Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 182255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 911(@200wpm)___ 729(@250wpm)___ 608(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 911(@200wpm)___ 729(@250wpm)___ 608(@300wpm)
Seth didn’t see how he could just turn his back on that.
And he had to be fast, before Heavenly finished her shower.
“Fuck.” He peeled away at the duct tape, the adhesive crackling and threatening to disintegrate under his fingertips.
Finally, he pulled the envelope free with shaking hands and turned it over, studying the faded ink on the front.
Seth.
His name written in his father’s careful block letters.
Nothing else.
He sat still. Stunned. Praying that the content inside was something innocuous, like a letter of fatherly advice his dad had written during a reflective moment. Or encouragement about handling responsibility as he grew into a man. Seth hoped like hell that he could read the page, fold it back up, and tuck it away with a bittersweet smile.
He had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t be that simple.
Seth’s heart pounded as he crossed to his side of the bed. His legs felt unsteady, so he sank onto the mattress and angled his body to block the view of anyone who might burst into the room. If worse came to worst, he’d shove this into the nightstand drawer.
He exhaled, trying to steady himself, as he slid his thumb under the flap and lifted it.
Inside, he found a single sheet of folded paper, along with a business card to a climate-controlled storage unit a couple of miles from the house. On the back of the card, his father had left a gate code and a unit number. In the bottom of the envelope, he found the kind of small key used for padlocks.
Seth’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t sentimental. This was the past coming back.
This was dangerous.
Dread coiled as Seth unfolded the letter. The date at the top of the page was exactly one week before his father died.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, dragged in a ragged breath, and read on.
Seth,
If you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I’ve failed. I’m equally sorry to leave this on your shoulders, but I don’t have any other choice.
There’s real danger. I’m afraid for you, your mother, and your brothers. I’ve been looking into things—corruption, bad people doing unspeakable things—and I think they’re onto me. I don’t know how much time I have. Maybe I’m being paranoid. I hope I’m overreacting. But if I’m not, and something happens to me, I need you to understand why.
I don’t trust the people in charge to investigate this properly. They’re part of the problem. So I’m leaving this for you, because you’re smart. Because I know you’ll be cautious, and you should be. And because, when you’re old enough, I know you’ll know what to do.
I’m not asking you to finish what I started or to seek vengeance. I don’t want you to put yourself in danger. But I need you to know this threat exists. Pretending it doesn’t could get people killed—your mother, you, and your brothers—all the people I love who don’t deserve to be collateral damage in this corrupt war.
I prayed I’d never have to write this. Prayed you’d never have to read it. But if you are, I couldn’t stop the threat and keep everyone safe. I hope somehow you will understand why I couldn’t stay silent.
Be careful, son. These criminals are dangerous and not above murder.
I love you. I’m proud of you. And I’m always with you. But most of all, I’m sorry.
—Dad
Seth’s throat closed. His eyes burned. He blinked hard, forcing himself to focus.
How terrified had his dad been when he’d written the letter? How worried had he been to put all his faith in his teenage son?
Seth stared at the note, reading it again. His dad hadn’t come right out and stated there was evidence in the storage unit. He didn’t need to. But why else would he send Seth a key and the security codes?
Something was hidden there. Something his father had died protecting.
Something vitally important that had been sitting untouched for sixteen years.
He zipped his stare to the closet—to the box that held his father’s notes. The same box Seth had combed through a million times trying to figure out why his father had been killed.
What if…he’d never solved his dad’s murder because he’d been missing vital clues? What if those clues were in that storage unit?
Seth stared at the letter in one hand, the card and key in the other.
He was at a fucking crossroads.
He didn’t feel triumph or excitement. He didn’t even feel determination.
Instead, a cold, sinking certainty settled into his bones.
Clearly, his father had known he’d been in danger sixteen years ago. What he couldn’t have known was that this threat would show up to exact its vengeance on Autumn and Tristan eight horrible years later.
He thought about Tony’s skittishness at the bar when he’d talked about the precinct. Things have changed, gotten more political. It feels…corrupt.
He thought about Nikolai’s cryptic comment minutes later. I heard the minute you arrived in town. If I am aware of such things, do you not think they are, too?