Page 28 of Only the Devil
“There’s nothing we can do. Let’s head back,” Jake says.
I snap photos of every angle. Open drawers, file cabinets. The photos might not be useful, but it’s one thing I can do. One thing I should’ve done earlier.
As Jake closes the office door and double-checks the lock, I ask, as much to myself as to the man Rhodes sent to protect me, “I wonder if they search for people with no tight family connections when they hire. I’ll need to ask around, find out more about employees’ personal situations.”
Or maybe you’re spiraling. They didn’t hire hundreds of employees with no tight family connections.
When I call Rhodes and update him, he’s going to be so freaking righteous. I told you it wasn’t safe.
“It’d probably be impossible to hire only people without connections,” Jake says, taking my rambling seriously. “In criminal organizations or authoritarian regimes, people with someone close to them are sometimes deemed good to have on the team. Parents especially are fantastic. You can threaten a loved one’s livelihood and ensure someone will do exactly as you want with very little effort. One big scare and they’ll perform as told.”
I side-eye him, thinking about that mangled angry scar on his shoulder, the light scars across his knuckles, the absence of tattoos.
“You’ve seen a lot, huh?”
The elevator dings and we both step in. He presses the third floor, presumably to hang the flower vase picture that he’s holding.
I press the lobby floor button and say, “We’ve seen enough.”
“Fine,” he says.
The elevator doors open on the third floor and a darkened hallway, but neither of us move.
“If they ask, just tell them you came in to hang a painting and I forgot the nail. And if they ask, then that’s the sign there’s surveillance we didn’t catch and we shift to Plan B.”
The elevator door closes and we descend again.
“What’s Plan B?”
“You and I disappear, and we find a different way to figure out what’s happening here.”
“Watch it. You’re beginning to sound like Rhodes.”
“If you’re trying to say I’m paranoid?—”
The doors open and we step into the lobby, also eerily silent.
Our footsteps echo through the empty space, as we walk in silence and exit onto the street. The weight of what we just discovered settles over me like a heavy blanket. Someone didn’t just clean up Jocelyn’s body—they cleared all the evidence from her office. The level of organization, the resources required, the casual efficiency of it all—none of it’s accidental.
My hands tremble, and I shove them deep into my pockets. This isn’t some small-time cryptocurrency scam targeting vulnerable elderly people. This is something much bigger, something someone’s willing to kill to protect. And I’m right in the middle of it, pretending to be just another employee while someone with enough power to make bodies disappear is watching.
“You okay?” Jake asks, his voice gentler than usual. I realize I’ve stopped walking and am just standing there, staring at the pavement. “I keep thinking about Alvin Reed,” I say quietly. “Everyone said he was eighty-three and he died of natural causes, but what if—” I can’t finish the sentence.
What if his class-action suit held merit and was deemed a threat? What if his death wasn’t natural at all? Jake stops too, turning to face me. I never found his laptop. It was an old Chromebook and Mom promised me she didn’t sell it, and I halfway believed her because I’m not sure you could get more than ten bucks for it on the open market, but what if they took it? I assumed maybe it quit working and he threw it away or that maybe one of the EMT’s snagged it. What if he was murdered and the murderer took it? What if the reason I found his notes and papers is because that desk drawer was stuck and they didn’t know how to jiggle it open?
“Hey.” His hand hovers near my shoulder, not quite touching. “We’re going to figure this out. But right now, let’s keep moving.”
I nod and force my feet to start walking again. But the questions won’t stop circling in my head.
“You know, my sister, when she gets upset, she goes for ice cream. There anything like that you want?”
“Better watch it, Ryder,” I say, stepping away from him, feeling walled in. “If you’re not careful, you’ll start sounding like you care.”
“Not many people in your life care, Jonas?”
That’s a pointed personal question and I hate how accurate he is. What have I said to make my shitty childhood obvious?
I’m teasing, making light of an uncomfortable situation because I’m reeling, although maybe I shouldn’t be minimizing what’s happened. Maybe some part of me suspected this and that’s why I insisted on coming over to check on the body we found. Maybe I’ve suspected the worst for a while and that’s why I insisted on investigating.
