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) 📗

Lucas was manipulating her, that this was exactly what he wanted her to do. But since it was also what she wanted to do, she didn’t mind. She knew they were going to have to hand Aden over to the federal authorities sooner or later. What did it matter if she got the information out of him or they did?

Besides, she had only started looking into Aden because she was feeling bad about her lack of progress with the Callahan murders. But, really, when you’re stuck on a problem—any problem—the key isn’t to go work on something else. It’s to dig deeper.

So that’s what she did.

Olivia stayed at her desk studying the file until the babysitter called to say she had to leave. Then she took the file home with her and continued to study it there. After she checked in on her daughter to make sure she was sleeping soundly, Olivia propped herself up against a stack of pillows on her bed and spread the file’s contents out in front of her. There were copies of the reports filed by the officers who had first arrived at Connor’s house. Notes from her conversations with him. Photos of the disarray the kidnapper had left behind. More photos of the fire at the parking garage. And on and on it went.

She must have gone through every item more than twenty times before she finally saw it. Actually, she didn’t exactly “see” it, since there was nothing to see. It was more of an idea—maybe even a wish. But it was enough of a possibility to be worth a follow-up. Olivia was disappointed in herself for not thinking of it sooner.

Olivia didn’t sleep well. She was anxious to get up and get moving. After she dropped Erin off at preschool, she went back to the 7-Eleven that had sold the cellphone to the killer.

The manager was in his twenties—practically a kid, as far as Olivia was concerned—with a patchy beard. She suspected he was hoping it made him look older. It didn’t. Instead, he looked like a kid who couldn’t grow a beard.

She showed him her badge. “Remember me?”

His name was Howard, and he was the same man who had given her the information about the cellphone the first time. He grunted, which she had gathered from their last interaction was as close as he got to a yes.

“You guys have CCTV here?” Olivia had looked around the store when she had arrived and hadn’t seen any cameras, but sometimes they were hard to spot.

Another grunt. This one a no.

The wish evaporated.

“Not inside.”

“What do you mean?”

Then he strung together the single longest sentence Olivia had heard from him. “We have a camera facing the parking lot.”

“Can I see the footage?”

Howard shrugged. What did he care? He took her to the office at the back of the store, showed her to the computer, and logged in. Then, he mumbled something unintelligible about customers and, before she realized it, he was gone. That was fine with her. He creeped her out. She was glad she wouldn’t have to go through the footage with him looking over her shoulder.

Olivia did her best to line up the time of the purchase with the time on the video. Fortunately, there weren’t a lot of customers that day. It wasn’t hard to figure out who had bought the cellphone.

Unfortunately, she could only see him from the back. He was in his forties, she guessed, from his build. But if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that he could just as easily be thirty as sixty. It was hard to tell a lot about a person’s age from behind.

Then he got into a Mustang and drove off, giving her a clear view of his license plate in the process, and she thanked her lucky stars that the ping-pong game of fortune had ended in her favor.

Olivia stopped the tape and called in the plate number. A minute later, she knew who the car was registered to and where she could find him. She hurried out of the store with barely a thank you. Howard responded with even less.

CHAPTER 26

Connor drove Olin to 121 Forrest Creek Drive. Dylan Naese’s house. “Truth seeker extraordinaire,” as he called himself on the website. Connor pulled up to the gate.

“What if this doesn’t work?” Olin said.

“Then we’ll come back in the morning and try again.” He pressed the button on the callbox and waited. When no one answered, he pressed it again. For ten minutes, he kept pressing that button. Long enough to annoy anyone if they were at home. Then he pulled up to the next street, made a left, and parked along the curb. His was not the only car on the side of the street, and he hoped, even though it had seen more wear than the others, it would not stand out.

“Let’s go,” Connor said, opening his door.

Olin was slow to move. He looked to Connor like his nerves might get the best of him.

“Let’s go,” Connor repeated.

Then Olin nodded his head with a little too much vigor and got out of the car.

Connor made a come-here gesture as he closed in on the back of the property. He slipped between the brick wall and the fence like he had last time.

Olin slid in beside him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Connor was already on the move. Ten feet in, he stopped, kneeled down, interlaced the fingers of both hands. Olin reluctantly stepped onto them, and Connor lifted him to the top of the wall. He watched as Olin got one leg over, stabilized himself.

“Come on,” he whispered, reaching down to offer Connor his hand.

Seconds later, both boys were over the wall.

The backyard was an expansive manicured lawn. An assortment of bushes and flowers were strategically placed. There was a fire pit and a swing close to the house, accessible via a pair of French doors that seemed to lead into the kitchen.

“I