Page 87 of Baited

Nate closed his eyes on a breath. “I get it, all right? It’s the middle of the day. Someone had to have seen something, so let the cops do their routine. Will you show me those damn bugs already?”

Ethan nodded and waved his hand behind him.

Nate followed.

“Don’t say anything else about Michael.” His voice dropped low as the floors squeaked beneath their feet. “There aren’t any bugs out here but there’s one in the kitchen and the others are in the bedroom.”

He didn’t need Michael getting more spooked than he was. As it stood, Ethan had already put Riley in danger by losing his cool.

They stepped into Riley’s bedroom and a chill in the air arced over his skin. “I feel so damn close to her in here,” he mumbled.

Nate immediately skulked around the room, his gaze focused on every nook and cranny.

Ethan jerked his head and pointed above the bed. Nate took three steps across the floor and stepped up onto the mattress to get a better view of the camera. He snorted and jumped down.

“That sick fuck,” he breathed.

Ethan raised his index finger to his lips. He moved past Nate and stopped at the end table where the audio bug sat on the lampshade. He plucked it off, and held it tightly in his palm. He left the room, dropped it into a drawer in the kitchen, and then returned to Riley’s bedroom.

“No need for him to hear everything we say,” Ethan said. His biceps flexed as his fingers fell to crack his knuckles.

“You got a switchblade?” He hopped up onto the bed, his gaze instantly found the small black lens.

“Course. You don’t?” He pulled one from his back pocket and passed it to Ethan.

He flicked the blade open, his fingers moved easily over the steel. “I don’t carry one as often as I should.”

He jabbed the blade into the ceiling, dust and plaster littered his face and sprinkled onto the bed. He peeled the chunks away until the cord from the camera was visible. He yanked it out of the ceiling and pulled it down. “Huh. It’s an old school cord?”

Ethan let the camera hang, drove his fist into the hole, and peeled down large sections of ceiling. “I need a flashlight.”

“I’m glad one of us is prepared.” Nate pulled his keys out and turned on the penlight that hung from the ring.

Ethan grunted and took the keys, and then shone it into the hole.

Bingo.

The cord disappeared in a small hole of the subfloor above—directly into Michael’s unit.

A cold sweat broke out at the back of his neck between his shoulder blades. The acid in his stomach curdled. He clenched his hand into a fist, and tossed the keys to Nate, nearly hitting him in the face.

“It’s connected to his unit.”

“Well that was easy. I’ll—”

“No need.” Ethan stormed passed Nate and down the hallway.

His footsteps pounded on the floors. He closed his hand over the door handle and flung it open. Nate called to him, but his words didn’t penetrate the rushing of blood through his head.

He’d kill him.

And there was nothing Nate or anyone could do to stop him. He pulled his Glock from the waistband at his back as he charged up the wooden steps to Michael’s apartment two at a time. Smoke still lingered in the air and the shouts from the working firemen fell around him. He stopped in front of the door, took a step backward on the small landing, and stomped his foot into the wood.

It shot open with sickening ease. Splinters danced through the air and the door bounced on its hinges. Ethan stepped inside.

Michael came down the hall, his eyes sharp, and his face tense. “What the hell—”

Ethan concealed his Glock at the small of his back and sprinted across the room. Michael’s hands rose in the air and the blood drained from his face. He stumbled backward in an effort to escape.

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