Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
“This…this isn’t real.” Leo wraps his arms around her, his voice breaking. “Maybe it’s a fake. Someone could’ve created it to fuck with us.”
“I’ll have the photo analyzed,” I say, monotone. “We’ll confirm its authenticity.”
“Who would do this?” Her breath comes in ragged gasps, the sight of her tears a knife to my soul. “Who would be so cruel?”
Kody’s reaction is the most heartbreaking. He stares at the photo of Wolf, his face contorted in pain, yet no tears come. His sadness is too deep, too profound to channel outward.
“You killed Denver wearing that coat.” I point to the blood stains that cover the chest area. “Do you remember where the splatter concentrated?”
“No. I…” She studies the image. “I shot him and beat him with a pipe. The coat was ruined. That’s why Wolf made me take his.” Her voice breaks. “We argued about it.”
“We’ll figure it out. A DNA test will confirm it.” I lift the photo closer to my face.
“Monty…” Her body shakes with sobs, her green eyes flooded with tears. “There’s writing on the back.”
A fist closes around my airway as I flip over the photo and read aloud. “To Frankie. I have outlasted all desire. My dreams and I have grown apart. My grief alone is left entire. The gleanings of an empty heart.” My breath stumbles. “Another Pushkin quote.”
“Why?” Leo snarls. “What the fuck does it mean?”
I don’t have an answer. All I know is that the fragile threads holding us together are unraveling, and it’s up to me to stop us from falling apart.
But how do I protect my family from a ghost? From a past that refuses to stay buried?
“Carl.” I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay composed as I look at the security guard. “Find out where this package came from. Check the delivery records. I want to know every detail. Oliver, go with him. Give him a list of your suppliers and contacts.”
As they spring into action, I turn to Kody.
The bond we began to forge by the shore is now tempered in fire, our shared grief a new kind of brotherhood. We’ll find the answers. We’ll face this darkness together.
“No cops.” Kody’s eyes meet mine, and the wall between us cracks. “It’s time to hunt.”
34
Monty
—
“Everything circles back to Hoss.” I pace back and forth in the sitting room, my fingers curling into fists, my insides a mayhem of sorrow, impatience, and cold, seething rage.
It’s been two days since the gruesome package arrived. Two days without answers.
Leo and Kody stand nearby, their expressions mirroring my turmoil. Frankie sits on the edge of the couch, her face lined with fatigue.
We’re all haunted by the contents of that box. Too haunted to sleep.
Locating the cabin has become our priority. If we find the cabin, we’ll be closer to finding Wolf’s body or the location where he was pulled from the river. There would be clues there. Footprints. Something.
But first, we need to know whose heart that is.
Without involving the authorities, I sent the box with the organ and photo to New York to be analyzed by a forensics team. I pulled strings, called on some discreet connections, and cut through red tape, with Wilson managing the investigation.
The results should arrive any day now.
From the moment the package arrived, we’ve done nothing but brainstorm, plot, and strategize, our collective minds focused on finding the stalker. We’ve gathered every resource, analyzed every clue, and formed theories that twist and turn with no end in sight.
The four of us have thrown ourselves into the task with a relentless hunger, driven by the urgent need to bring Wolf home.
Dead or alive.
Kody, his brooding eyes darker than usual, leans over a map spread out on the table. “If this stalker has been following Frankie, they must have access to surveillance equipment or resources. They know our movements, our vulnerabilities.”
“We need to think about who benefits from this chaos.” Leo runs a hand through his shoulder-length hair, the Viking braids tangling around his fingers. “Who gains from our suffering?”
Frankie sent her list of suspects to Wilson. People from her past, friends, associates, fuck buddies—it wasn’t a long list. Still, I wanted to memorize every name and hunt them down myself just for touching her.
Wilson has the daunting task of cross-referencing our suspects with flights and passenger lists. Someone was near Hoss when Wolf jumped off that cliff. His body must’ve drifted miles downriver, but eventually someone found him and took that photo.
Someone was in those fucking hills, lurking in an unsurvivable place where no human would venture.
That same someone knows about the flight logs I found in my father’s cellar. Wilson is circling back to Alvis Duncan in Whittier to gather more information on the men who collected those logs over the years.
“What are your thoughts on Pushkin?” She bends over a notepad on the oak coffee table, reading the riddles and poetry quotes for the hundredth time.