Page 70 of Brazen Criminals

I stand up to pace, the anxiety trying to burst from my skin. Jansen and Walker exchange a look, and Jansen disappears into the kitchen, coming back with glasses of water for the three of us. I down the whole thing, still pacing. Walker walks over to a chest by the wall and pulls out a blanket.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“It’s for when you crash.”

I roll my eyes. RJ comes back with his computer, and I pace behind his chair as he attaches my phone and does computer guy stuff. I really have no idea what he’s doing, but I feel better watching than sitting.

“It’s clean,” he says, after a moment.

“What do you mean, it’s clean?” Trips growls from behind me. I jump, not having heard him come in.

RJ shrugs. “There isn’t a tracking app on there. I saved the texts, both from this new number and the old one. Should I pull voicemail too?”

Trips nods and hands RJ a scrap piece of paper. “Send it all there.”

I get close behind, curious to see what is going to happen. “Do you really want to see what Bryce said?” RJ asks me, looking over his shoulder.

“No. But I hate feeling useless.”

Trips heads back to his chair. “Then let’s fix this.”

“Is stalking a felony?” Jansen asks, yanking his hair back into a ponytail.

Trips drops into his seat. “Not unless there’s a weapon involved.”

“Does Bryce keep his hunting rifles with him here?” Jansen asks.

I can’t stop pacing in front of the TV. “No, they keep them up at their hunting cabin.”

“So we still have nothing,” Walker says, slumping back on the couch.

Trips leans forward. “Clara did a SWOT analysis of Bryce for me, and I think there is something we can work with.”

“What’s a SWOT analysis—like an FBI thing?” Jansen asks.

I stop walking for a second. “Strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats. It’s a business school thing.”

Walker snorts. “Really? That’s how you decided to do this?”

I flip him off and go back to pacing. The jitters are turning into static, and I can’t tell if that is better or worse.

Trips cuts in. “It was quite thorough. Key point would be that Bryce only has a handful of people he trusts. If we get them to turn on him, and we make sure he knows we did it, we can become new targets. I think he’d be a lot more likely to come out swinging at one of us.”

“No,” I say, “that’s stupid. No one needs to be hurt in this situation.”

“He might take up drinking instead,” RJ adds, as if that helps the situation.

“You want to turn my ex-boyfriend into an alcoholic, then get him to drive drunk a bunch of times so that he can’t become a doctor?”

RJ shrugs and goes back to his computer.

I turn to Trips. “One—you don’t get to choose to be the target, and two—I don’t see you actually letting yourself be hurt.”

Trips glares back but breaks eye contact first, directing his anger to the floor.

The room is silent. I stop pacing, my temperature suddenly dropping, and all the flight leaves my legs as I struggle to stand. Damn adrenaline.

I tap my leg,one two three four five,before risking what I’m thinking.

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