Beyond the Stix (Warrior Black #2)

Chapter 23

TWENTY-THREE

John

“Why don’t you get some sleep, John?” Fig insists, as he goes over the new list of places that Jessup owns.

After finding out that Jessup hasn’t lived in the Selleck house for quite some time, Fig reached out to Lee, and he discovered a few more homes owned by Jessup.

There’s a condo in San Francisco in his name. A house in Vegas, one in New York City, and the last one is in Chicago—in Markus Wild’s name, which surprises the hell out of me. With Selleck, that’s a total of five residences. Who needs that many places to live?

As of now, Dean has dispatched his men to San Francisco, Las Vegas and New York City. Since the Illinois residence is in the vicinity of Connor’s parents’ home, Fig and I are flying to Chicago on the same jet I took to get to Selleck.

“I can’t sleep—not when that bastard is still out there,” I confess with a yawn.

“Okay, but you’re not going to do me any good if you can’t keep up,” Fig slices a frown my way.

“I’ll keep up,” I say before getting up and walking to the bathroom.

As I splash some cold water on my face, Connor’s face pops into my head. Jesus, I miss him. I never thought I’d miss a person as much as I do him.

I glance at my watch. It’s nearly noon, and I’m wondering what Connor is doing at this exact moment.

“Hey, I got a message from Lee.” Fig knocks on the bathroom door. “I think you want to see this.”

I quickly wipe my hands and step out of the bathroom. Fig hands me his phone, and I scroll through the message Lee sent.

Apparently, Jessup Wild was diagnosed in his early teens with Obsessive Love Disorder.

“Have you heard about this disorder?” Fig asks, a deep groove forming between his brows.

“No.” With the wifi on board, I look up the disorder. “It says a person who has this disorder tends to fixate on one person. They have low self-esteem, and they are extremely jealous. Also, they constantly contact the person of interest, and always monitor their whereabouts.”

“That’s hitting the nail,” Fig utters with a frown.

“At least now I understand why Jessup has an obsession with Connor.”

“Do you think Connor knows about this?”

“No way. He would have said something about it otherwise. And Amanda, too. I don’t know about Markus. If he did, he took it to the grave. Besides, Jessup hasn’t been in Connor’s life since Connor was ten years old,” I explain with uneasiness.

Shit. This is another thing I have to explain to him.

“Well one way or another, we’ll get proof. Dean has reached out to Selleck PD to do a wellness check. They’ll find the proof, I guarantee,” he declares, then shudders. “Well, I hope we find something soon. I’m feeling slightly buggin’ over this asshole. And you know I hate feeling that way.”

No, I don’t—especially since I don’t know what the hell Fig is saying. Bugging ?

“Lee’s calling,” Fig announces, before tilting the laptop screen up.

“It’s a hit on the San Fran place,” he says as he removes his glasses and rubs at his eyes. “Do you believe it’s a mile from Ron’s condo?”

“You mean, they found the same thing we found in Selleck?” I ask, dismissing the last part, because at this point, nothing surprises me at the lengths that bastard would go to so he could be with Connor.

“Yeah. They found a similar layout in the closet. But this place has the most recent pictures of the drummer. The latest is from a month ago. But there’s more.”

“What?” Fig asks, leaning closer to the screen. “Are you eating enough, Boo?”

Lee pops his glasses back on his face and huffs, “Stop calling me names.”

“Let’s get back on track please. What else did you find?” I growl out in irritation, glaring at Fig to back off.

“There a photo of you and the drummer, on the night of… February twelfth.”

It’s the night Connor and I messed around for the first time. “Okay?”

“I’m sending you the image.”

Fig clicks the upload, and a few moments later a picture pops up of Connor and me, but my face has a large, red X across it.

“He has it out for you,” Fig says as he examines the image.

“If he does, then why hasn’t he come for me?”

“Who says he isn’t?” Fig’s eyes meet mine with gravity. “It doesn’t matter if he has O.L.D, he’s a psycho in my book.”

I agree, but I keep my mouth shut.

After Lee sends us several more pictures, we call Dean and update him on what we’ve learned.

“I’ll reach out to my associate in the S.F.P.D. They will take care of it on their end. In the meantime, I’d suggest you both take care in Chicago. My gut is telling me that Jessup is hiding more stuff in the Chicago house, and since it’s the closest, I wouldn’t put anything past him,” Dean speculates.

“How’s Connor?” I finally ask, needing to know he’s okay.

“He’s not himself. But I need to give you a heads up, he knows about Jessup.”

“Are you shitting me—how did he find out?”

“Your guy isn’t stupid. Tobias had to tell him the truth.”

“Alright,” I rumble out. Just another layer of conversation I need to have with Connor. I can only imagine how angry he is… at me for not telling him the truth about Jessup.

I wish I’d been able to see Warrior Black—Connor play, but that wasn’t an option. I will see Connor soon enough, just when and how it will play out between is what I’m worried about.

But thanks to Pen—he sent me photos and videos of Connor and the band when they are on stage—mostly focused on my guy rocking out behind the drums. I’ll happily return the favor to Pen, whenever he needs one from me.

The flight to Chicago isn’t bad and we land at O’Hare with no delays.

Fig drives to the address Lee sent, which is about an hour and twenty out from the airport. I sit back and close my eyes and think of Connor.

A nudge to my arm startles me awake. “I told your ass to get some sleep while we were on the plane, but no.”

Ignoring Fig’s sarcasm, I ask, “Are we here?”

“What the fuck do you think?” He then gets out of the SUV, closing the driver’s door with little to no noise.

With a yawn, I realize it’s getting dark. I glance at my watch, seeing it’s almost six p.m. Once this is all over, I’m going to take a week-long break—with Connor, and get some sleep. Meaning, not sleep, but talk to him until he understands that I am serious about us. Then show him just how much I love him, as many times as we can. That thought sends a rivulet of lust to my balls.

He’ll be worth the wait .

“Are you going to sit there, or are you coming with me?” Fig whispers from the back of the SUV.

“I’m coming… Maybe I’m not the only one that needs some sleep,” I say the last part under my breath.

“I will. But let’s make sure Connor is safe from his psycho uncle first.” Fig then closes the back hatch, surprising me with the level of conviction in his voice. I’m going to owe him, too, after this is over. And Lee.

We walk the block over to the two-story house Jessup owns, and discover that when we are standing in the backyard, there’s a straight line of sight to Connor’s parents’ home.

“Lee,” Fig quietly says into his phone. “We’re here.”

“How long has he owned this place?” I ask, hoping the tech hears me.

“Eighteen years. Tracking the sales, this house was his first purchase. Then one by one, he accumulated the others within a ten-year span,” Lee explains.

I blow out a breath. “So, he’s been watching all this time, and none of his family realized it.”

“Apparently.” Fig pulls out a medium leather bifold—different from the one he used back in Selleck, and he takes out a couple of items that are reminiscent of a dentist’s tools. It’s a good thing we were on that private plane—he’d never get through TSA with those.

Within minutes, we’re in the home. I sniff, and a soft familiar scent of musk hits my nose. “Connor,” I whisper, knowing that smell intimately. It’s Connor’s favorite bodywash.

I point upstairs, as I take the first step. Fig nods and continues searching the main floor.

As I reach the second floor, it hits me that the house is practically empty. No clutter, which I find odd. There’s furniture, but only the basics. Three of the four bedrooms are identical. Same twin beds, a single night stand, and nothing else.

The last bedroom, which happens to be the largest, has a king size bed with a metal headboard, and a dresser that has several picture frames displaying Connor at different ages. Some of the images are crystal clear, but most are grainy like they were taken at a far distance.

“John,” Fig calls up from the main floor.

I reach the top of the stairs. “What?”

“There’s a basement,” he says grimly. “I think I found the evidence you need.”

Without hesitation, I follow Fig down a set of wooden stares. The basement is empty, apart from the left corner of the space. Ten filing cabinets line the back wall. An old but clean desk anchors the area, with a modern chair tucked up against it.

On the desktop are five different screens that appear to link up to a complicated computer system. Everything is neatly arranged and almost too clean.

“Even Lee would even appreciate this,” Fig whistles, as he opens the first filing cabinet. “Jesus, talk about fucking fanatical.”

“What did you find?” I ask, looking at the folder in Fig’s hand.

He hands it to me, and several pictures of Connor when he was young, playing baseball, fall out of the folder. I pick them up, but I’m floored at what I’m seeing.

“It’s a log,” Fig says, as he picks through another folder. “It explains what Connor was doing that day, what he wore, and how he looked. There are even hearts scribbled around the edges of the notes.”

Fig opens up the next filing cabinet, then the next, until he skims through the contents of each one. “Holy… They are all the same. All of Connor.”

“This just got a whole lot bigger than we realized.” I put the folder back into the cabinet, but not until after we took photos of the evidence.

“What do you want to do?” Fig asks, as he looks around the space.

“We got what we came for. Let’s get the hell out of here.” My phone rings right then. I glance down at my screen and see that it’s Pen calling. “What’s going on? Connor okay?”

“No. You need to get here quick.”