Haunt [Aidan Hunter series book 2] [RE-WRITING]

Chapter 9

Charlie sat alone near a desk outside. Henry entered the office again.

"How is he?" I asked.

"He needs time," he replied. "But he'll be with us."

Bryan McKay rapped on the door. "Sir."

"What is it?" Martin said.

"911 got a call from Vincent," McKay replied. "He said he was going to kill one of our former cops, Shawn Mullins."

"Shawn?" Martin frowned. "I know that guy. Used to work cases with him. He left the team on short notice, saying a police job is too stressful for him. About seven months ago."

"Last I remember, he works in a bank or something," Louis said.

"Consultancy firm," Robert said.

Going after another cop, driving him to suicide, threatening loved ones... it was a familiar pattern, and one I didn't like.

"Shawn..." I pinched my chin, though memory sat uncomfortably with me. "If I remember correctly, he was a part of our team during the hostage rescue mission. When Jeremy died."

"Yes, now that you mention it," Martin said. "But why target him?"

"Jeremy was a close friend of Frost's. Maybe there's a link. I wouldn't be surprised if that was his agenda."

"Sir, we need to go after him," said Bryan. "He's responsible for my brother's death. He confessed it."

"Who's 'we'?" Martin asked.

"Me and Wayne, sir," Bryan replied. "Nathan was his friend. He wants to come along too."

Vincent talked about tying up loose ends because he hated them. Now Frank McKay was dead, Bryan was a loose end, and as he was a cop. Vincent might be baiting him. This could be a good chance to nab him before he started causing more damage.

"Let us go with them," I said to the chief. "It's the only way we can get him."

"Fine," he replied. "But be careful."

***

Henry brought Charlie along, convincing him that by helping us, he would get justice for his Charlie agreed, but I reckoned it was just because it was Henry asking. If it had been, there'd have been no chance. It was favoritism, clear and simple.

Perhaps because my friend—or rather, boyfriend—mastered the art of tact.

Boyfriend. Can't believe it's gotten this far.

Charlie sat in the backseat of my 1969 Chevrolet Camaro SS while Henry rode shotgun. An awkward silence filled the car. We were only about twenty minutes away from the location, and yet those minutes seemed too long in this uncomfortable atmosphere.

I glimpsed Charlie's brooding gaze in the rear-view mirror. Henry and I looked furtively at each other. I wished he could read my mind so I could tell him how disastrous of an idea it was bringing the kid along—especially when he was driven by revenge.

I took a left around the bend. A glistening high-rise came into view. As we neared the tower, the words Sanctity Hill were displayed in bold letters above the entrance. Next to it, a couple of window-washers stood on a suspension platform, preparing to go up.

I pulled over, and we got out. A black Ford Taurus pulled over behind us and out stepped the rest of the team.

Louis shielded his eyes from the sun as he scanned the length of the tower. "That's high. How do we know where Shawn is?"