Page 67 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

15

IZZY

Itug my baseball cap down over my hair as I hurry through the parking lot. I have one shot, one chance to get this right.

Just get into his office, and then the hell out of there. That’s it. Two things on the list.I can manage that.

Let’s be real. I am sure as shit going to get hell for this, but it’s all I have. All bets are this single hunch. An insane, ridiculous hunch that I’m risking everything in my life on, and it’s all for the Hellfire Riders.

Please don’t be wrong about this.

It’s late, which means Reynolds is most likely out of the office and home by now. It also means that the cleaning lady is making her way to his office. She’s the only other person with keys to his suite.

I swipe my ID against the keypad. It flicks green and the door unlocks. I nod to the man stationed at the front desk. I’m grateful he’s new and doesn’t recognize me. Buys me more time. I walk fast but controlled, past my desk. The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and the faint, lingering stench of disinfectant.

The usual hustle and bustle of the station is absent, the halls eerily silent with most of the officers gone home for the night.There’ll be a few stragglers, but as long as I act like I’m supposed to be here, I shouldn’t have any issues.

I weave through the empty hallways, my mind racing.

There are cameras, so I don’t have a lot of time, but I can formulate some bullshit lie about needing to grab something I left at my desk. I am still technically employed here, though I have no idea if helping the Hellfire Riders qualifies me for unemployment.

Whatever. Now is not the time to worry about keeping my job.

Reynolds’s office is at the far end of the station, tucked away in a quieter section by the other detectives. Like clockwork, the cleaner arrives at his office at 10 p.m., unlocking his office.

As I approach his door, my heart rate speeds up.

Sure enough, she’s in there bent over, placing a new trash liner in the basket near his desk.

Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside, putting on my best professional smile. “Hey,” I say, my voice steady.

The cleaning lady looks up, her eyes narrowing then settling in recognition. She gives me a smile then points to her headphones.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” I start. She tugs a headphone free from her ear. “But I have to—” suddenly words vanish from my mind.Shit. What should I say?“I have a—meeting here. Do you mind coming back in about twenty?”

She hesitates, glancing around the office then at the clock.

“This late?” she asks.

“It’s with Reynolds.”

“Sure. It’s no problem, honey.”

“Thank you,” I say, stepping aside to let her pass.

That could be the worst lie I have ever told in my life, but luckily, she doesn’t seem to care.

She gives me a curt nod as she goes back to humming along whatever tune’s playing in her headphones. Her cart rattles down the hallway. As soon as she’s gone, I close the door, my heart pounding with a mix of relief and urgency. I snap the lock shut as an extra precaution.

I move quickly, my eyes scanning the space.

I’ve never seen his office this much of a mess. If it weren’t for the name plate, I’d think I was in the wrong place. His desk is cluttered, papers and files strewn.That’s odd.It's like he was in a massive hurry. Photographs of crime scenes and suspect sketches are taped to the wall across from his desk, all of them relating to the Puppeteer.

I start with the file stacks on the desk, rifling through.

Article and note after note about the Puppeteer are stacked onto each other. It’s like he’s become obsessed.

Finally, at the bottom of the first stack is Laina’s envelope, waiting for me.

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