Keep Them Close(60)

* * *





“Last visitor,” says Louise. “At 6:44 p.m.”

“Roger that.” Hans moves the security footage forward at a high speed. He slows it to normal a few minutes before the relevant time.

“There,” says Louise. “Pause that.”

Hans taps the keyboard. The video freezes on a still image of a man heading straight to the elevator, not checking in, arm extended, about to place the key card on the elevator sensor. He is wearing a gray hoodie unzipped, a sports jersey beneath it.

The athletic frame and curly dark hair give him away.

“Someone we know,” Louise murmurs. “Hans, let me know when he returns to the lobby.” She dials her phone and waits for Cutty to answer. “Cutty, you get the warrants yet?”

“Just in the judge’s chambers right now,” he says.

“We need one more,” says Louise.



* * *





They ring the doorbell and wait. A curtain flutters at the side window, so someone is home. They press the bell a second time, hear the chime ringing on the other side of the door.

Finally, Allison Brice answers, wearing headphones. “Yes, Detectives?”

“A warrant to seize and search your phone.” Louise hands Allison the warrant. “And a warrant to seize and search the phone of Grayson Brice.”

Allison takes that warrant, too. She can’t be surprised. “What else you got there?”

Louise holds up the last document. “Warrant for DNA and fingerprint testing,” she says.

“You already have my DNA and my prints, Detective.”

“Not yours,” says Louise. “Your son’s.”

Allison blinks hard. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous at all, Mrs. Brice, and you know it. When you filed that missing-persons report, you forgot to mention that your son, Grayson, was inside that condo with his father on the night of April first, for over two hours. Or maybe you were hoping we wouldn’t find that out.”

Allison’s eyes drop, a chink in her armor.

“Y’know, I couldn’t figure out why you were acting so suspicious. Refusing to talk, refusing to hand over your phone without a warrant. Now I get it. You were drawing attention to yourself so we wouldn’t look at your son. This whole thing’s been about protecting Grayson.”



* * *





Allison Brice waits behind the glass, hands pressed inside her coat pockets. Grayson stands still in front of the Live Scan terminal, the glass plate glowing faintly blue as the technician gestures for his hand. He hesitates just a beat, long enough for the moment to feel heavier than it should, before pressing his fingers down one by one, rolling them over the scanner. The machine hums softly, a sterile, electronic sound, capturing every whorl and ridge, all the minutiae of his skin.

Cutty leans into Louise’s ear. “I think we found her kryptonite,” he says. “I think we may have found our guy, too.”





The Day Before April Fools’ Day





50


Luke

I drop into the next set before my brain can talk me out of it: twenty push-ups, fast, chest to floor, breath burning in my throat.

You’ve still got command, kid, but the zip—that late life on your fastball—it isn’t there.

Sweat runs down my temples and drips onto the mat, little dark splatters keeping time with my pulse. I flip over, crunches, then bicycles, then that damn plank that makes every muscle in my core quiver.

Your mechanics are clean, Luke, but the radar gun doesn’t lie.

Jump squats next, twenty of them, legs burning. Then alternating lunges, long and controlled until my quads are shaking.

Look, you’re smart, you’re gritty, you’re coachable. But without that extra seven, eight miles per hour, scouts aren’t coming.

No free weights today, just gravity, body weight, and the stubborn need to push until my mind shuts off Allison, Finley, betrayals and backstabbings and lies and secrets.

I collapse in my second bedroom, wiping sweat from my eyes with a towel. Maybe the workout will help me with sleep, which has come in fits lately.

My phone buzzes. It’s Grayson, of all people. Haven’t heard from him in a while. Whatever my current feelings toward his mother, I can’t project them onto him. Nor can I reveal anything to him. The kid adores his mother.

“Hey, buddy,” I say into the phone.

“Luke?” His voice sounds broken, shaky, high-pitched.

I snap to alert. “I’m here, Gray, what’s up?”

“I—I—I…fuck. I don’t know who else to talk to,” he says.

“You can always talk to me, kiddo. Anything. Tell me.”

“Um…” His voice is shaking. “I’m in town.”

“You are? You came home for spring break? I thought you were—”

“I’m in Chicago, downtown. Not home home. A bunch of us came in town for a few days, got a hotel room. Last-minute. I didn’t tell Mom. More of a guys’ thing.”

“Oh, I didn’t—”

“What’s going on with Mom and Dad? Are they, like, broken up?”