Page 104 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

I don’t feel strong.

I feel…

Empty.

25

Caleb

Matt refuses to let me drive. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, and yet…

“Just spill it, would you?”

He swerves onto a side street and hits the gas pedal, the engine whining. He grins, flexing his grip on the steering wheel. At this point, I’m just along for a ride.

“I got a location,” he finally says.

About time. It’s been two weeks. We’re a few days into December, and I was losing my patience.

I lean forward. “How?”

“Got into the computer. It only connects to one network periodically, otherwise it’s completely shut off.” He grimaces. “Whoever it is, they’re smart. This must be a device designated for this. I didn’t find any personal documents stored on it. No clues. Sorry, man.”

“Did you see any of the videos?”

He shifts. “Yeah. They kept two.”

“Of what?” I want to punch Matt at the thought of him watching Margo in her room, even though he’s helping me.

He eyes me. “There’s no audio. But there’s one of you sneaking into her room through the window—hey, man, I stopped it after that. I don’t need to see your naked ass fucking your girlfriend.”

I glare at him.

“And the other is her and Riley. I’m not sure what’s so special about it. They sit on her bed and make a phone call.”

“But you can’t hear what they say?”

“Nah, it’s just video. I guess you could figure out what they’re saying if you were a lip reader. Otherwise? Just two girls making a call.”

“Send them to me.” Maybe there’s something he’s missing.

“We’re almost there. I’ll check my laptop and see if it’s active. If it is, chances are good that we’ll be able to find Margo’s mystery stalker.”

My blood rushes hot and cold. It’s true—she has a stalker. Someone obsessed with her… and me.

Matt turns onto a familiar street, then into a parking lot. “The WiFi service comes from that restaurant,” he says, pointing to the diner on the corner.

My stomach drops.

I was just here a week ago.

Matt puts the car in park and reaches into the backseat for his laptop. But I can’t wait. My mom’s car is in the farthest corner of the lot. I don’t even spare him a glance as I climb out and stride across the road, up the concrete steps. Into the diner.

I’m on autopilot.

My gaze sweeps around, trying to find someone with a laptop, a cell phone, a tablet… nothing. The place is filled with old people sipping coffee and young families enjoying brunch. No one notices my abrupt entrance except the hostess, who has frozen by the podium.

“Caleb, what are you doing here?” she asks.

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