Page 88 of The Smart Killer
“You son of a bitch.”
The tension in the room escalated, breaking only when Porter returned with the med kit. The room was fraught with unspoken truths. As Porter began treating him, Emmett stared at Noah, a deadpan expression as if looking right into his soul.
As soon as Porter was done, he snapped the med kit closed.
“He’s thirsty,” Noah said.
“Uh? He had a bottle of…” Porter went to say but he saw the bottle that had been there was no longer there. Noah never took his eyes off Emmett, even as Porter asked him where it was.
Porter glanced back at Emmett before he walked back out again.
“See. You understand,” Emmett said with a smile. “The others.” He shook his head. “They don’t get it.” He lifted his cuffed hands and pointed. “But you. You do. Oh, this is exciting. To finally find someone else with an IQ that matches mine. That’s why I told you about Ashford. About your father. That’s why I can’t wait to see who you choose.”
“What?”
“To save.” He laughed.
Noah started backing up, feeling like he was being lured into a game. His eyes went to the camera in the corner of the room, pointing down at him. He still hadn’t broken protocol. “Well, detective? Don’t you want to know? I think you would as… well… time’s ticking,” he said, lifting his eyes to the clock on the wall.
Noah took out his phone and placed a call to his father.
Emmett began to laugh harder.
It kept ringing and then went straight to voicemail.
“I wonder if anyone is home behind door number two?” Emmett said, laughing all the more. “Or is she behind door number one?”
Noah frowned at the mention of her.
For a second, his eyes widened.
“Detective. Have you ever heard the saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer?” he asked. “Oh, they do it so well. I can see why you fell for her. I really can, but she has played you like a fiddle, my friend, just as Michael Taylor did to me. She knows! She knows!” He continued to laugh.
Emmett’s insinuation about Alicia’s involvement in the drug trade hit Noah like a gut punch. The tension in the room soared as he grappled with the implications.
Noah tried to phone Alicia, but it also went to voicemail.
“Oh dear, no luck? That’s probably because she got a call from your father. Or was that me? It’s hard to remember. The lines blur when you are having so much fun with deepfake voice technology and eavesdropping on conversations.”
Noah clenched his hand, his eyes lifting to the camera.
Rage began to swirl, clouding his judgment. He backed up for a second, one last attempt to reel it in.
“What have you done?”
“Don’t you wish you had left that tracker in her truck now?”
He laughed.
Noah lost it.
He scooped up a chair, and in an instant, he smashed the video camera in the corner of the room. Then, in desperation to uncover the truth, Noah slammed the doors shut and locked them, the metallic click echoing in the confined space.
“Save who?!” he shouted. His temper was a simmering storm beginning to spiral out of control.
Within seconds, from the other side, he heard banging.
“Noah. Noah! Open up,” Porter yelled.
