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) 📗

Connor thanked Austin and hung up. He had refused the offer originally because he had thought it would be awkward—staying with his boss. But now that he had accepted it, it didn’t feel strange at all, and he realized that somewhere along the way they had actually become friends. Perhaps it was inevitable, working side by side like they had fixing up that house.

Connor grabbed a backpack and a carry-on suitcase. In the backpack, he stored his laptop, power cord, cellphone charger, headphones, and an assortment of other electronics he deemed essential. In the carry-on, he packed enough clothes for a week and his toiletries.

After he zipped up both bags, he went through a mental checklist to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything, and decided he should take the Ambien, as well. Although he was hoping for natural sleep, he couldn’t take the risk that he wouldn’t get any at all.

Austin’s apartment was in a gentrified area of the Bronx, with a sushi restaurant on the corner and a twenty-four-hour mini-market that sold organic vegetables across the street.

He had told Connor it might be hard to get parking, so Connor considered himself lucky when he found a spot along the curb on his first pass around the block.

It was a tight fit. But with numerous turns, inching the car back and forth, he squeezed his Ford Fiesta in behind a new Mercedes and in front of a rusted-out Suzuki. Such is the nature of the Bronx, he thought.

Austin buzzed him into the walk-up, and Connor climbed the black-and-white checkered stairs to the fourth floor. Connor had never been in a walk-up before, and he stopped to look down only once. Between the flights of stairs, he could see all the way to the lobby. It was dizzying. He felt like he might fall, like somehow, simply by standing where he was, he might just tip over the edge and tumble to the ground. He grabbed the handrail for stability, closed his eyes.

As far as Connor knew, he wasn’t afraid of heights. He had been in his share of tall buildings over the years—in both New York and California. Until today, it had never bothered him.

But he also remembered reading somewhere once that such a phobia can develop suddenly as a reaction to trauma, that it sometimes stemmed from a fear, conscious or not, of being injured by things beyond one’s control.

He wasn’t sure that was true, or if it was the case here. Maybe he was suffering from low blood sugar. Whatever the cause, he was not looking down that stairwell again.

“Hey, you coming or what?” Austin shouted.

Without answering, Connor opened his eyes, kept his gaze aimed straight ahead, and climbed the last of the stairs.

“Man, you’re slow,” Austin said with a smile, as Connor stepped into his apartment.

The space was warm and inviting, with a lot of soft colors, and everything just so. Throw pillows arranged on the sofa and in colors that complemented the drapes. Built-in bookshelves framing the window opposite the door. Sometimes, when deep in the muck and mess of the remodel, Connor wondered if it was really going to turn out okay. The look of the apartment did a lot to assuage his concerns. Although decorating wasn’t remodeling, Austin seemed to have an eye. But instead of saying all that, Connor summed it up with simply a “Nice place.”

Austin glanced over his shoulder at the apartment. “It’s home.” He closed the door, pointed to a hall that led off the living room. “Your room’s over there.”

Connor hauled his luggage down the hall. Austin’s cat scurried out of the bathroom and, at the sight of a stranger, took shelter under the sofa.

“Name’s Biscuit. True definition of a scaredy-cat. She’ll warm up to you.”

The bedroom was small and, because of that, the bed had been pushed against the wall. But the space had received as much attention to detail as the rest of the apartment had. The bed was dressed in white linens with military corners. A furry white throw rug had been placed in front of it. There was a small desk and a bedside table, both mahogany, and a floor lamp that seemed to cast just the right amount of light for the room.

Connor put his carry-on in one corner and his backpack by the desk.

“Can I get you anything?” Austin said from behind him.

Connor turned around. “No, thanks. I just want to get some sleep.”

And he meant it. Because, he’d realized, he could sleep here. The constant anxiety he had felt since his parents were taken, the fear that they might never come back—none of these were gone. They would be with him until his parents returned. But being out of his house, away from the constant reminders of that horrible night, and no less being here, in a room that practically told you to sleep—it was exactly what he needed.

CHAPTER 19

Connor didn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t remember dreaming, and didn’t wake up until Austin knocked on the bedroom door.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead. Coffee’s in the kitchen. We got to get moving. Today’s going to be a short day. I’ve got stuff to do up at the cabin in the afternoon.”

Connor had been planning to bow out early, claiming he had a doctor’s appointment. But he was glad he wouldn’t have to, and not just because he thought the excuse sounded flimsy. He didn’t like to lie. He especially didn’t want to lie to Austin. The man was as much of a friend as he had in New York anymore, and you didn’t lie to friends.

Which was why, he decided, he should tell Austin about Uncovered.

He waited until after Austin had used the electric saw to cut the smooth lines in the drywall that would frame the opening between the living room and the kitchen. Then, once they had taken measurements and cut