Page 47 of In The Dark
“You have blood on your sweatshirt.”Leo squints at me from the kitchen table. “Yuck.”
“I do?” I look down at the hoodie I threw on after a cold shower and sit next to him. “Whoops. Leftover from last night’s job. The fucker wouldn’t go down without a fight.”
“Seems like you took care of things. You’re glowing.” Leo shoves a coffee mug my way and I smile. “Care to share with the class what’s got you all excited? Is it the big ass paycheck that got deposited in your account?”
“I got to see my favorite show this morning.”
“What the hell is your favorite show?”
“Watching Max get off on the camera I installed in her room.” He chokes on his orange juice and I pat his back. “Swallow, Leo. It’s not that hard.”
“You’re sick.”
“I’m resourceful.” I sip my coffee and sigh, happy. “Hey. Could you do me a favor? I need help looking someone else up.”
“Is it the number for a psych ward? Because I have a feeling the jury is going to find you guilty of stalking, my friend. I promise to visit you in jail.”
“It’s not stalking if she doesn’t realize I’m doing it.”
“Oh, boy. Your comprehension skills are nonexistent.”
“I’m glad to know your moral line isn’t killing people. It’s watching the girl I like finger herself.”
“You know what?” Leo holds up a hand. “It’s a beautiful Wednesday morning, and I don’t feel like arguing. How can I assist you, Hunt?”
“I want to find some information on Max’s ex.”
“Why?”
“My gut tells me he can’t be trusted. That’s the point of the cameras, remember?”
“Cameras? As in more than one? Why am I not surprised?” He grabs his laptop and opens his background check software. “What do you know about him?”
“His name is Brian,” I say.
“That’s it? You’re giving me nothing to go off of. I need more than that. There are a million former frat bros out there with the same name.”
“Hang on. Let me try social media.”
I pull up Instagram and find Max’s page. I doubt she’s still following him, so I scour through old posts. There’s a photo from eight months ago of her on a golf course, squinting and smiling at the camera. I check the likes on the picture and find one from a username listed as PuttinOnTheFitz.
Seems like a douchey enough handle that it could belong to him, and it’s a good place to start. Clicking on the profile, I see Max has liked some of his older posts and I pump my fist, excited.
The names match, and this has to be the guy.
“Brian Fitzpatrick, located in Orlando, Florida,” I say.
“You don’t need me at all.” Leo taps his keyboard and hums, waiting for the information to populate. When it does, he frowns. “Huh. That’s weird.”
“What?” I scoot my chair closer to his and glance at his screen. “No results found? What does that mean?”
“It means there’s not a Brian Fitzpatrick in Orlando who fits the parameters I put in. There’s a Connor Fitzpatrick.” He clicks the profile and zooms in on the photo plastered on the screen. “Is that your guy?”
I cross-reference the Instagram profile with the picture on Leo’s computer. The two men are spitting images of each other, and I’m confused as hell. “That’s him. Does he have a twin brother?”
“Fuck.”
“What?”
