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) 📗

But if Ion thought he was the only one who could locate a stranger by their IP, he was mistaken. Connor started his search for Ion with the email Ion had sent him. Most emails included the IP address from which the email originated, and this one was no exception. The IP address wouldn’t take him straight to Ion’s front door, but at least it would let him know where he needed to be looking. It would also let him know whether it was even possible that Ion was behind his parents’ abduction. If the IP traced back to France, for example, he could rule Ion out without any further investigation.

But it did not trace back to France, or even Boston.

The sender’s IP pointed squarely at New York. Watertown Heights, to be exact. Another suburb of the city, and one that was barely an hour’s drive from Connor’s house.

So maybe he was on to something, after all.

He tempered that hope, though, reminded himself that proximity alone did not make this man the kidnapper. He needed to find out more.

Connor searched the web for the TruthSeekers.com domain registration. Those could be public or private, depending on how much the registrant was willing to pay. When he found the domain, he took a deep breath, worried he might have come to a dead end, and clicked for more information.

Boom.

A name and address: Dylan Naese. 121 Forrest Creek Drive. New York.

He was in business.

Connor went straight to his car, stopping barely long enough to put on his shoes. It took him two tries to get it to start—piece of crap—and then he was on the road.

Connor wasn’t sure what he’d find at 121 Forrest Creek Drive. He pictured something small, maybe even run down. A manifestation of the man’s inner world. He was ready for that. He imagined himself charging straight up to the front door, pounding on it until the man answered. You’re Dylan? he would ask, just to confirm there was no mistake before demanding Dylan tell him where his parents were.

What Connor found, though, was not small, and not even a little bit run down.

The three-story brick Georgian loomed large in a neighborhood of large houses. It was surrounded by a brick wall and the driveway was blocked by an iron gate, complete with a callbox. Connor drove past it slowly and parked along the curb. He walked up to the gate so he could get a better look. The only lights that were on seemed to be those on the top floor.

The house was at the intersection of Forrest Creek Drive and Park Lane. Connor put his hands in his pockets and strolled to the corner, turned, then continued to follow the wall until it ended. Ivy clung to the brick, climbing all eight feet and over.

Perhaps there was another way in, he told himself. But there wasn’t. At least, there wasn’t one that was visible from the street.

When the wall that ran along Park Lane ended, Connor peered around the corner to see if there was an opening along the back of the property, but he couldn’t see much from where he was.

He looked over his shoulder—an action, he realized, that couldn’t be more suspicious—and slipped off the sidewalk into the darkness behind the property. There were only a few feet between Dylan’s wall and his neighbor’s fence, not enough space to walk straight ahead. Connor eased between the fence and the wall, palms pressed to the bricks. He considered pulling out his cellphone, using the flashlight on it, but worried that might draw attention.

The wall continued uninterrupted to the far corner of the property, and then turned toward Forrest Creek Drive. Only because Connor had already come this far, he finished scouting the perimeter in its entirety. When he reached the street, he leaned against the wall and dropped his head. He thought about the money this guy must have, the life he must live. He sighed. This was stupid. Connor was wasting his time. This guy wasn’t involved.

He went back to the car and called Olivia, told her about the ring, what he thought it meant. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake with the ring that he had made with the cash he had found after the abduction. Then he thought about the show Uncovered.

“To hell with it,” he mumbled. He wanted his parents back, and a segment on that show wouldn’t make the situation any worse. It might even help.

CHAPTER 14

Olivia wasn’t convinced the ring meant anything at all. The killer might have removed it for one reason or another and simply shoved it back on the wrong finger. She kept that to herself, though. It didn’t change anything. Whether the bodies were actually Connor’s parents or not, the man who had taken them was still a killer, and, according to the department’s forensic psychologist, would likely kill again.

She had traced the phone call back to a burner and the burner back to the 7-Eleven where it was sold. Unfortunately, the buyer had paid cash, so that lead died there. Subpoenaing T-Mobile didn’t do her any good either, since the phone was off.

So she was stuck waiting for the lab to see what clues, if any, they might be able to pull from the remains of the fire.

While she waited, she decided to follow up with the owner of the One Point liquor store. On its surface, the report had painted the picture of a man who was no more defensive than most might be after killing someone, even when it was done in self-defense. But Aden Tindol was ex-Army. And although she couldn’t put her finger on exactly why that bothered her, it did.

It would probably amount to nothing. Likely she still felt guilty that she hadn’t spoken with Adriana before Connor had.

She stopped by the liquor store first, hoping to catch him off guard and ease her way casually into a discussion about