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) 📗

his parents’ abductions, and the application was a clever way of capturing not just calls from the kidnapper, but any calls they wanted. Maybe texts, too.

As he pulled a clean pair of jeans and a Ramones tee shirt out of his suitcase, he told himself that was unlikely. If Olivia was monitoring the calls and texts on his phone, she would also be monitoring the ones on his dad’s. She would have already known about Roland.

But then he reminded himself that one could never be too careful.

Connor opened the bedroom door and crept through the dark apartment. His foot brushed against something soft, and he jerked back, his heart hammering, as Austin’s cat bolted into the living room, likely taking shelter under the sofa again.

Once he caught his breath, he continued on to the kitchen. Austin had a spiral notepad and pencil that he used for his shopping lists in a drawer by the stove. Connor took them out, hastily scrawled out a brief note that said he would not be able to come to work today and that he would circle up with Austin later. He had some personal business to attend to.

He used a magnet that read “Summertime’s funner time” to stick it to the fridge.

Connor was halfway to Olin’s house when Austin called. He’d expected it. Austin was probably worried about him—taking off before sunrise and leaving a cryptic note like he had.

“You’re up early,” Austin said, when Connor answered. “Where are you?”

“I’ve got something I have to do. I left you a note on the fridge.”

“I saw it. You’re not coming in today?” He sounded annoyed.

“I will if I can.”

“What is this about? Did the police call you? Did they find something?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Then what? Is something else going on?”

Connor wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing. He didn’t want Austin to know that he had hacked into Dylan’s website, broken into her house, and remotely taken control of her computer. He didn’t want anyone to know all that. Well, no one but Olin, who had been a part of the break-in and would be a part of what came next.

“Is it something I can help with?”

“I found something out yesterday,” Connor said, finally realizing he had a story to tell Austin that might put an end to the questions. “My dad met with some guy named Roland. I mean—it could be nothing, right? But the whole thing seemed strange. I thought I would have a look around my house. Maybe I’ll find something that will tell me why they met. It probably has nothing to do with his kidnapping. But I . . . I just have to do something, if I can.” At least that much was true. He did have to do something. Trying to figure out why his father had met with Roland wasn’t it, though. He had gone as far as he could with that. It was in Olivia’s hands now.

Austin sighed. “I guess I get it. Do what you have to do. But I want you home early tonight. I have something I need to talk to you about.”

“What is it?”

“Better we talk in person.”

CHAPTER 34

Olin didn’t come to the door right away. Connor figured he might still be asleep. No matter. He wasn’t giving up. Employing the same strategy he had at Adriana’s and again at Dylan’s, he rang the doorbell again, and this time kept ringing it—one ding-dong after another—for a minute or more, before finally sitting down on the brick stoop with a sigh of frustration, his legs hanging over the edge and splayed out across the walkway.

Olin might be ignoring the doorbell because he didn’t want to see him. After what had happened last time, Connor wouldn’t blame him if that was the case.

Maybe the best thing to do was to leave him alone. Connor had likely been projecting his own emotions onto Olin when he had thought Olin would want to confront Dylan with him. Not everyone handled pain the same way. Some people, like Connor, felt compelled to act. Sometimes that action was meaningful. Sometimes it was not. But in all cases, it buried the pain for a while, dulled its edge.

Olin had been a man of action only because Connor had pushed him into it. (Ironic, when Connor thought about it, considering on a normal day Connor would be the one sitting behind a computer doing “nothing” while Olin was out in the world “making things happen.”)

He had wanted to turn everything over to the police from the moment they had met. And then what? Wallow in his misery? Maybe. Some people, Connor had gathered, liked to feel every second of their pain.

And who was he to judge? Who was he to say one way of healing was better than another?

Although he liked Olin, liked having a partner on his quest, it had been selfish of him to come here, he decided. He could handle this on his own.

Connor stood up, dusted off the back of his jeans, and had just started toward the car when he heard the door open behind him. He turned around.

Olin was standing in the foyer, yawning and with deep bags under his eyes. He was wearing flip-flips, shorts, and a gray tee—a combination, Connor noted, that looked more like something he himself would be wearing.

“What are you doing here?” Olin said, and glanced to his left. Connor remembered from his last visit there was a pendulum clock on the wall, just out sight. “Christ, it’s early.”

“I didn’t want to wait. I had an idea.”

“Great. Keep it to yourself.”

Connor stepped forward. “No, wait. Listen, yesterday was a mistake. It was a terrible idea to break into Dylan’s house.”

“You think?”

“But I still want to talk to her. I mean, she’s just a kid, but she might still know something, right? After all, she knew about Matt. So what else does she know?”

“Leave it alone. We’re not going back to that house.”

Connor noticed he used the word “we.” It