Isaac crouched down beside him, the sound of an elevator pinged somewhere behind him. “I added an extra ingredient to your empanadas. All those Mexican spices work wonders covering up my special little serum.”
Two large figures clad in black approached them, and Sloane grabbed Isaac’s sleeve, his muscles seizing up. His chest constricted, and he was finding it hard to breathe. “Please, Isaac. Don’t do this.”
“Maybe I couldn’t save my brother from you, but I’ll save Dex. I’ll make him see.” Isaac stood, his words sounding fuzzy and far away.
“Looks like my friend’s had a little too much to drink. Help me take him home, will you?”
Sloane tried to reach for his sleeve in the hopes of getting to his communicator underneath, but his body refused to cooperate. He was dragged to his feet, a terrifying darkness encroaching in on him. Shutting his eyes tight, his last thought before the darkness swallowed him up was of his failure. First he’d failed Gabe, now he’d failed Dex.
Dex….
Please forgive me.
Chapter 13
DEX SAT in front of his TV, his stocking feet up on the coffee table as he popped another Cheesy Doodle in his mouth. Where the hell was Sloane? Had he actually gone home to pick up some clothes or knit some new ones? He looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. The beers had all but soaked through the cardboard coasters. Had Sloane changed his mind? Dex bolted upright. Crap, what if Sloane wasn’t coming? What if he’d changed his mind about everything, about Dex, about whatever was going on between them? He’d suspected it wouldn’t last, but he hadn’t thought it would happen so soon.
“Stop being such a prom queen.” Dex pulled out his cell phone and called Sloane up. After several rings, it went to voice mail. He was not going to freak out about this. “You knew the score, Dex.” He tossed his phone onto the couch cushion beside him and sulked. He’d really though
t they might have had a shot at something. “Over before it’s begun,” he murmured. With a groan, he let his head fall into his hands. His life was officially a bad eighties movie. Without the parachute pants. Checking his watch again, he decided to cut his losses and go to bed. It was already past midnight anyway.
He headed for the stairs when his phone went off. Crap! He’d left it on the couch. Like a teenage girl, he sped across the floor to get it, leaping over the back of the couch, landing with a bounce on the cushions and snatching it up. He hadn’t even checked the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Dex, sorry to be calling this late.”
Dex tried not to feel too disappointed at hearing Calvin’s voice instead of Sloane’s. He sat back, an arm wrapped around his drawn up knee, suppressing a sigh. For fuck’s sake, he really was turning into some giddy teenager. “It’s okay. What’s up?”
“We found Ford Wallace.”
Dex perked up. At least there was some good news tonight. “Where?”
“In some shithole apartment building in Brownsville.”
“Hold on.” Dex jumped off the couch and ran to the kitchen to grab a notepad and pen. “What’s the address? I want to ask the bastard a few questions.”
“Unless you’re gonna do it using a Ouija board, that’s gonna be kind of tough.”
Dex froze. “He’s dead?”
“Ripped to shreds. It’s like something out of a slasher movie. Blood and guts everywhere, more of that black sand mixed with some other white powdery stuff. Actually, it’s more a silvery powder.”
“Wait. Do you have specifics on the powder?” Dex’s heart lodged itself in his throat. It couldn’t be. It was probably some dirt, or other debris, and he was getting worked up over nothing. “Can I talk to Hudson?”
“What can I do for you, Dex?”
“Hudson, the powder you found, can you tell what it is?”
“One moment.”
Dex heard Hudson moving around, clanking things together before he came back on the line.
“I can’t tell you the exact elements without getting it back to the lab, but I can confirm it’s some form of alloy. Steel perhaps.”
“Oh fuck. It’s him.” Dex walked over to the couch and slowly sank into it, unable to believe it. The guy had fooled them all, leading them on a wild goose chase. No wonder everything kept going back to Gabe. Who was more obsessed with Gabe’s murder than Isaac Pearce?
“What? Who?”