Ford
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"
"I suppose I could ask you the same question," I point out in a lame attempt of a joke, but given the angry purse of Genevieve's lips, her slightly wrinkled brow and hands clutching the chair behind her as if her life depends on it, I know my joke falls flat. Considering what I just witnessed with her aimless attempts at pounding the door that traps us, she has every reason not to appreciate the endeavours.
"I think that's pretty fucking obvious, don't you?" she snaps.
"Likewise."
The stiffness that invaded her body automatically at the realization that she wasn't alone is slowly seeping out. Her limbs are relaxing, her hands relinquishing the death grip on the chair as they cross over her chest. While she might be relaxing at my appearance, she's still hoarding her questions to the answers she desires to become privy to.
"How did you get here?" she asks.
"Jeanette Somerby sent me a text on the cracked iPhone not long after I finished my last class. The message was this address. We're in Hortonville. I checked out the address with one of my contacts at the cops, but I came alone and didn't clarify why I wanted background information on this building. It's encapsulated in a rundown part of Hortonville. It's mainly a construction site up there," I clarify, pointing upwards to the house above us, "along with a few other houses in this estate."
"I don't get it."
"The construction owners suddenly ran out of money halfway through building all these houses and construction had to cease. They'd had money issues not too long before with suppliers and shit, and they believed they could win back everything they needed through gambling. Suffice to say they lost every fucking cent and more. No one ever picked up the construction afterwards."
She assimilates my information, understanding the detachment Carson holds for this building and how it won't be of use to the investigation. But she's not entirely satisfied with that as she probes, "But why here? Why not somewhere else that means something to him?"
I step closer to her until we're only a couple of feet apart. "We're here because he wants us to see these papers and this timeline. We're here because it's some random place that he's adorned with his personal notes, but this building is nothing in attribution to Carson or Jeanette. He wants us to get away, and if I'd have to guess, when we call someone about this place, he'll have it all cleaned out by then. No traces left behind." I pause as she gnaws on her bottom lip, and I try my damn hardest to evict those explicit thoughts from my mind because now is neither the time nor the place. "He's an elite hitman. He knows the score. He's playing this game with us, drawing it out for as long as he can. Using a house to detain us that means something to him doesn't invite that chase for him—that thrill. It's too easy that way."
"Have you read this stuff?"
"Only briefly. I haven't been here long. There'd been a tipoff at the cops about a car reported stolen by a description matching Carson. A car presumably used to tail you with that Carson used because we're aware of his Ford Expedition, but there's no current sighting of your car. How are you feeling, Genevieve?"
The question catches her off guard as the scoff falls from her lips without warning. I wasn't expecting sheer candour with her answer, but anything would have been better than this. My hands clench into fists at my side, my blood beginning to simmer beneath my skin. I need to keep it in check. I can't lose my temper now.
"I'm feeling fucking fantastic, Ford. What about you?"
Ignoring her, I stride to her until I'm beside her. My attention is focused primarily on the papers that smother the desk and wall, though I'm all too fucking aware of how close she is to me. My body loses sight of the crucial things when she's this close to me, her body almost pressed against my side. And because I'm an absolute glutton for punishment, I allow my gaze to settle on her.
