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) 📗

NOW

ETHAN WOKE UP disoriented. He stared into the blinding light of the flashlight, trying to remember where he was and how he’d gotten here. Then he realized he was unable to move. His wrists had been bound to his ankles. He pulled his arms and legs, trying to separate them, to break the shoelaces holding them together, but the effort was futile.

THEN

MARTIN RETOLD DIANE’S story—complete with the time she barged into his mother’s house to announce the abortion and the eyedropper she’d used to drip fake tears down her cheeks.

Ethan listened without moving until he was done.

“I still can’t believe she kept it a secret for all these years.” Martin rubbed his temples as he spoke.

Ethan patted his knee and said sympathetically, “It’s like what I said, life will fuck you over if you let it.”

Martin exhaled a chuckle. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Don’t take this personally, but I think I want to be alone.”

“You sure? Because I know this hot little bitch. I bet she could hook you up with one of her friends, and you could get those memories fucked out of you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny.”

“Well, whatever it was supposed to be, I don’t think it’s a good idea. . . . Just go home and get some rest. I’ll see you Monday at the bar.”

Ethan stood up. “Sure. Whatever you want. I got things to do tomorrow, anyway. Before I go, tell me something, though. Did you really slap her out there?”

Martin nodded, his eyes never meeting Ethan’s, and then added, “After I tried to choke her.”

“Are you serious?”

“It was just for a second. Before I realized what I was doing.”

“How’d it feel?”

Martin thought about that. It felt . . . strange, empowering, but mostly it felt “Scary.” I shouldn’t be capable of something like that.

Ethan smiled. “I’ll see you Monday.”

And left.

Martin spent the weekend at his mother’s house. There was something peaceful about being back in the place he grew up. He was safe here—surrounded by 1950s trinkets and overwhelmed by the memories of his life before Diane.

Saturday night was spent reminiscing with his mom about his boyhood. “Remember how much you used to love Superman?” she said. “How you wore that costume I made you every day of the summer after third grade?”

It was her favorite memory.

“How could I forget?”

“I think the neighbors thought I couldn’t afford clothes for you kids anymore.” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke—it had been a long time since the two had been alone together, and Martin’s mom was thrilled to see him.

They were up until late into the evening, retelling stories they’d each told a thousand times. But it was better than talking about Diane, and Martin was glad that his mom had the good sense to realize that.

The only comment she’d made was just before bed. “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word about it when your sister comes over tomorrow. I think dealing with this new boyfriend of hers will be enough for one day.”

NOW

GINA HAD EXHAUSTED herself trying to dig a way out and eventually gave up. If she wanted to get away from Paul’s corpse, she’d have to go out the same way the others did. But there were obvious risks in such a decision. She’d likely never find them, she’d probably get lost, and she’d more than likely end up as pale and dead as her boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend.

She sat down beside Paul’s body and stared, with slow steady breaths, at his peaceful face, closed eyes. Thank God his eyes were closed. She couldn’t bear looking into those deep, aqua-colored pools, now deserted. His body abandoned like a condemned building.

All of my training as a nurse, and what good has it done me?

She took his cold palm into one hand and softly ran the fingers of her other over it. In her exhaustion, she was able to think clearly for the first time since she awoke to find his lifeless head in her lap. This was simply the cycle of life, she told herself. Even here, in the darkness of the cave, there was no reason to be scared. He wasn’t going to turn into a zombie. He was just going to lie there, still, until somebody came to carry him away.

I’ll be here with you. I won’t leave your side, she promised. Then she mouthed the words to a silent prayer.

THEN

ETHAN HAD SPENT his lunch hour on Friday scanning the Yellow Pages in search of a reputable, but affordable, private investigator. After he found several that looked promising, he placed calls to get prices and, in doing so, realized how limited the information was he had to offer.

“What do you know already?” he was asked repeatedly.

Each time before answering, he glanced around the diner to make sure no one was close enough to hear him. “Bastard’s name is Frank Campbell. Father of Martin Campbell, ex-husband of Janice Campbell.”

The conversations that followed went mostly the same.

“That’s it?” the investigator would ask.

“All I can tell you for sure. But I got a picture.”

“How recent?”

“Probably twenty years ago.”

“That’s not much to go on.”

“Can you do it?”

“Yeah. But it’ll take time, and it won’t be cheap.”

“How much?”

“It depends on how long it takes.”

Their evasiveness on this last point made Ethan suspicious. Without a specific number, they could easily rack up billable hours while sleeping or watching television. Based on that concern, every conversation ended the same: “Let me think about it. I’ll get back to you.”

After all, how could he know the exact number of hours it might take to track down Frank Campbell?

There had to be another option. By three o’clock, he had it. With all that high-tech equipment, certainly Dallas could find him. And Dallas, with all his paranoia and shady dealings, was far less likely to go to the police if he got word of Frank Campbell’s untimely death.

Martin’s first encounter with Paul Dixon