Page 64 of Corpse Roads

“We need to inform Whitcomb’s family now that we have confirmation,” Hunter adds. “Hudson can do it. He questioned the different victims’ families earlier in the case.”

“Thought you wanted to keep Harlow’s presence between us?”

Hunter shakes his head. “We have to do a press announcement anyway. Get Kade to bring the whole team in to be briefed tomorrow. I’ll speak to them myself.”

With a final nod, I manage to break free from his office. Things are stepping up a gear if we’re bringing in the Cobra team. They’re our secret assets—ruthless and merciless in perfect measure.

I grab my phone and bring up the contacts with a sigh. I haven’t called anyone for a long time.

“I was starting to wonder if you were dead,” Hudson answers with a grunt. “Unless you’re calling me from the afterlife, in which case, kudos.”

“Hilarious,” I return dryly. “Is this a bad time?”

“Gimme a sec.”

The sound of fists meeting flesh rattles down the line, along with someone’s yelping in the background. I hang tight as Hudson shouts at someone, the line muffled before he returns with a low growl.

He’s been on clean-up duty all week after our successful narcotics raid. Enzo trained Hudson himself, breeding the perfect henchman to beat, break and bully his way to fast results.

“Free now. What’s up, Theo?”

“Need you all to come in tomorrow.”

“Got something for us?” he asks excitedly. “I’m tired of these lowlife gang bangers.”

“You’re not gonna like what we have instead. Hunter will brief you in the morning.”

“Gotcha. Theo, why don’t you come—”

“I have to go,” I interrupt, hanging up.

Returning to my lonely office, I hit the coffee machine and settle in my desk chair. My phone vibrates with a text, but I don’t bother checking it. Hudson needs to give up.

I’m not interested in playing happy families like the last five years have changed anything that happened back then.

I don’t want their help.

I don’t want their company.

All I want is the one fucking person I can’t have… because she’s dead.

CHAPTER 14

HARLOW

.HAUNTED. - DEAD POET SOCIETY

The skittering of a pebble hitting my window startles me awake in a split second. The meaty tissue of my heart bruises itself against my rib cage, the fuel of terror pumping through my veins.

I was running through thick woodland in my dream, wracked by pain and desperation. The voices of eighteen ghosts followed my footsteps with wailing cries.

Crack.

Am I dreaming still?

Is someone… here?

A louder crack pierces the silence. It’s pitch-black outside—I fell asleep with the blinds wide open, bathing me in moonlight. Falling asleep each night is proving difficult after the interrogation.

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