Page 24 of Lake House Killer

“Please”—I whisper in the darkness—“please let someone find me.”

This fear is real. It’s a living thing that’s penetrated me completely. I need to stay calm, need to think. But every worst-case scenario plays in my mind at warp speed.

This is where they leave me.

This is where I die.

This is where I rot.

My time on this planet has come and gone, and the judge and jury who decided it would be so is hoping to get away with it. And they just might.

“Damien, please,” I murmur again, and my voice feels like a friend in the dark. “Come find me.”

But deep down, a small part of me wonders if he had something to do with this. The thought is a viper in my mind, but it’s one I can’t quite silence as the darkness pulsates around me like a beast.

Wait a minute…

My hands pat the vicinity as I get up on my hands and knees and crawl around a few feet in either direction. The familiar scent of pine and earth mingle with the faint scent of gasoline as they infiltrate my senses and then it hits me.

I know what this is.

I know exactly where I am.

And I scream at the top of my lungs because of it.

15

Special Agent Fallon Baxter

The Velvet Lounge Gentlemen’s Club pulses with life as we step inside, the dim lighting casting everything it touches in shades of crimson and gold.

Loud music thumps through the crowded space. A deep bass that you feel more than hear vibrates right through the soles of your shoes. Strobe lights flicker, catching on the shimmering dresses of the dancers as they move and groove on the main stage. Their bodies sway with a greed that practically sucks the dollar bills right out of the wallets of the poor fools rushing the stage.

A waitress, wearing nothing more than a couple of neon pasties and a G string to match, walks by with a platter full of nachos.

“I’ll admit, the nachos look good,” I say.

“Were there nachos?” Jack teases, or not.

“Down, boy,” I say. “We’re on a mission. Or at least I am.”

“It does involve my brother. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He scans the crowd. “There they are.” He nods to the corner and, sure enough, I see Riley and Jet huddled over a platter of nachos, surrounded by a couple of fruity cocktails as well, and we make a beeline in their direction.

Riley looks up and pauses from shoveling in a bite of tortilla covered in orange goo. “Oh good, you’re here,” she says, jumping over a notch in the booth to make room for me.

Her hair is curled and teased every which way, à laan ode to the eighties, and she’s donned an electric blue dress that enlivens her best features.

I’m not sure I care for the fact Riley has decided to enliven any part of her while out with Jack’s brother. I’ll have to get her alone later and ask what the heck she’s thinking. I mean, she did dump Ryan, so technically she’s single but still. Jet?

I land next to her and Jack lands next to Jet—who also looks impeccably put together. And I can’t help but frown because of it.

“Glad to see you’re enjoying yourselves.” Jack doesn’t look amused. “What the heck were you thinking coming out here, tracking down a mobster?”

“A henchman,” I correct. “Although same difference,” I say sharply to my older, not wiser, sister. “This man is dangerous, Riley. He’s a seasoned pro at making people disappear. Do you really think our mother needs two daughters that are MIA?”

She clams up because she knows I’m right.

Jack eyes those glowing cocktails with more than a modicum of suspicion.

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