Page 15 of Keeping Kasey
“What are you doing?” Moreno asks, voicing the question for me.
James doesn’t look away from the game as he mutters, “Maybe we need to tag the ghosts in a certain order? Or maybe we need to hit the same ghost several times in a row? Is it possible to kill all the ghosts at once?”
That makes me laugh harder.
“I don’t think that’s it,” Jace mumbles from the couch.
“Well, I don’t see you making suggestions,” James snaps.
When no one answers, James gets back to trying out each of his theories—where he learns there is, in fact,nota way to kill all the ghosts at once.
Thirty silent minutes pass.
Jace has gone still on the couch, and I’m willing to bet he’s asleep. Logan still paces the room, features never relaxing from their fixed glare. James plays the game with a determination that wanes with each passing minute, and Moreno is on his phone.
While they stew in their frustration, I simply watch them.
And bythem, I mean Logan.
He’s fascinating even in his measured strides as he turns from one side to the other. His hands rotate from resting in his pockets to crossing over his chest to rubbing his temples like he has the world’s worst hangover—which I suspect he’d prefer to his current predicament.
I’m so engrossed in his movements that I jump along with the others when Logan suddenly exclaims, “I think I get it.”
As he approaches the desk, I can almost imagine it’smehe’s striding toward with that level of absolute confidence.
I don’t pull my eyes from him as he braces one hand on the desk and claims the keyboard from his brother, so I don’t missthe glimmer of earned pride in those cunning green eyes as the pleasant chime indicates my game has been beaten.
James’s eyes go wide. “How did you—”
For the first time, a small smile touches Logan’s lips. “I want Cam to work with me. In his eyes, that’s walking right into enemy territory, or in our case, the ghost respawn box.”
Logan Consoli is going to be a very interesting client.
CHAPTER FIVE
Logan
I’m not even surprised when James and I pull into a McDonald’s parking lot in Indianapolis. Between that and the Pac-Man obsession, I’m half-expecting Cam to be twelve years old.
I check my phone as I slide my gun into its holster. “It says he’ll be in the back corner in a black shirt.”
“Let me take the lead on this,” James says, not meeting my eye as he holsters his own weapon.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’ve threatened to kill this guy half a dozen times just on the drive here, and we can’t risk scaring him off.”
I kick the door open. “Something tells me Cam doesn’t scare easily.”
The restaurant is busy—unsurprising since we came right at lunch. Our formal attire does nothing to help us blend in, but it’s crowded enough that we’ll be able to conduct our business with sufficient privacy.
I scan the room and immediately spot Cam in the back corner. He’s a heavyset man with a bald head and countless tattoos that cover his arms and neck. If his deep scowl isn’t enough to deliver thescrew offmessage, his black leather vest drives the point home.
James and I wordlessly make a beeline for his table. Cam doesn’t look up until we’ve taken the seats across from him.
“Interesting choice for a meeting,” I say with a pleasant smile as I pull my jacket back to reveal my gun. “But if you think an audience will stop me from putting a bullet in your thick skull, then you didn’t do enough research. I suggest keeping that in mind before you decide to pull another stunt.”
Cam’s eyes widen comically, but before I can enjoy the satisfaction, we’re interrupted by a snort of laughter.
