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) 📗

“Listen,” he said as he held two of the boards together, end to end and at a ninety-degree angle, “I need to tell you something.”

Austin took the nail gun, positioned it over the joint, and fired. “What is it?”

“That show I told you about. Uncovered. Remember how I said they came to me, asked if I would be interested in being a part of it?”

“Sure. You said it would be a bad idea.”

“So, I changed my mind.”

Austin fired a second nail into the joint, and the two men moved as one to line up the next board at the other end.

“You’re going to do it?”

“That’s the thing. They filmed yesterday.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Why would I be? It was your choice. I don’t think anything will come of it except a bunch of nut-jobs phoning in garbage leads. But you have to do what you think is best. Maybe I would have done the same thing in your position.” He aimed the nail gun over the second joint and fired. This time, though, nothing happened. “Shit.” He tried again. It still didn’t fire.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Hell if I know. I’ve got a hammer in the truck. Go grab it, would you?”

Connor patted his hands together to shake off the dust and went outside. He felt a little foolish for thinking Austin would care whether he did the show, but he was still glad he’d told him.

He searched the toolbox in the bed of the truck. No hammer. He checked the cab, and it wasn’t there either. Maybe Austin had left it at the apartment.

Connor looked over at the shed and thought it wasn’t unreasonable he would find one in there. The double doors on the shed, however, were secured with a padlock. So much for that.

“No hammer,” he told Austin, when he went back inside.

“You sure?”

Connor nodded.

“All right.” Austin looked around the dusty room. “Let’s get all this swept up, and we’ll call it a day. Start back early tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 20

Deerfield Park was on a small plot of land about a mile from Connor’s house. It had a jungle gym and swings, benches for parents to sit on while they watched their children play. Other than a narrow stretch of grass big enough to picnic on, that was it. Across the street were a series of tennis courts. But they went by the name Deerfield Courts, so Connor discounted them as a likely place for the meet.

He texted Olin when he arrived and Olin, who had been sitting with his back to Connor on one of the benches, stood up and waved. He was wearing a blue button-down, tucked into a pair of khakis.

Connor went over to join him.

“Where do you think we should be looking?” Olin asked.

Connor gave a half-shrug. “He’ll probably come sit down on one of these benches, that would be my guess.”

“Okay.”

“Just watch for anything.”

“Got it.”

Then Connor and Olin sat in silence for a while. They had already discussed the plan, so there was no need to go over it again. Connor watched half a dozen children play around the jungle gym. Four of them seemed to be engaged in a game of tag. He glanced at the parents. All but two were women.

One of those men could be Roland, he thought. There was no way to tell by looking at them. He would just have to watch, wait, see what happened.

At some point, Olin asked how Connor had slept, then how he was holding up and whether he really thought confronting Roland would amount to anything. Connor didn’t have much in the way of answers. But he also suspected Olin wasn’t looking for any.

Eventually, both of the men left with children, which cleared the deck, Connor thought. Odds were good now any man who showed up without a child was their guy.

“Which one’s yours?”

The voice came from Connor’s left. He turned, saw a woman not much older than he was in a floral-print dress. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was striking.

Connor wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t do well talking to women, especially not those he found attractive, and especially not now, when any answer he gave would have to be a lie. He licked his lips. “Umm . . .”

“We’re just taking in some fresh air,” Olin said, getting to his feet and smiling in a way that seemed both charming and practiced.

The woman’s own smile faltered. She did her best to recover, wished them both a good day, and went to sit on another bench.

“Good job,” Olin said. “Now she’s going to think we’re some kind of pervs or something.”

Connor would have told Olin he didn’t care what that woman thought of him if he had been listening, but he wasn’t, because on the other side of the park, at the edge of that strip of grass that masqueraded as a lawn, was a man. He hadn’t been there before. He was tall, heavyset. He had a goatee and was wearing a red bowling shirt. Under one arm, he was carrying a newspaper, but he didn’t seem interested in finding a place to read it. Instead, he looked around—left, right, over his shoulder twice.

Connor tapped Olin’s arm and nodded toward the man. “That’s him.”

“You sure?”

No. Not completely. He made for a likely candidate, though. “You know what to do. I’m going in,” Connor said, already on the move.

He took his time crossing the park, meandering around the jungle gym and the swings. He didn’t want to spook the man, and Olin needed time to get into position.

Roland—this has to be him—glanced at Connor more than once, but not in a way that was meaningful. He was looking at everyone. He pulled his phone out of a holster on his belt and typed something into it.

A second later, Connor felt a vibration in his pocket. It was his father’s phone. Roland had sent a message: I’m here. How far away are you?

Connor