Page 46 of Stay Baby Stay

“Stay here,” I tell Holly. “Keep out of sight.”

“What is it?” She ducks down, her wide eyes glinting with fear.

“Just stay down, baby. I’ll be right back.”

I close my truck door quietly, then skirt around the neighboring cars and run until I’m backed up against the building. I brandish my nine-millimeter. As I inch closer to the front door, I notice the handle’s been bashed with something. A rock or a club, or perhaps the butt of a heavy firearm.

Steeling myself, I ease the door open and peer inside my apartment. I don’t see anyone. Just a few torn-open boxes and my laptop bag upturned—

My laptop bag. It’s empty.

Movement draws my attention to the slip of hallway past the kitchen, where the washer and dryer live. I hear the screech and glide of a window being pushed open, the bang of something kicking at the screen.

Gun raised, I run toward the far side of my apartment in time to catch sight of a dark figure slipping out the window.

“Freeze motherfucker,” I shout. I holster my gun so I can pursue him through the opening, sliding one leg out the window, then the other. I struggle to get the rest of my frame through the tight fit. Whoever this asshole is, he’s fucking skinny.

As soon as my feet hit the ground, my gaze zeroes in on a wiry guy dressed in shades of gray and black, and wearing a baseball cap. He runs toward the alley between two apartment blocks.

I take off after him. The sun glints off something metallic under his arm—my laptop.

A loud snarl rumbles up from inside me. I sprint. Between apartment blocks, across parking lots, between cars and onto busy sidewalks.

I’m fast, but he’s faster. Lighter. My side cramps, but I push through the pain. When it seems like I might be gaining on him, he changes course, ducking between parked cars into oncoming traffic.

Tires screech. I stop running and spin around just in time to plant my hands on the hood of a red Honda Odyssey.

The woman behind the wheel honks the horn and flips me off.

Panting, I step back onto the sidewalk and scan the street, the walkways, the buildings across the street.

The guy and my laptop are both gone.

“Fuck,” I mutter, my chest heaving. That asshole was just rummaging around in my home, where I sleep—whereHollysleeps.

Rage fills me like air rushing into a vacuum. I close my eyes and take a second to calm myself. I need to think. What’s on my laptop that this guy was so damn hard for that he’d risk breaking into a cop’s house to get it?

Case files, obviously, but any department-issued laptop has access to those. Photos of DBs and notes about how all the cases link up? Maybe, but a lot of those cases were reported on, so most of that info is publicly available.

No, it’s gotta be the hidden camera footage from King’s pedo party. Which means the guy I just chased for over half a mile has to be working for either the reverend or Russell King.

I make the jog back to my truck. Holly yelps as I open the passenger-side door, then sighs with relief.

“You scared me,” she said.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” I help her out of the truck and into my arms.

“I saw you chase after someone,” she says. “What did he take?”

“My laptop, which just so happens to have footage from the party.”

“You were filming that night?” She blushes.

“I wanted visual proof of the reverend attending one of King’s sex parties. But someone tipped him off, so he never showed. Thankfully, I already handed off a copy of the footage to my partner yesterday...”

A sinking feeling takes root in my gut. I pull my phone out and call Abby’s cell. It goes to voicemail. I hang up and try again.

The third time I call, she picks up. “Larkin, I swear to God—”

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