Page 127 of One Killer Night
My eyes narrow as I look around. “We know he hasn’t been masoned in, so I guess he could be across the street?”
We both look, but that’s just a yarn store.
Chase taps the dot on my phone. “These things can be off, though, right?”
I nod, turning around and looking toward the only car with someone inside, but it’s a woman and her small dog.
Chase starts walking again, and without a thought I follow his lead as he says, “If he’s not a part of the building, maybe he’s inside and sitting all the way in the back?” He points toward the alley. “We can cut through here.”
He turns the corner, but as I do the same, I almost run into the back of him.
“What are you doing?”
Chase turns sideways, motioning with his head to a car about ten feet away and speaking under his breath. “Look.”
A beat-up brown Camry sits idle, humming but not moving. I don’t like this. My gut’s already saying this is a bad idea. I hit his shoulder with the back of my hand. “Let’s just get out of here ...”
He shakes his head. “No, dude. Besides you wanting to be a hero for Goldie ...” He stops himself and adjusts his hat. “Sorry, I forgot, no names ... Besides all your good intentions, he could help you. So if he’s in his car tugging one out, he’s just gonna have to table it.”
Chase takes off before I can stop him, closing the distance between us and the car. He lifts his hand to rap on the passenger-side window.
“What are you doing?” I grit out and yank his arm away, making him face me as my pulse races. I hectically look around, my mind a mush of paranoia. It has been, ever since I realized Billy was back. “This is what I meant by signing your own death warrant. You don’t even know who’s in the car ... Anything could happen.”
Chase leans back, his eyes narrowed as he looks through the window.
“I do know what could happen ...” He turns toward the car, ignoring what I’ve just said, and barks “Hey” as he knocks hard on the window. “We could wake him up.”
“Fuck,” I breathe out, but Chase looks up at me.
“Relax.”
I bend to look inside and see that the driver’s side seat is slightly reclined. It does look like the guy’s sleeping—his face is turned away from us—but there’s just something ... I don’t know.
“Wakey, wakey,” Chase sings as he knocks more insistently, but a frown’s growing on my face.
“Do you think he’s okay?” he adds as I put my hand on the door before pushing past him and hurrying around the hood.
“I don’t know.”
Chase looks over his shoulder and pulls down his sunglasses to see better.
“Leave it to us to find some dude who’s passed out or on drugs while we’re looking for a fucking psycho.”
“Try the door,” I shoot out as I see how close he’s parked to the wall.
I can get to the window, but I won’t be able to completely open the door. I narrow my eyes as I try to see past the tint of the front window, and hear the passenger-side door open.
“Hey, man ... you good?” Chase says just as I take two steps closer. The reflection clears, and a business card on the dash comes into view.
Origins Investigative Services.
Chills rocket down my spine because I already know what’s coming before I see it.
Chase leans inside, then nudges the guy and says “Oh fuck” at the same time my body jerks to a stop.
“Noah . . . oh fuck.”
I’m breathing a mile a minute, my heart pounding out of my chest as fear courses through me. Chase scrambles out of the car, his hand covering his mouth as he begins to dry heave, but I take a step closer.
