Page 91 of Viper

He choked down the doubt-filled words.

“All right. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to her. Hang on.” A few seconds passed, then ten.

He waited in silence. Uncertainty flitted through him. If Spencer had left his phone behind, they were screwed. However, if it’d died or been damaged, they’d at least have a location of its last known signal—if Lettie pulled through.

“Um, okay, this is weird,” she mused. “I don’t know why he’d be in that area.”

“Where is he?” His throat clenched.

“It’s showing just past Casey Key. I can text you a pin.”

“Please.” He needed more information. “Lettie, while you do that, I need you to think really hard. Has Spencer ever mentioned having friends in that area? We suspect Craig hid his yacht somewhere. The police never found it.”

Havoc nodded and began working on the laptop again. Moments later he showed Troy a map of boat-storage facilities near Casey Key—a handful of red dots on the screen.

Troy’s phone beeped as the pin Lettie had texted came through.

“Hmm. I have a feeling Craig would know more people in that area than Spencer, since he spent a lot of time on his boat. I can’t think of anyone.”

Troy zoomed in on the location. Finally, they had something. “Thanks, Lettie. I appreciate your help.”

“I hope you find her,” she said with sincerity.

Troy ended the call and rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “Let’s go.”

Havoc slammed the lid of his laptop a little too eagerly. “Forward the location to Rogue. He can find boat-storage places in the area and narrow that down.”

Troy was already at the door. He quickly fired off the location to Rogue, then he and Havoc made their way to the parking garage. “Get Striker on the phone. Tell him I’ll send him the location as well and they can meet us.”

“Copy.”

As excited as Troy was that they had a clue, he couldn’t stop the slippery feeling of dread in his gut.

Finding Spencer was one thing. Getting Paige away from a serial killer was a different story.

Paige had never been good at bluffing. Atlas used to love playing poker with her when they were teens because she could never keep a straight face. It’d always driven her nuts how well he could hide his emotions.

Now, with this sadistic sonofabitch breathing on her face, she needed to channel a higher power and not let him see her facade slip.

The boat swayed gently. She squinted through the bright rays warming her face. “Well, I guess that makes you the most paranoid person on this boat. I don’t know where I’d escape to, or how.”

Craig lowered his chin and stared at her through his lashes. Either to intimidate her or because he was just that damn creepy.

“Let’s play a game, starfish.”

Oh, god.

Panic hammered against her chest like ice-cold hail. “Um, no thanks. I’m good.” She gave a chuckle that likely revealed just how freaked out she was.

“I like games.” His low voice was as greasy and toxic as an oil spill.

“I play a mean game of go fish,” she offered with a shrug.

She was either becoming really good at disassociating, or her humor had reached a new level.

He laughed so suddenly and naturally he sounded almost normal. For a second, she was kicked back to when she’d met Craig and he’d been fun and easygoing.

Chantal had told her the dating pool was brutal, but that word really hadn’t done it justice.