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Chapter Thirty-three

Lake

What Baxter had failed to tell me was that his plan for flushing Owen out involved an all-night vigil. So here we were at gone two in the morning, still fully dressed, lights blazing so there could be no doubt he was home, and waiting for something—anything—to happen. I didn’t even have coffee to keep me awake. Just adrenaline and a gnawing fear that by supporting Baxter, I’d made yet another terrible choice.

Once Baxter’s plans had changed, he’d had a heated discussion with Calisto on the phone, his friend employing every trick in the book to get him to change his mind. When that hadn’t worked, Calisto had called in Asher, whose tactics were completely different. Neither had made any difference.

So we waited.

And waited some more.

Baxter returned from yet another trip to the window. “He’s not there,” he said for the umpteenth time. “Or if he is, he’s not showing himself.”

“Maybe he left London,” I suggested. “Maybe he’s on a plane to Hawaii.”

Baxter shook his head. “No.”

Whatever I suggested, I got the same response, Baxter remaining steadfast in his belief that he knew exactly what Owen would do. By the time three rolled around, I couldn’t fight the call of my bladder any longer. It was while I was in the bathroom that Baxter shouted my name.

“Coming,” I shouted back, then added more quietly, “Just trying to put my dick away and wash my hands.”

I’d barely gotten through the door before Baxter brandished his phone at me, his expression triumphant. “Success!”

I snatched the phone from him and read the message on the screen, unable to share his excitement when I saw it comprised of just two words.

Meet me.

No venue. No time. No information whatsoever. Which made the fact that Baxter was already pulling on his coat hard to understand.

“Wait—wait,” I said, grabbing hold of him and forcing him to stop for a second. “What does this even mean?”

Baxter gave me a look that suggested I was being deliberately dense. “Exactly what it says.”

“Where? How are you supposed to know that?”

“He’d want it to be somewhere difficult for me, which means there are only two places it could be.” Baxter broke free from my grip and grabbed Calisto’s car keys. “Are you coming? I’ll understand if you don’t want to. You probably shouldn’t. I should do this on my own.”

I grabbed my coat. “I’m coming.”

There was little in the way of conversation on the drive. Baxter seemed deep in thought, while I was still reeling from the fact that we were about to meet a murderer in the middle of the night. When had this become my life? I wrote history books. I taught. I wasn’t Sherlock Holmes, or any other famous detective you might care to name. I was probably closest to Columbo, except he only pretended to be bumbling. In reality, he always knew exactly what was going on, so that comparison didn’t really stand up to scrutiny either.

“Great,” I said when the car slowed to a stop and I realized our destination. “How did you know a graveyard ranked so high on the list of places I’m desperate to visit in the middle of the night?”

Baxter didn’t answer, already getting out of the car. I joined him on the pavement. “They lock cemeteries at night. You do know that?”

Still no response. He was already heading away from the gate, his focus fixed on the wall. “We’re breaking in, aren’t we?” I said, resignation heavy in my voice.

“Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

“Yeah. Go home.” It was a weak attempt at getting him to see sense, and it slid past him without leaving a mark. The wall was high, but not so high as to make entry impossible. Thankfully, no one had been determined enough to keep people out to top it with barbed wire. I doubted it would have deterred Baxter in his current state of mind. I doubted anything would, short of a bulldozer.

Should I be standing up to him more? Probably. Why wasn’t I? I recognized the answer immediately. This man differed completely from the one I’d met just weeks ago. I was the one who’d told him the only way to overcome his demons was to face them.

And face them he was.

I was reaping what I’d sown.

“Give me a leg up,” Baxter demanded.