Page 95 of Closer Than You Know

Had Vera been thinking straight, she would have realized he would do something exactly like that. The guy was nearly ten years younger than her. He would be versed on all the latest gadgets. “What next?” Several mobile homes in various stages of disrepair sat on either side ofthe narrow road. All looked abandoned. Probably uninhabitable. Vines, trees, and bushes, as well as undergrowth, had all but swallowed them.

“Go left at that last one. There’s a shed. Pull the van into the shed.”

Vera made the left. She stared a moment at the shed, assessing if the van would fit. Only one way to find out. She rolled forward, eased into the derelict structure that looked as if it might fall any minute. She shut off the engine and turned to the woman who had been the bane of her existence far too often.

“Get out,” Patton said, her voice wobbling. “We close the shed doors and go inside.”

“How did you get involved in this?” The idea that Patton was somehow just trying to get the story, frankly, scared the hell out of Vera.

“He called me. Claimed to be a guy who had some information about you and what happened with the Messenger last time.”

Vera rolled her eyes. “And you fell for it.”

“I always follow every lead.” She reached for her door, climbed out.

Vera did the same. “So you met with him,” she prompted. “What happened?” She really did not have time for this. Damn it.

The shed doors creaked as Patton closed them. She turned to Vera then, her movements disjointed. “The man, Patrick Solomon—I didn’t recognize him immediately—got into the back of the van. Then he introduced himself, and I knew something was off. Mike prepared to start filming and ...” Her face crumpled. “He stabbed him. Then he told me to drive.” Her voice caught. “Then, a little while ago, he sent me to pick you up. He said if I didn’t bring you back ...”

Vera wanted to shake the woman. “Well, you always did jockey for a front-row seat.” The woman had damned well gotten herself one this time. As soon as she had said the words, Vera felt a little bad. Patton’s friend was injured. Damn it. How many more had to die or be hurt because this sick bastard wanted to get even with her?

“I’m sorry,” Patton sobbed. “I was only doing my job.” She gestured to the dilapidated mobile home next to the shed. “We have to go in there ... he’s waiting for us.”

“Is my sister in there?” Vera held her breath, pulse racing, heart pounding.

“She’s there. My friend too.” Patton searched Vera’s eyes. “We’re all going to die, aren’t we?”

“Not if I can help it.” She started toward the dilapidated mobile home, surveying the landscape as she went. The whole area appeared abandoned. Slowly being devoured by nature.

Vines had grown up the side of their destination. The windows she could see were broken. Probably vandals. “Is anyone else in the house?”

“I don’t think so. There’s no electricity. No water.”

“You didn’t see anyone else with him?”

“No. Just me, Mike, and Eve.” A sob ripped from her throat.

“Did you see any other weapons besides the knife?” Knives were the weapons the Messenger used on his victims. Apparently he’d used one on her friend.

“No.”

“Okay. Just stay calm and ride this out. Let me do the interacting with him. I will get us out of this. You just have to trust me.”

She nodded.

Vera hoped to hell the ambitious reporter would do as she was told. The Patricia Patton she knew always broke the rules.

They had that in common.

But now wasn’t a good time for the woman to go rogue.

As soon as they approached the narrow steps, the front door opened.

Patrick Solomon stood in the doorway. The jeans, sweatshirt, and hiking boots were completely out of character for the young medical resident whose photo she had found on the Instagram page of one of his friends.

He had the same pale-blond hair as his grandfather and mother. He appeared fit. Also like his grandfather. Obviously he was intelligent. But it was his gray eyes—cold, fathomless—that warned just how bad the situation was. This man—this monster—appeared to have just one goal: act out his revenge before he was captured or killed.

Vera’s gut told her that this was also in part about him having held in those desperate urges all this time, and he just couldn’t do it anymore.

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