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) 📗

“Come on. Let’s go back downstairs.”

Ethan followed Martin out of the room without another comment. There was no need for one. He already knew what had to be done.

Martin introduced him to two new guests and then went to get Ethan a beer from the fridge. It was all smiles and handshakes until Martin returned. But deep in Ethan’s head, underneath the conversation, he heard the flapping of wings.

He squinted his eyebrows, concentrated on suppressing the sound, and laughed at a joke he hadn’t heard.

More guests arrived. The sun went down. Martin put steaks on the grill while Diane continued to drink. Except for her drinking, Martin thought things were going well.

Then her speech slurred, and she lost her graceful walk to a stumble. Her friends noticed, but only whispered to each other their concern.

Martin tried to reassure them that she didn’t do this often. “I mean, she’s not a lush.”

They didn’t laugh.

“All right, Diane,” he said after he’d dragged her out onto the deck. They were alone here, so he felt free to be direct. “What’s going on?”

She patted his cheek, a drunken grin stretched across her face. “We’re having a barbecue. What’d you think we were doing, silly?”

“Answer my question. I know you’re mad about something. You only do this when you’re mad about something.”

“I’m not mad about anything.” She took another sip of her wine.

“Diane . . .”

Then she wobbled toward him like she wanted a kiss, but missed his mouth entirely and started to laugh. “Hey, you want to go upstairs and fool around?”

“Diane, answer my question!”

“All right, all right.” She gathered herself together and stood as straight as she could. Her eyes glazed over with a blurry intensity. “Sometimes it’s those who are suspicious who are trusted to be least.”

“What?” Martin asked, trying to make sense of Diane’s drunk talk.

Diane laughed again, her hand shaking so much that red wine spilled out of her glass and onto the deck. Martin looked through the sliding glass door at their guests. Except for the occasional glance, everyone seemed to be ignoring them.

He grabbed her shoulders. “This is the last time I’m going to ask you . . .” She was making him furious. Not that he knew what he would do, but—

She patted his chest. “Okay. I’ll tell you.” Then she chuckled a couple more times before she could regain her composure. “First, I have to know if you love me.”

“You know I love you.”

“I mean really, really, really love me.”

“We’re getting married, aren’t we?”

“Do you really, really, really love me?”

He said he did.

“And no matter what, we’re getting married?”

This was going to be bad, he could tell. But he answered yes anyway.

“You promise?”

“Please tell me already.”

She finished what was left of her wine and placed the glass on the railing beside her. “Here it is. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last night. Trust is a very important part of a relationship. I want to start this marriage with everything out in the open.”

“Is this about Cynthia again?”

She shook her head dramatically. “No. Sort of. But it’s more about . . . me.”

“You?”

“And the pregnancy in college.” Then she turned to the railing, her cheeks bulging out like she might vomit, and froze with her head hanging over the side.

Ethan smiled and nodded at a group of people he was surrounded by but wasn’t listening to. None of Diane’s guests interested him. However, he had chosen to participate in this conversation because of their proximity to the door and the view he could get of their hosts outside.

He was trying to determine whether he could get upstairs and back before they returned. But until Diane leaned her head over the railing, their body language revealed no clear sign.

Martin put his hands on Diane’s shoulders—maybe to comfort her, maybe to stabilize her. Either way, it was the moment Ethan had been waiting for.

He excused himself and slipped back upstairs to the master bedroom. Before he was even at the bedroom door, he had a lie prepared in case anyone asked him why he was up there.

I had to pee, he’d say. The bathroom downstairs was busy.

Once in the room, he grabbed the family photo off the dresser. Then he shut the door. His fingers worked quickly to open the frame, to take out the picture.

The treasured family photograph seemed delicate out of its frame. This, though, did not stop him from shoving it into the pocket of his windbreaker and hiding the frame underneath the nearby armoire. Then he started back down the stairs.

He was three steps from bottom when the door to the deck slid open and Diane ran inside. She was crying. Her hand was pressed to her cheek.

Martin appeared a second later, shouting, “Everybody out!”

At first, everyone looked confused, but he kept shouting until the guests started to move—grabbing coats, dropping paper plates wherever they could. A pair of women had huddled around Diane. They used tissues to wipe away her tears, whispered comforting words.

Suddenly, after most of the guests were outside, she pushed the two women away. “He slapped me! That’s what that is!” she shouted at one of them as she pointed to the bright red spot on her cheek.

“You three get out, too!” Martin said, pointing in Diane’s direction.

“You don’t mean that,” Diane responded.

“Why’s he so mad?”

“How would you know what I mean? You’re drunker than I’ve ever seen you. Hell, you’d have to be to let that cat out of the bag!”

“What’d you say?”

Diane wailed and staggered toward the door. Her two friends followed, one on each side. Ethan was still standing on that third step, watching the room clear.

When Ethan was the only guest left, the door was still wide open. Martin glanced at him. His face was sweaty and red with anger. He closed the door and collapsed onto the couch.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe what she did.”

Finally, Ethan moved. He sat down in an adjacent chair, with his