Page 201 of The Silent Note

The stories have gainedzerotraction. By the numbers, Jinx should stop talking about politics. No one subscribes to her appto read about congressmen and board members being fired for accepting bribes or sexual misconduct.

Yet, she keeps posting about it.

I peek at Finn again, wanting so badly to talk, but his discomfort is palpable. It’s like his nerves are swirling around in the air, a tornado picking up everything and slamming them around.

Fighting back a sigh, I stare at the passing scenery.

Zane would talk to you.

The thought makes me achingly sad.

Zane was always around, teasing me and getting in my space. I didn’t appreciate it then. But now, I realize I’d quietly come to rely on it. There’s something about knowing when someone actuallyenjoysbeing around you. And Zane never hid his affection from me. When I was with him, I felt appreciated, cared for andseen.

Don’t think about that now, Grey. You need to survive this first and figure things out with Zane later.

What am I going to do when I meet Finn’s father?

Should I secretly record our conversation? Get his confession? Send it out to the world and die as was my original plan?

Something tells me I would die in vain. Finn’s biological dad allowed me to come to him which means he doesn’t fear me.

A man like him didn’t earn his position because he saved cats in trees and helped little old ladies cross the street. He’s a cold-hearted, brutal killer. The leader ofmanycold-hearted and brutal killers.

I can’t take down theyakuzaby being stupid or impatient.

“We’re almost there,” Finn says abruptly.

I look out at the open space, seeing nothing up ahead.

Where would a crime lord live?

I picture gathering storm clouds and lightning flashing around a dark, medieval castle.

Pushing my imagination further, I close my eyes.

Crime bosses should live in dungeons with mossy brick steps leading into their torture chambers. Flickering candles in iron sconces should light the way, fire sending shadows dancing across damp walls that have absorbed centuries of screams.

Blood would trickle like the drip-drip-drip of rain, down the walls and the stairs and the gurney where their prisoners were punished for their sins.

However, instead of going down into the bowels of a basement, Finn parks the car inside a quiet, idyllic property outside the city. The grounds boast the kind of garden I’ve only seen in a home magazine.

Birds chirp and play on the branches of blossoming trees. Pink petals blow in the wind, dancing to a melody crooned by an invisible orchestra. It feels almost irreverent when our car doors slam, shattering the sounds of picturesque harmony.

Finn’s expensive vintage sneakers crunch the stones as he strides to the front of the car. I join him, my steps hesitant and my eyes darting around.

“Where are the security guards?” I ask, noticing the beautiful but empty garden path.

I would have expected that there were people stopping us at the gate. Or at least someone coming out to rub us down and make sure we weren't taking weapons and recording devices.

Finn doesn't break his stride or look at me as he says, “Do you think they didn’t know we were coming? They were watching since the motel.”

“Since the…” My breath rattles in my throat. I start to wrap my brain around how truly scary these people are.

Finn’s long legs carry him away.

I scramble to keep up.

“But,” I whisper, “your father knows I’ve been trying to take down The Grateful Project. What happens if his hidden security think that we're a threat?”

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