Page 12 of Closer Than You Know (Vera Boyett #2)

Nolan couldn’t stay awake.

He tried. He tried so hard.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. His arms and legs hurt. He’d been secured this way for too long. He needed to move.

He needed to talk to the person who had brought him here.

Good God, was Joel okay? Had he hurt Joel?

His father would say he had been asking for something bad to happen. After all, what intelligent, rational person responded to a letter tucked under the wiper on his windshield?

He’d wanted this story so bad.

His tongue slid over his dry lips once more. That’s all. The story. His big break. No one else had a clue what was happening with the Time Thief. This had been his big chance to move up.

Except now he wasn’t so sure.

The man, woman, whatever hadn’t said a single word to him. He’d felt the prick of a needle more than once. The drug kept him so far out of it that he could hardly open his eyes.

This was the Time Thief’s MO. And if this was the Time Thief, like the message had said, then he should let Nolan go in the next twenty-four hours. His parents were probably worried sick. Liam ... God, Liam would be tormented.

His mother would completely understand his need to take this risk. Liam too. But his father ... his father would be very disappointed in his carelessness.

Nolan drew in a deep breath. At least he was alive. Thank God for that.

But would his luck last?

The first time he’d woken up enough to have a coherent thought, he’d wondered if he was actually alive and if he would stay that way. Just because the Time Thief hadn’t killed anyone so far didn’t mean he wouldn’t start.

Nolan didn’t want to die. He just wanted to do bigger stories. To move to a larger market and report the sort of stories that made a difference.

The prick of a needle made him jerk.

“Wait! Talk to me.” The words sounded sluggish. Drunken. “Let me tell your story,” he managed, before the creep of darkness overtook his ability to get the words out.

Laughter echoed in the space around him, but Nolan couldn’t respond ... he barely hung on to a shard of consciousness.

“Not to worry, Mr. Baker.”

The words jolted him, but Nolan still couldn’t open his eyes or make his mouth work.

“ You are the story.”