We weren’t that far out of town, so hopefully, it would work.
We all waited as Nash stared at the screen. A minute later, a ding sounded. My brother’s jaw went slack. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Lawson barked.
Nash turned the screen around, and a driver’s license photo and name appeared.
Tyson Moss. Steven’s podcast partner.
Lawson guided his SUV down the mountain toward the rental Steven and Tyson had been staying in. “Dumb luck or related?”
It was the question I’d been asking myself since the ID came in. I wanted it to be dumb luck. It was a small town, after all. There were a limited number of potential victims.
But something niggled at the back of my mind. Something that said there were no coincidences in life.
“When they broadcasted Aspen’s location, they could’ve brought anyone here. Someone who liked John for all the wrong reasons,” I said. My fingers twitched. I’d already texted Holt and asked him to head to Aspen’s. I needed more eyes on her until we figured out how everything was linked.
Lawson’s jaw worked back and forth. “Exactly what I’m afraid of.”
“We also need to take a longer look at Oren Randal.”
Lawson’s gaze flicked to me. “You think he’s capable of this?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him. There’s a real sick rage there.”
“You’re right. I’ll do some more digging.”
He flipped on his blinker and turned into the long drive we’d been down before. The familiar van was parked in front. Lawson pulled in behind it, and we climbed out.
Lawson rested a hand on his weapon as we approached the house. I did the same. Neither of us said out loud that we could be walking up on anything. We didn’t need to.
I lifted my hand and knocked.
No sounds came from inside.
I knocked again.
“Keep your fuckin’ pants on,” Steven shouted as footsteps sounded.
A second later, the door jerked open. He looked like hell—hair sticking up at every angle, dark circles under bloodshot eyes.
The moment Steven saw us, he scowled. “I haven’t broken any damn laws, so get off my property.”
“Not actually your property,” I muttered under my breath.
He started to close the door, but Lawson put out a hand to stop it. “We need to talk to you about Tyson.”
Steven’s scowl deepened. “What’d that prick tell you?”
My brows lifted at that. “Trouble in paradise?”
“He’s a fuckin’ traitor. We had a thesis for our podcast. We were going to get John’s case overturned. Then we’d have movie deals and book tours. We’d be set. And then he was all, ‘But what if she’s telling the truth?’ Who gives a damn? So, I punched him. It barely landed. I can’t believe he called you assholes.”
“He’s dead,” Lawson said.
Steven reared back. “The fuck you say?”
“Tyson is dead. We found his body two hours ago.”
“Y-you’re wrong. I saw him this morning. I—there’s no way.”
“I’m sorry, Steven.”
I had to give it to Lawson, he sounded like he meant it. And he probably did. The guy might’ve been an asshole, but he didn’t deserve to die.
“How?” Steven rasped.
Lawson took a breath. “We’ll get to that in a second. I need to ask you a few questions to get a timeline. When did you last see Tyson?”
“Around ten a.m.,” Steven mumbled.
Lawson nodded. “Where was he headed?”
“I’m not sure. He said he was going into town.”
“And what did you do after you two parted ways?” Lawson pressed.
Steven’s gaze jerked to Lawson. “How’d he die?”
“I’ll fill you in as soon as I’ve got this timeline down,” Lawson said calmly.
“I’m not answering another question until you tell me how,” Steven grumbled.
“He was murdered,” I said, not an ounce of emotion in my voice.
Steven paled as his gaze jerked from Lawson to me and back again. “You think I had something to do with it?”
Lawson held up a hand. “We just have to get a timeline. Cover all our bases.”
“Bullshit,” Steven spat. “I’ve seen how this works. You guys try to pin it on the innocent guy just to get the case off your docket.”
“We’re not—”
“Fuck off, pig. You want to talk to me? Call my lawyer. I have one since you’ve been giving us so much trouble.” Steven slammed the door in our faces.