, looked her in the eye. “I’ll tell them.” Then he returned to his car. The sun had nearly set, and a pair of men standing on a porch across the street watched him the whole way.

Connor immediately locked the doors and put the car into drive. He didn’t bother to listen to Olivia’s voicemail until he was on the interstate.

She had said only, “Call me as soon as you get this. It’s urgent.”

CHAPTER 10

Traffic on the interstate was light, so Connor didn’t mind taking his eyes off the road long enough to grab the USB cable curled up in the cup holder and connect it to his phone. Then he clicked the icon beside Olivia’s message to call her back.

She answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”

“What? Why?” Connor said.

“Are you at home?”

“No, I—”

“How soon can you get there?”

He glanced at the clock on his dashboard and did a quick calculation. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

“What’s going on?”

“Better we talk in person,” Olivia said, and hung up.

Shit, Connor thought. Something had happened. He pressed his foot down on the gas, going as fast as he dared and weaving between cars. Fifteen minutes was how long it would have taken him on a normal night, but he could get home faster.

What does Olivia want? Have the police found something? The suspense was killing him.

When he pulled up to the house, he saw a black sedan parked out front. Olivia stepped out.

“Tell me what’s happening. Did you find something?”

She waited until Connor was close enough to speak without raising her voice. “Let’s go inside.”

Oh, God. This is going to be bad. Really bad.

He was right.

“Can we sit down?” Olivia asked. She was carrying a manila envelope.

Connor felt his legs go weak as he moved to the sofa.

Oliva took a seat beside him. She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees and holding the envelope with both hands. “We got a call.”

“And?”

She opened the envelope, slid out an eight-by-ten photo and handed it to Connor. “Do you recognize this?”

The photo was of a ring, taken close up and against a white background. In any other setting, the photo would have reminded Connor of the kind of picture he would see hanging in the window of a jewelry shop. Here, though, tonight, it could mean only one thing.

“That’s my mother’s ring.”

He knew this not just because the detective was asking about it. He recognized the distinctive, swirling pattern that had been etched into the band.

“You’re sure?”

Connor nodded. “Where did you find it?”

Olivia ignored the question. She held out a hand, requesting Connor return the picture. When he did, she swapped it with another. This time, he was looking at a piece of fabric. Unlike the ring, it consumed the entire frame. But from the look of it, Connor suspected its actual size wasn’t much larger than a quarter.

“How about that?”

He couldn’t be as certain about the fabric as he was about the ring, but Connor suspected he recognized it, as well. “My father was wearing a shirt like that, I think, the night . . .” He couldn’t finish the sentence, so instead he asked, “Where did you get these?”

Olivia again held out a hand to request Connor return the second photo. She put it back in the envelope. “Like I said, we got a call.”

“What did they say?”

“They told us where to find your parents.”

“Did you find them?”

Olivia looked away, directing her attention once again to the envelope. “Yes.”

Connor felt a flutter of excitement in his chest. “What are you showing me this stuff for, then? Are they all right? Can I see them?”

“Slow down. Listen to me. The caller reported a fire at a parking garage in Linwood. He told us we would find your parents there. This was late last night, and the lot was nearly deserted. As we neared the top, one of the officers with me said he smelled smoke. And then when we finally reached the top floor, we found out why. Someone had lit a fire right in the middle of the deck. We called the fire department, locked down the garage. At first, we thought we had been played. Then one of the firefighters called me over.” She paused long enough to lean in and shake her head. “The bodies were no longer recognizable. All we managed to recover were a few scraps of clothing and your mother’s wedding band.”

The nervous energy Connor felt morphed into something dark and unidentifiable, but equally as intense. He got up, paced to the wall. “No, no, no.” Turned around. “That can’t be right. You’re mistaken. You have to be.”

“Connor, please. I wish we were. But if you’re sure about the ring—”

“Dental records. You can check those, right? We’ve been going to the same dentist as long as I can remember.”

“Not this time,”