Page 62 of Beyond the Stix

“No, you don’t.” I glance up and watch Fig striding my way with grim determination on his face. “Con, I have to go.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just have a job to do,” I say. I’m not lying to him, but it sure feels like I am.

“Call me when you get a free moment, there’s so much more to say.”

“I’ll try.” Then I hang up right as Fig stops a foot away. “What’s going on?”

“Lee called me. He found something in the dark web, and you’re not going to like it one bit.”

“What is it?”

“We need to head back to the room, so I can show you,” he says in a low growl.

My stomach drops at his tone. “This is bad.”

“The worst,” he says over his shoulder.

As I silently follow Fig back to the motel room, I keep what Connor says in the back of my mind. He misses me. And that gives me the strength, especially to what I’m about to see.

I sitin the motel room, shock choking the breath out of me as I look away from the screen—from the images Lee discovered in the dark web.

“I know he’s a sick-fuck, but this level of depravity goes beyond anything I expected,” Fig grimaces, pacing in front of me.

“Lee, can you delete those photos?” I ask, hoping the Harper Security tech guru can remove the images.I wish he could wipe them from my mind.

“I can, but it’s not a guarantee that the scumbags in the dark web don’t have copies and will repost them,” Lee says gravely. “I do have a program that can remove any images with the drummer’s young face, but l can’t promise you a hundred percent.”

“Alright.” I release a breath, trying to ease the disgust gnarled-up in my gut. I can’t imagine how Connor is going to react to the news of what his uncle has done. It will be a blow.

“I need to call Dean to apprise him of the details of what I found.” Lee yawns with exhaustion. “I can’t wait until we find this bastard.”

From what Fig said, Lee has been working around the clock, dealing with several projects at the same time. No wonder the guy sounds fatigued.

It’s October and it’s been a dark, gloomy day—which means the night will fall early.

Thank fuck.

Fig and I both manage to grab a quick power nap. But my sleep is restless and I wake before the four p.m. alarm.

The second the buzzer goes off, Fig sits up, and looks brighter than a fucking daisy. “Are you ready?” he says in a chipper tone.

I harrumph, before downing what’s left of my cold coffee. “Let’s do this.”

We dress in black, to mask us in the dark, in case someone is on or around the Jessup’s property.

“In and out,” I say to Fig, who’s tucking the box with the micro dot in his jacket pocket.

“Enter, check and locate, tops seven minutes,” he says, a smirk on his face.

I chuckle. “You want to bet now?” But I’m not surprised.

“Why not? How about a hundred bucks.” He extends his hand.

I stare at his gloved hand, before shaking it. “Okay. Any longer than seven minutes and you owe me two.”

Fig shakes his head, chuckling. “You got it.”