Page 89 of The Guy Next Door

“Detective Roth hasn’t reached out to you?” Leif asks.

“No.” With all that’s on my mind, it wasn’t something I’d even considered, but now that he’s mentioned it, I can name the emotion that overtakes me: rage.

Considering how much we talked early in the investigation, she should have given me a heads-up. And if she fucking knows it’s my brother and hasn’t told me, fuck her!

“It doesn’t say it’s him for sure,” Leif says. “It sounds like a guess.”

“It’s not a guess,” I snap. “A source from inside the department leaked that, so they know more than is even on the damn page.”

I didn’t mean to practically shout the words at him.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Leif.”

“Zane, you don’t owe me an apology for that,” he says, looking far more disturbed by my apology than when I shouted. “I can’t imagine what reading this is like.”

I press my hand against the window and grip the seat with my other.

Why’s the car fucking spinning?

Tears push to my eyes.

All those images seizing my mind have stopped, but it’s like I’m holding them behind a wall that’s about to burst. I open the car door and lean out, my body going through the motions like I’m about to hurl, but I only manage to dry heave.

I don’t know what happens next—it’s like a fucking blackout, and soon I’m on the ground, shaking, light-headed.

“Zane! Zane, don’t leave me!” I hear Mike call out, but I know it’s too late.

When I finally shake free of the memory, I find Leif at my side; he must’ve gotten out of the car at some point.

“Zane, are you okay? Please talk to me.”

His words reorient me, and I glance around, trying to make sense of everything that happened, when there’s a familiar buzzing sound. Leif pulls out my phone.

Jill must be calling back, but I can’t talk to her now.

Not about this.

Leif says, “It’s Detective Roth. Do you want to take it?”

As it buzzes in his hand again, I can’t…I don’t want to hear. Don’t want to know.

But I reach forward and take the phone, answering it.

Just get it over with.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

Getting my anger out is cathartic, feels like the only thing that’s keeping me from losing my goddamn mind.

“Zane, I’m so sorry. It’s not Mike, though. We know that.”

My hand trembles so much, I nearly drop the phone, but instead, I fall back against the asphalt.

Thank. Fucking. God.

As tears well in my eyes, I finally manage, “Roth, what the fuck is going on?”

*