The Guy Next Door

Chapter 29

29

LEIF

M y mouth hangs open as I stare at the image on Zane’s phone.

When he headed upstairs, I hoped he might find something on his computer. Not a mic in the goddamn walls.

After our discussion at breakfast, he wasn’t even gone ten minutes before rushing downstairs. He wouldn’t explain what had him so worked up, but I knew it must’ve been something as he rushed me over to my parents’ place, hurrying with me to my bedroom. Despite my attempts to get him to reveal what he was excited about, he put his finger to his lips and searched my room, plugging a battery charger into every outlet before catching his breath.

Now that I’m looking at what he found in his room, his reaction makes perfect sense.

“He’s been recording us? Since the night he broke in?” He already explained that bit, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.

“Yes.”

I take a seat on the edge of my bed, studying the picture of the device. “How do you even know that’s what this is?”

“I ran a Google search on some of the key pieces in the design and searched for spycam. There’s a guy on TikTok showing people how to make these things. It can be synced up to Bluetooth, so all Isaac would have to do is come by the house, close enough to download whatever’s stored on the hard drive. When I was looking, I suspected it would have to be voice activated to save storage space, and I was right.”

He paces, his gaze scanning my room. Looks like he’s already trying to figure out what we’re supposed to do now that he’s found this. Fair enough, since I’m barely able to process it.

After we saw the photos of Jason Kilbourne from Wes, I was confident Zane had really seen Isaac, but I hadn’t expected this.

“Are you gonna call Detective Roth?” I ask.

“You kidding me? There’s not gonna be any way for her to prove this shit.”

“You said it has Bluetooth connectivity, and he could upload it to his phone. If they check that—”

“He’s not a moron. He won’t use his regular phone. I’m sure he has a burner. No, if I tell Roth now, what if there’s no way to trace it back to him? I could have just as easily put that thing in my room. She’ll think this is like what happened before.”

He’s not wrong.

I run my hand around to the back of my neck, giving myself a gentle massage as I try to think this through.

“Where is this now?” I ask.

“Right where I found it.”

“You left it in the outlet?”

“Yeah. Right now, this is our upper hand. Isaac doesn’t know I found it. So we can plant whatever the hell we want in his head. Use it against him.”

“That was smart. If I’d found it, I would have just ripped it out of the wall. But what do you mean, use it against him?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to think of. Like if he believed we were close to proving it was him. Had a conversation in my room about it, maybe he would realize he has to intervene, and then he’d come for us.”

“Like a trap?”

His gaze finally meets mine, and he smiles. “Exactly.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“He could have my fucking brother somewhere, Leif. I have to do what I have to do.” He’s all tensed up, defending this as though I’m not on his side.

“You’re right. I just…don’t want you to get hurt in the process.”

But if his brother is still alive, if he could prevent him from winding up like Jason Kilbourne, he has to do something.

We’re both quiet again.

I’m sure he’s trying to sort out what we could say to lure Isaac to him, but I’m searching for any solution that doesn’t involve putting our lives in danger.

“If we’d known about this before talking to Wes,” he says, “when we got back, we could have pretended he told us something useful and then said we were gonna go to the cops with it. Bet that would have brought him running.”

“It wouldn’t really be believable that we would know something and not go to the cops.”

Zane runs his fingers over his chin, nodding. “True. Good thinking.”

And unfortunately, the stress of the moment has sharpened my thinking a little too much.

Because I do have an idea.

A really crappy, terrible idea.

“If there was a way we could convince him we were onto something,” Zane goes on, “that we’re getting close enough that we would go to the cops after we found it…”

Not bad, but… “I have a better idea.” I have to force the words out.

Zane stops pacing and turns to me, panic in his expression. I wonder if he’s already considered this option but hasn’t been willing to say it.

“He tried to get me once before,” I say. “He’s obviously still watching us; otherwise, he wouldn’t have followed us to Caribou Coffee. Maybe he’s waiting for his chance, but he hasn’t come for me because you’ve been by my side this whole time.”

“No,” he says. “No. Fuck that. This isn’t an option.”

I study the image on his phone. “Zane, this guy’s not giving up. And we’ve been lucky we’ve lasted this long, but it can’t go on forever. I have to rebuild my fucking life. And you’re not gonna be able to protect me from everything. You said yourself you have to do what you have to do for Mike, and this might be it.”

“I’m not using you as bait to save him.”

I tried to avoid using that word, but of course that’s what we’d be doing.

“You don’t get to make that call on your own,” I say. “That’s not how this works.”

“Well, you don’t get to decide to put your life at risk on your own.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, flustered. “I’m just trying to think of a way to get this shit idea out of your pretty head.”

But with every second that passes, I become even more confident it’s the only way. “The last thing Isaac heard us talking about last night was how we were worried about your mental health. All we need to do is have a plausible conversation about checking you in at the ER. My parents are on a cruise Christmas through New Year’s.”

“Stop. We’re not talking about this.”

“It’s actually perfect if you think about it. We stage taking you to the ER, and then I bring you back. You hide in the basement for a few days. When he comes back, he tries to take me, you pop out and grab him.”

“You’re speeding through the most important bit.”

“We’ll figure it out. You have a fucking gun.”

“He might too. And when he’s got it on you, what the hell am I supposed to do then?”

“You were willing to take that risk before,” I say.

His jaw tenses up, and he approaches. “I was not using you as fucking bait, Leif. I wasn’t even sure anything was going to happen. I was working off intuition and blind determination. How else was I supposed to handle it? Abduct you myself to protect you from this psycho?”

He sounds irate, like he’s furious that I’m even entertaining this idea. But I know I’m right.

“Zane, we have to do this. You know this is the only way.”

“I refuse to believe that. We just have to think.”

“Fine. Let’s say that’s the plan until we think of something better.”

He glares at me. “I’m not agreeing to that.”

“You would if you thought there was even a possibility we’d think of a better plan.”

“Stop being so right for one second.”

A gentle chirp comes from nearby.

“Could you stop upsetting Kyra?”

He huffs. “I can’t believe you’re trying to crack jokes right now.”

“I don’t know how the fuck else to get through talking about potentially sacrificing myself to bait a psychopath.”

He’s quiet.

“You have to do this, Zane. For Mike.”

His chin quivers, his eyes watering. “Why would you say that?” He doesn’t sound angry anymore; he’s hurt.

It was a low blow, but he needs a better reason to disregard my plan than the fact that he doesn’t like it.

He shakes his head. “If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“And I can’t live needing you at my side every waking moment of my day because he might be around the next corner. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if six months from now there’s a news story about a new guy going missing. And then another after that. And another after that. Especially knowing there might have been a way for me to stop it.”

I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I saw his brother’s body in the news, knowing we might have been able to save him.

“This is too much. I refuse.” Zane tears up. He shakes his head.

But I know why he’s reacting this way—he knows what I’ve already realized; this is the way we can end this once and for all.

He approaches me. “I hate this. I hate this with every fiber of my being. I hate that this is one of the reasons I fucking love you. And I hate you for being right.” He places his hand against my cheek. “I can’t lose you.”

“Then you’d better make sure this plan works,” I say, and now I’m tearing up, overwhelmed with emotion.

He lurches toward me and takes a kiss, and I let myself have this. It’s a welcome distraction from this fucked-up conversation.

He pushes me back onto the bed and crawls on top of me.

We’re already kissing like it might be the last time. When our lips finally part, he rubs his nose against mine before pulling back, his gaze shifting away from me.

I imagine he’s doing what I’m doing, trying to run through every possible scenario. Trying to think of some solution that doesn’t involve putting my life at risk.

But when his gaze returns to me, he looks resigned.

Fuck. What the hell are we doing?