The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,291

he wouldn’t tell us where it was, so I waved the gun at him. It went off and he was hit in the leg. He said it was in his office.”

“Why are you at his house? What in the world do you need his laptop for?” I fly down the stairs two at a time.

“He was supposed to come straight from the airport. We were going to take his laptop and get him to sign a confession and take it to the police,” Matty explains.

“A confession about what?” I ask, in a guarded voice. I grab the railing of the stairs and sink down on one of the steps. This is so much worse than I thought.

There are a few seconds of silence, and I know that she’s counting to five, the way she does whenever she’s trying not to lose it.

Dan has been my grandfather’s right-hand for the last twenty years. He’s the most upstanding, straight-laced person I know. Whatever they think he’s done, they’re wrong.

“This isn’t the time to explain. He’s okay. It’s not even bleeding anymore. But we need that laptop. Please just go and get it.”

“If you want me to do anything other than hang up and call 9-1-1, you better start explaining why you were at Dan Harrison’s house in the middle of the night waiting for him to come home.” I’m not bluffing. I never do. And she knows it.

A tense silence yawns between us and I wait for her to decide what happens next.

“We think he’s the John Rebecca mentioned at Wilde.”

“Please tell me you are not fucking serious. What in the hell?”

“I know you think it’s bullshit, but it’s not.” Matty’s voice is just as insistent as mine.

“Oh my God. What have you done?” I groan, despair lodged in my throat like a tumor.

“You said you didn’t want anything to do with it. So, we didn’t tell you. But we kept digging Regan and we know it’s him. But we need that laptop. Please, help us. I promise this isn’t a whim. We have proof.”

“Then why’d you break into his house and hold a gun on him?” I ask acidly.

. “Because we need his laptop. There’s evidence on there.”

“Then, call the police. I don’t want to be in your little circle of trust now that your harebrained scheme is blowing up in your faces.” I growl.

She’s quiet for so long that I start to relax, maybe I’ve finally gotten through to her. Her next words shatter that hope.

“There are pictures of Jack on that laptop. She saw them.” Her voice is full of meaning I wish I could pretend to misunderstand. Jack hasn’t let anyone take her picture in 6 years. Not since that night. A shiver runs over my body and my mouth goes dry. I close my eyes against the wave of nausea that comes out of nowhere. I double over and take a deep breath to try and stem it. I know I won’t throw up. I never do. But it still feels like I need to.

“Are you there? Regan?” Matty calls.

“What kind of pictures?” I ask, dread making my voice hoarse.

“From when Silk had us,” she says it with deliberate brevity.

At the mention of Weston Silk, my insides turn to water and my legs threaten to give out underneath me. I slide down the wall and land with a thud on my rump.

“How? How? Pops got rid of all of them,” I say as I stare at the floor unseeing, my fingers pinch the bridge of my nose.

“He must not have been able to. Or, maybe other people got them before he did. He was looking at them during a meeting and she was sitting right behind him. She’s worked with him for five years and that fucker has never looked at her longer than it’s taken him to complain about his coffee not being sweet enough.” Her voice breaks with angry tears and leaden weight forms in my gut. “We followed him. He went to this place all the way out by the Ship Channel. It looked like a club, but there was nothing but a neon light in the shape of a thunderbolt over the door.”

I close my eyes and take a few shuddering breaths to try and calm my racing pulse and fight back the nausea that threatens.

“Maybe it’s a coincidence?” I’m desperate for this not to be true.

“Regan. Stop. It’s not. And you know it. Go get that laptop. His office is locked but