Page 120 of X Marks the Stalker
“And that hotel chain that saved Zara’s family business—was that you? Did the Hemlock Society do that? Thorne has a hotel chain, doesn’t he?”
“I don’t know.” A flicker of something crosses his face. “Would it bother you if it were?”
I run my hand through my hair. “I don’t know what bothers me anymore.”
Xander’s arms wrap around me, solid and warm. “This isthe path, Oakley. Once you start, there’s no going back. The question is whether you can live with that.”
I’m still grappling with the implications of Xander’s answer when his secure phone buzzes. The easy intimacy of the moment shatters as his expression hardens, eyes scanning the screen.
“What is it?”
“Message from Thorne.” Xander holds the phone so I can see the text.
Thorne
Blackwell’s private jet filed a flight plan for tomorrow morning at 8:30. Destination Zurich. Likely fleeing after bodies were discovered. Need to get rolling asap.
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Tonight? We’re not ready.”
“We don’t have a choice.” Xander is already moving back inside, his body language shifting from relaxed to precision-focused in seconds. “If he gets to Switzerland, we lose him. Their extradition laws would protect him even if we did manage to find evidence linking him to your parents. And the operation is too complex to execute in a different country.”
“The medical appointment was our best shot. This ruins everything. All our planning…”
“Thorne’s sending a car. Ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?” I look around at our assembled murder board, the scattered documents, the meticulous planning reduced to nothing.
Xander starts tearing down the murder board, throwing the photos and documents into the fireplace. I grab mytoothbrush and the few clothes I brought to the cabin, shoving them into my bag. We’d barely settled in, and now we’re leaving just as quickly.
Twelve years of waiting, and now we have less than twelve hours. No margin for error. No second chances.
“Ready?” Xander asks, striking a match and dropping it onto the pile of our planning documents in the fireplace.
I nod, watching the flames consume the papers. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 28
Oakley
“Keep walking,” Xander whispers, his hand firm against the small of my back as we slip through the service entrance of the Beacon Hill Gentlemen’s Association. “Don’t stare.”
Boston’s oldest members-only club is exactly what you’d expect. Oak paneling, portraits of dead old men, and the unmistakable scent of privilege.
Xander guides me through a labyrinth of corridors, each turn taking us deeper into the building. We reach an ornate library where leather-bound books climb from floor to ceiling.
“Wait.” Xander pulls me toward a particular shelf and reaches for a volume of Dante’s Inferno.
“Seriously?” I whisper. “Could you be any more cliché? What’s next, a secret handshake and matching robes?”
The bookshelf slides aside without a sound, revealing a spiral staircase descendinginto darkness.
“After you,” he says, his eyes glinting with amusement.
I hesitate for a split second, the gravity of what I’m doing hitting me. I’m following a man I’ve known for a few weeks into a secret passage in a building full of powerful men. Every true crime podcast begins this way.
But I’ve already killed a man. This is hardly the time for second thoughts.
I descend the stairs, each step taking me further from the world I’ve known. At the bottom waits a heavy steel door with no handle on this side. Xander reaches around me to press his palm against a scanner I didn’t notice. The door slides open with a pneumatic hiss.
