Lie With Me (Stonewall Investigations Miami 2)

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OLIVER

My mouth was as dry as a terribly bland live-action remake of Aladdin. My eyes blinked open, but my bedroom was so dark. I could barely see anything.

And why was I bumping around so much? Oh my Carrie Bradgawd, was this an earthquake? Should I be getting up and hiding under a doorway or something?

I slammed hard against something, my shoulder taking most of the impact.

It was as if the jolt rebooted my memory.

Kidnapped. Hostage. Knocked out.

Holy shit. I wasn’t waking up from a nap, and I wasn’t in my room. This was a trunk, and whoever the hell had control of the wheel was driving like an absolute maniac.

“Help!”

I tried to shout, but it was useless. No one would hear me past the sock stuffed in my mouth.

The car took a sharp turn, and I crumpled back against the corner of the trunk. My hands and feet were tied.

Fear. It filled me like a toxic plume of gas, taking up every ounce of space it could.

Something poked me in my thigh. I realized I could feel the shape of my phone against me. I gave out a relieved sound, muffled by the sock as well as the loud and unnerving sound of a car breaking apart all around me. Everything rattled and clattered and screeched, and there was an overpowering smell of smoke and exhaust fumes in the air.

But if I could reach my phone, if I could somehow call for help, then maybe, maybe I could get out of this.

My stomach lurched then. It was that same feeling of swinging high at the playground. We were in the air, suspended for a brief time in a weightless existence.

And then we hit the ground. I slammed upward, my head hitting the trunk.

Lights out.

34 Beckham Noble

This was worst case personified. I sat in my car, staring at the bridge as though I was staring down the grim reaper. He swung his scythe, the very air splitting open and in half, exactly how my life would do if anything were to happen to Oliver.

“Fuck!” I pounded a fist against the wheel. The boat slowly crossed in front of me, the long yacht bobbing up and down. I couldn’t tell which way William had gone on the other side of the bridge. He could have gone south toward Eighth Street, or he could have swung back around and gone north, back toward the beach, or he could have kept going, driving into the rich Coral Gables neighborhood.

I threw my car into reverse and spun it around. Frustration and anger poisoned my thoughts. I could barely see straight, much less think straight.

Where could William be going? And was he going toward Oliver? Was Oliver already in the car?

That thought made me want to vomit. To think that Oliver was being thrown around like a rag doll while that maniac ripped his way down the Miami streets… fuck.

I drove down the road, pulling back onto the busier street.

I couldn’t allow this to get the best of me. I had to stay sharp; it would be the only way I’d find Oliver in time.

The highway entrance was to my left. I cut across three lanes of traffic and jumped on. I pressed down on the gas and took off, driving toward William’s apartment using the address Anya had found. He mentioned having to stop there for something, and I wondered if he was telling the truth. If he was going to do something tonight, then he might need to get home to gather all his valuables if he wanted to go on the run.

The speed limit signs blurred past. My run-flat was struggling, but I had no choice except to push it to the limit. I’d fix whatever damage was done to my car later. All that mattered now was getting to Oliver.

And first, that meant finding William.

The highway stretched ahead of me, the lights of my car shining bright, illuminating the exit signs. I had at least another ten minutes to go before I had to get off. I pushed down on the gas even harder.

That’s when my phone started to ring.

“Shit, shit.” I kept one hand on the wheel and slowed down, only by a little.

My heart almost collapsed when I read the name on the screen. “Oliver!”

“Beckham, Beck, can you hear me?” His voice filled my car. Oliver’s voice. He was alive.

“Yes, where are you? I’m coming for you, okay?”

“I don’t know, Beck.” His voice came as a raspy whisper, his throat constricted with fear. “Everything around me’s green. I was blindfolded and—oh, no, no.”

“Olly! What’s around you? What’s going on?”

Something blared over the phone.

A horn.

“Will…” The phone rustled as it was snatched from Oliver’s hand. I heard a shout and then a sharp sting of static before the call dropped.