Page 51 of Nemesis

I copy him, hauling myself up and climbing over.

There’s a picnic table on the big front. The house part looms over us, probably only one story but seemingly taller. Maybe one and a half. I peer in through the still-open door.

Bobby has shoulder-length blond hair tucked in a hair net. An unbuttoned floral Hawaiian shirt exposes his bare chest. Pink jean shorts and matching boat shoes.

You know what?

It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve seen today.

If you can call a dead person weird.

“So?” I tear my attention away and find Kade. He’s taken a seat at the lone table, once again watching me.

“So,” he repeats.

“What’s he making?”

He shrugs. “I’m not picky. Are you?”

It’s a dare.

I’ve had enough dares from Saint to last a lifetime. But unlike Saint, this one doesn’t have malice attached to it. Just curiosity.

I take a seat across from him. “Sometimes I’m picky.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “Standards.”

“High standards,” I correct. “Which leads us to why you need my help.”

He inclines his chin. “Reese is important to me, and we had developed a system over the years. Even if we weren’t close. But two years ago, he stopped communicating.”

“So you started stalking him?” I raise my eyebrow.

Reese didn’t mention Kade.

I didn’t ask…

“No.” He shakes his head. “He wouldn’t just stop. Something is wrong. At least, I thought he was in danger, so I broke our protocol and went to his apartment. It was already a crime scene—absolutely trashed, the door blown off its hinges. A neighbor had called the police. But no body, no blood.”

“No Reese.”

He shakes his head. “At that point, I started my search in earnest.”

Our conversation in that house comes back to me. “You said he wanted to send a message through me?”

He lifts one shoulder. “He once mentioned you. Well, he mentioned Olympus and a goddess named Artemis, and I thought he was off his rocker. It wasn’t until I got to Emerald Cove that I realized it wasn’t out of Greek Mythology. He was talking about Sterling Falls.”

“And—”

“That photo,” he continues. “Taken in the bank in Emerald Cove. He had drawn an arrow on his arm.”

I scoff, but then he reaches into his back pocket and removes it. Smooths out the creases, sliding it across the table. He taps the view of the underside of his arm.

Sure enough, an arrow.

“Not exactly a scientific conclusion.” But my throat is tight, and the queasiness from earlier returns. “He could’ve just gotten a tattoo.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, and I acquiesce.

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