Page 24

Greer grinned. “Yahtzee. It underwent a series of trials, but according to the FDA, prolonged use resulted in a number of severe side-effects including paranoia, hallucinations, and aggressive behavior. They refused to approve the drug, and it seemingly vanished shortly after.”
“I encountered some soldiers who were taking it. To say their behavior was unpredictable was an understatement. But what does that have to do with Foster’s place, Raven’s Manor?”
Greer nodded at the next page in Foster’s hand. “Seems Dr. Carrington also tried to buy the property, but the will stipulated that a local had to take possession. Carry on the legacy I suppose.”
Foster tapped the top sheet. “And you think, what? That Carrington’s suddenly donning night vision goggles and lurking around my house in an effort to scare me off so I’ll sell?”
“I don’t know but if you look at the very first report your dad made when he first started the renovations, he found some old invoices and script sheets from Carrington’s company, GeneTide. The only reason it’s even in the record is because an ex-deputy, Bodie Page, took that initial call your father made of suspicious people trespassing on the property. Recorded it separately. After that, Thompson was the only officer to deal with the incidents. And it was never mentioned again.”
Foster frowned, glancing at Mac before shaking his head. “I realize the lawyer implemented some peripheral security, but the property was essentially vacant for three months. If someone didn’t want me here, they could have torched it or something equally damning. Persuaded me not to come, at all.”
“Except where your dad had already hired that private security company. I only know that because that ex-deputy I mentioned — Page — owns it. He told me John Beckett signed a contract for twenty-four-hour overwatch with them staying in one of the finished outbuildings shortly after that first call when Bodie decided to go private. And Page said they maintained that round-the-clock vigil until you moved in.”
“My dad was an ex-Army Ranger. He wasn’t the kind of man to outsource security. Why the hell would he hire people to watch the house and not tell me what he thought was going on that he needed that level of protection?”
“That, I don’t know.” Greer leaned back in her chair, taking a healthy gulp of her coffee. “This could all be nothing more than a new brand of burglar or some kind of hazing for local frats. That place does have a bit of a ghostly history. And I’m sure there’s a logical reason as to why there might have been some old papers in the house. It’s not like it had any kind of robust security before they bought it. Just a caretaker, I think. But I’d be lying if I said something didn’t feel off. Though, I’d have to call in a few favors if I wanted to look deeper into Carrington and GeneTide and see if there were other incidents at the house that are buried in old records. Especially if you want me to keep it on the down low. Which I’ll do, but I wanted to see what you thought. Let you know it could take a week or two to get the intel.”
Foster looked around at his buddies, and Mac swore something passed between them. As if they’d had a conversation without saying a word. “And you’d do that?”
Greer smiled. “For you? Undecided. But for Mac? She’s already promised to lend a hand if I ever need a chopper. And Atticus would have my badge if I disrespected his golden boy.”
Foster coughed, pounding on his chest a few times as he swallowed. “Golden boy?”
“Hey, don’t hate the messenger. Though I find it ironic that he alternates between cussing you out and singing your praises. Guess we’re all waiting to see which side of the coin you finally land on.”
“Good to know I have options.”
“Do you? Because…” Her voice trailed off as she focused on the front of the café.
Mac turned, scanning the crowd when their server palmed the counter, clearing it in a single leap before grabbing some hulking biker guy by the arm. She ducked the swing he aimed at her head, landing two hits to his neck and chest before spinning and smashing his head into a nearby table. Pinning his arm behind him as she kicked his feet apart.
Another guy lunged at her, but she downed him with a boot to the knee followed by another to his jaw when he tried to stagger to his feet.
Foster and his team were charging over a second later, beating her and Greer to the table by a couple steps. Chase and Zain grabbed the guy splayed out on the floor, yanking him to his feet as Foster and Kash stopped next to the guy still face-down on the table. Blood pooling beneath his nose.
The woman leaned over, lifting his arm higher until he cried out. “Next time, don’t pick on someone you think is weak, or I’ll get serious.”
She released him when Kash nodded at her, bending to retrieve a tattered purse off the floor. She returned to the counter, handing it to an elderly lady who looked as if a strong wind could blow her over. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Shirley. I’ll cover your tab.”
Shirley shook her head, eyes wide. Her hand visibly shaking. “How did you do that?”
The woman shrugged, glancing around at the room full of people staring at her. As if just now realizing she was the center of attention. “Self-defense classes at the Y.”
“Those must have been some classes. And you don’t have to pay?—”
“My pleasure. And get a can of that pepper spray I talked to you about. Creeps like that tend to take advantage of sweet ladies like yourself.”
Shirley nodded, shuffling around the scene then out the door.
Greer walked over, shouldering up beside the woman. “That was impressive. Jordan, right?”
Jordan nodded. “Sorry about the scene. But I saw him grab her purse, and I just kind of reacted.” She walked over and grabbed a cloth. “I don’t like bullies.”
“So, I noticed.”
Jordan wiped down the table once Kash had moved the guy over to one of the stools at the counter, giving him what Mac could only describe as one of his death glares. “I also saw a white Tacoma drive past.” She paused to make eye contact with Greer. “Three times. Which is odd when there are parking spots right out front. The driver was a white dude with a military-style crew cut. I tried to get the license number, but it was caked with mud. I did confirm that it had California plates. Might be worth checking out, in case it’s some kind of gang.”
Greer looked at Mac then back to Jordan. “You noticed a truck driving past? With the café practically overflowing?”