Anna cast off her suit jacket and tossed it onto the desk. “A man named Fletcher Stevens is on my list of highest bidders for the Saint Angel. Do you know him?”
Color rose in my cheeks as I recalled last night’s incident in the penthouse. “Yes, I know him.”
She gestured to my pink visage. “You also seem aware of his relationship with Wolf. Fletcher’s company had no interest in the Saint Angel until Wolf began pursuing. Then, I started getting offers from Fletcher left and right.”
“You think Wolf’s doing the same thing to Fletcher that he did to you.”
Anna shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he’s really in love. Regardless, I’ll sell to the highest bidder. If Fletcher loves Wolf enough to purchase a failing hotel, so be it.”
“Does Fletcher have any competition?”
She checked a sticky note attached to the flat desk calendar. “Logan Fields. He offered twenty percent more than Fletcher.”
“Logan Fields. Jonathan’s friend?”
“Are they acquainted?”
“They seemed to be when I met Logan.”
Anna groaned and crumpled the sticky note. “Is there one investor who isn’t connected to the Godfreys? I suppose Logan’s the lesser of the two evils. Perhaps if Fletcher loses out, Wolf will finally leave Chicago.”
“What do you think happened to your son?”
She fiddled with a pen, clicking the end repeatedly. “I think my husband would have done anything to prove he was a good father, even if it meant killing his own son to reinvent himself and play up the martyr act.”
When I left FRI and called a ride back to the Saint Angel, my head whirred with possibilities. As I took my phone out to dial Kate, her name popped up on the screen.
“This is Jack,” I answered.
“Hey, Jack,” Kate said tersely. “Autopsy results came back on Jonathan Godfrey. Guess what the official cause of death was?”
My stomach clenched. “What?”
“Overdose. They found the same drugs in his system that Wolf Godfrey keeps in his medicine cabinet.”
“So what does this mean?”
“It means we don’t need a whole lot more to arrest Godfrey for the murder of his son,” she replied. “I’m sure once we have him here, we can pry him for answers regarding the missing girls. Thanks for your help, Jack. Stay safe out there. Keep your eyes peeled.”
“Wait, but—”
The detective hung up, but something didn’t sit right with me. The feeling roiled my gut all the way back to the hotel, and the queasiness did not ease when I clambered out of the car.
Unsure of my stomach’s next actions, I hurried to the alleyway and braced myself against the wall. Leaning over the pavement, I waited until the cool air cleared my head and calmed my gut. Confident in my ability to make it inside, I stepped toward the door.
“No, no, no!”
The panicked whispers made me turn back. I peered through the fog toward the opposite end of the alleyway, where a tall silhouette dragged something heavy across the pavement.
“Come on, you jerk.” The familiar voice, though quiet, echoed off the brick buildings and floated to my ears. “Don’t do this to me.”
Carefully, I eased toward the voice, keeping flush against the wall. A light drizzle began, further obscuring my vision.
“God—damn—it,” the voice huffed with effort. Each word was punctuated by the rasp of heavy-duty plastic against the pavement.
When I reached the corner of the building and peered around, my stomach bucked again. Fletcher Stevens, his hands drenched in blood, yanked a body-sized black bag across the icy ground, aiming for a white van with the number of a rental company plastered on the side. A smear of blood led from the hotel’s back door, and I finally lost it, heaving my lunch against the side of the building.
Upon hearing my gags, Fletcher dropped the legs of his victim. “Who’s there?” he called.
I wiped my mouth, gathered my courage, and stepped into his line of vision. “Who’d you kill this time, Fletch?”
He gaped at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish struggling to breathe out of water. “Jack, it’s not what you think. It’s not—no!”
He lunged as I reached for the head of the makeshift bag, but it was too late. I tore the plastic away from the victim’s face. Cold, dead eyes stared back at me.
“Logan Fields,” I said. “Your only competition for the Saint Angel. Makes sense.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Fletcher gasped. “I swear.”
I gestured to the empty white van. “The fact that you’re trying to dispose of his body does not help your case.”
Fletcher dropped Logan’s feet. “I found him like this in the penthouse. Someone’s trying to frame Wolf. Please, you have to believe me. Neither one of us would do something like this.”
“If that’s true, why didn’t you call the police when you found the body?”
Fletcher hesitated. “Because I haven’t always toed the line when it comes to the law.”
“Clearly.” I reached for my phone and dialed Kate back. “I’m sorry, Fletcher. I have to call someone.”
“No!” He snarled and launched himself over Logan’s body to reach me. My phone clattered to the ground as he pinned me against the hotel, his bloody fingers encircling my neck. “I have done everything to protect Wolf. I won’t have some nosy P.I. ruin our lives.”
“Let me go,” I gasped, eyes streaming with tears.
“I’ve never killed anyone,” he whispered. “But I’ll kill you if it means getting this damned body out of my sight. I don’t want to do it. Please don’t make me.”
His palm flattened against my windpipe. I struggled to breathe. “Fine,” I choked out. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Do whatever you want.”
Fletcher’s eyes filled with tears as he studied me. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe this, jackass.”
A thump echoed through the alleyway as a two-by-four crashed into the back of Fletcher’s head. His eyes went blank. Then his fingers fell from my throat as his knees gave way beneath him. Behind him stood Evelyn, holding the two-by-four like a baseball bat, ready to take another swing.
As I gasped for air, Evelyn nudged Fletcher’s unconscious body with
