PANIC

to back it up. And maybe that reputation he has is even halfway true. Maybe he did kill that guy? I have no idea. But I let him take my sister out, so you know, I think he’s OK.”

Vic releases my arm and I push through the door, mumbling out a ‘thank you’ as I slip into the darkness.

Maybe Spencer killed that guy? That’s even a possibility?

Holy fucking shit. I’m sure Vic thought his words would make me feel better, but they don’t. Because I never, not for one moment, really believed these guys actually murdered someone.

Until now.

Just when I think my day could not get any worse it starts to rain.

I walk hastily down the sidewalk, look both ways, wait for a car to pass, and then head towards my truck. I fish my keys out of my pocket, look up, and then stop dead in the middle of the southbound lane of College Avenue.

Wade fucking Minix is standing six feet away. 

Chapter Thirty-One - ROOK

A set of headlights flash, then a horn honks but I can’t drag my eyes away from the man standing before me. Where the hell did he come from?

Then Wade has me by the waist and he throws me down on the wet ground near the back tire of my truck. My breath comes out with a loud oomph with the impact and then my head slams back onto the concrete, temporarily stunning me. “Jesus fucking Christ, Rook! You almost got flattened by a goddamn van!”

He lies there on top of me, breathing heavy, staring into my eyes, and I’m paralyzed. He comes back to his senses before I do and stands up, extending his hand.

I process what he’s doing but nothing moves. I’m just frozen. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He reaches down, grabs my arm, and hoists me to my feet. I lean back against the truck and realize he never answered me. “I said—”

“I heard you, Rook,” he says so softly I can barely make out his words over the constant stream of traffic flowing through the little downtown. “Let’s sit in your truck. Can we sit and talk in your truck?”

I’m too stunned to even answer. I haven’t talked to this guy in five years. The last time we had a conversation I was a kid, about to be thrown back into the foster care system because his mom wanted to keep us apart. Wade takes the keys from my hand, unlocks the door, and pushes me to get in the driver’s seat. I watch him walk around the front of the truck, then get in next to me, setting a backpack down on the floor in front of him.

“Rook—” he starts. But I put up a hand.

“Don’t. I don’t even know why I let you in this truck. Give me the keys.” I hold my hand out and he drops them into my palm. I shove the key in the ignition and start the truck. “Leave. I have nothing to say to you, Wade. If I wanted to talk to you I would’ve done it up in Sturgis.”

He shakes his head at me and I take him in. Like, really take him in for the first time since that horrible day that changed my life forever. His blond hair is wet and plastered against his face and even though I know he’s got gorgeous green eyes, I can’t really make out the color in the dark. He’s a lot bigger than I remember him, maybe because we were just kids back then. Five years can mean a lot of changes to a teen boy’s body.

“Rook, listen to me, OK? I just want to talk to you, that’s it. I just want a chance to talk to you.”

“Why? What could you possibly have to say to me that hasn’t already been said?”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes search my face, almost as if they’re pleading.

“Sorry?” I shake my head. Un-fucking-believable. “You’re sorry? You’re sorry for what, Wade?”

“For what happened.” I just stare at him. “What happened after… you know, after my mom kicked you out and you ended up with that Jon guy.”

“What?” I ask, stunned.

“I know what happened, Rook.”

“You don’t know shit. Get the fuck out of my truck.”

“I know everything, Rook.” And then he reaches down into the backpack and removes a folder and thrusts it at me.

I just stare at it. And I’m not sure how I know, but I know—“I do not want that.”

“I don’t care,” he says in a low voice. “You’re taking it. They’ve been trying to reach you through your math tutor but you just won’t listen.”

I look around wildly. They are following me! “Who sent you with this?”

“The FBI, Rook. You’re in so damn deep, baby, they just—”

“Do not fucking call me baby, OK? I’m not your fucking baby.”

“Sorry,” he says, raising his hands in an I surrender motion. “Sorry, I just need to talk to you and then I’ll leave if you want.”

“I’m not talking about Ronin, Wade. I’m not sure what’s going on, but that paper Gage showed me was utter bullshit. He’s not any of those things they say he is and I don’t care what kind of so-called proof those guys have, I’m not buying it.”

“This isn’t about Ronin, Rook. It’s about Jon, and those things he was doing back in Illinois. The things he made you participate in, the things—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” My heart is racing so fast I might pass out, that’s how rattled I am right now. “Who sent you?”

“I told you—”

“No, who specifically. I want a name, right fucking now, or I’m calling the police and reporting you for stalking.”

He hesitates for a second and then gives it up. “Agent Abelli, he’s out of the Chicago FBI field office. He’s been hunting Jon down for years and they were very close to busting him when you took off to Vegas last spring. Jon disappeared after that and then, of course, he resurfaced here.”

I’ve never heard that name. Who the fuck? “So? Why do they want to talk to me?”

“They think you have something of Jon’s. Something you got in Vegas. Did you get something of Jon’s in Vegas, Rook?”

My entire body is buzzing with anxiety right now. What the hell is all this about? I want to say I never went to Vegas and I have nothing of Jon’s, not a damn thing. But I’m just not sure I should play that card so soon. “What if I did?”

Wade breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh, fuck, thank God. You need to hand that over, Rook. These people are not fucking around, OK? They want that information and if you saw any of it, you better pretend you didn’t.” He stops and grabs my shoulders with both hands. “Did you read any of it?”

I shake my head, far too frightened to actually form words right now.

“Where is it?” His eyes race around my face like he’s too amped up to concentrate on one point for more than a millisecond.

“I never saw it,” I say, backpedaling. I know Jon went to Vegas on business sometimes, but I have no idea what he did there. “I lied, I never saw it. I never went to Vegas, Wade, I came straight here, to Denver. You can check, I was in a homeless shelter, then I had a house-cleaning job—”

“So you never went to Vegas? Do you know if he had a security box there?”

I nod my head, because he is freaking me the fuck out and I need to give up something. “But I don’t know anything else about it. Not where it is or how to get into it, nothing.”

“Well, they checked the box, Rook. And it’s empty.” He sorta laughs here, but it’s one of those I’m-about- to-go-insane laughs and my heart rate jacks up about a thousand notches. “So that means someone has the stuff.” He shakes his head. It’s a jerky motion that definitely tells me he’s about to lose it and then he turns, his head down a little so his eyes are peeking up at me though a curtain of wet hair and dark lashes. He whispers, “Do you have the stuff?”