Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
"Jesus fuck," Wren mutters.
"I swear to god, Nelson. If you don't stop with that shit," I growl.
"Authorities just found Christopher Preston's roommate dead. They're saying suicide by hanging right now, but I bet if they dig further, they find something else."
I shake my head. How many people has this boy killed?
"The dad died of a heart attack," Wren says as if he can read my mind. "But I don't see how. Everything points to asphyxiation."
"He suffocated his own father?" Jericho snaps.
"The kid was like fourteen when his dad died," I say, recalling the facts from the family profile I was given when I first started looking for Sadie.
"He probably used drugs. Abrin or aconite. Hell, succinylcholine would be perfect, but he'd have to have access to someone in medicine for those things," Wren says, truly a man of vast knowledge about all things.
"Hockley's son is a doctor," Jericho says.
"You're implying that Christopher Preston has had a connection with the Full Deck Killer for more than five years?" I say, unsure that tracks. "I bet there are a lot of connections he could've made in that prep school of his."
"True," Jericho says.
"You know who he does have a connection to, well, sort of a connection?" Wren asks. "Nathan Adair."
"What?" Jericho growls, and I swear the man is seconds away from climbing over the seat to get to the fucking stereo system.
"The cabin he attempted to hide under a shell company was purchased from former Senator Robert Dyer."
"What the fuck did you just say?" Kincaid growls from Jericho's phone, still on the line to hear this conversation.
"Dyer purchased the cabin nine years ago from a shell company that we've been able to link back to Nathan Adair," Wren explains.
"I've known Robert Dyer for decades," Kincaid mutters, but his tone doesn't indicate that he doubts what Wren is telling us at all.
"Is it possible that Dyer has no clue about who Adair really is?" Hemlock asks as he continues to drive to the location Wren has directed us to in order to get on the helicopter.
"No," Jericho says. "Adair only worked with people who proved that they were just as twisted and criminal as he was. He has blackmail sources on every business associate. If there's any link between Dyer and Adair, it's because Dyer is dirty."
"Cora trusts him," I say, feeling betrayed by proxy.
"Why would he call us in?" Kincaid wonders out loud. "Is it all a setup?"
"Could be," Jericho says. "Nathan hates nothing more than being fooled or deceived. I can only imagine how pissed he was when he found out I helped Brielle escape."
"He knew Cerberus was sitting on that house," Hemlock says.
Hemlock did not work that case because we were already in the process of positioning him to go to East Tennessee where we knew there was a chance he could run into one of Adair's cronies or even Adair himself depending on how close we could get to the man. We couldn't risk blowing his cover before he even got started.
"William Preston is getting a call from an untraceable burner phone," Wren says. "Listen."
"William Preston," the man says when the call connects.
"Will."
"Chris? Why are you calling me from—"
"I went home like you told me to," Chris says.
"I didn't—What's going on?"
"Someone broke into the house and killed Faye. I got there just in time and was able to get Cora out."
I get cold chills from just how scared the man sounds. I'd believe him if I didn't know better.
"Chris, what are you talking about? If this is another prank—"
"I'm sending you the address of where we are."
"Let me talk to Cora," William says.
"We're safe," Chris snaps. "But I need you to come. We don't know what to do."
The line goes dead.
"That fucker is crazy," Jericho mutters.
"The address he just texted to William's phone confirms where they are," Wren adds.
"We're pulling up to the chopper," Hemlock says. "Thanks for your help, Wren."
"No problem," he says.
"Why hire a fucking hitman if he was so capable of committing murder himself?" Jericho wonders out loud as we pile out of the SUV and rush toward the chopper.
The machine is too loud to express an answer, but as I climb onboard and buckle myself inside, I realize I don't have one. There may be some fucked-up reasoning in his mind as to why that was necessary, and if I know anything about sociopaths, they consider many avenues before executing a plan usually.
His being elsewhere when it happened had to have played a part in that decision. It could be as simple as the logistics didn't work for him or he needed Sadie dead but his true problems rested with the two people who have stuck close to him, not the sister that took off and rarely showed her face. Maybe it didn't matter how Sadie died, just that she did.