Page 25 of The Sinner's Son
“Absolutely,” Sawyer said.
“Do you want a donut before we take them upstairs?” Alec asked him.
“No, thanks. Royce made breakfast before I left the house.”
Alec shrugged. “More for us.” He picked up a cinnamon powdered donut and took a big bite.
Ricky sat back in his chair and waggled his brows. “I’ve heard all about your hottie husband. Are we going to meet him?”
Sawyer turned narrowed eyes on Alec, who coughed a cloud of cinnamon powdered sugar from his mouth. “Went down the wrong pipe,” he said hoarsely.Uh-huh.What else had he said about Royce?
Sawyer turned back to Ricky, who grinned at him like the Cheshire cat. He wanted to say, “Not with that hopeful shimmer in your eyes,” but Sawyer responded with, “It’s inevitable.”
“I’ve heard he’s quite the character,” Marina added. “Maybe he can join us for lunch.”
“That he is,” Sawyer replied. “But I’m not sure he’s available today.”
“I might need extra carbs if this meet and greet doesn’t go well.” Alec wrapped up two more donuts in a napkin and set them aside before he closed the lid and hoisted the boxes into his arms. “I’m ready to face the music.”
“We won’t be long,” Sawyer called out as he led Alec from the room.
Once alone in the corridor, Alec cleared his throat nervously. “I want to start my apology tour with you. I acted like an absolute asshole last week.” He paused as if waiting for Sawyer to contradict him, then continued talking when that didn’t happen. “I’ve existed in this hyper state of anxiety the past few years that has continuously drawn out aspects of my persona that surprise and sometimes horrify me.”
They paused at the elevator, and Sawyer pushed the call button. “Not gonna lie, Alec. I’ve picked up on big shifts in personality that I find troubling.” The doors swished open, and they stepped inside the small enclosure. “You were so reservedduring your public speaking engagements in Denver, but then you practically vibrated with energy when we met for our private discussion. And then last week was…”
“A shit show,” Alec admitted. “I’m out of my depths here, Sawyer. I’m not an investigative journalist. I’m a freelance software engineer who got a phone call from a sheriff’s deputy telling me that my father had suffered a heart attack at a truck stop two and a half hours north of my house. We hadn’t spoken since I was thirteen years old, and I had no clue he was passing through my state. Hell, I didn’t know he even had my phone number, let alone listed me as his emergency contact. The events that followed altered everything I knew about my life and thrust me into a chaotic existence I might never recover from.”
Alec paused to take a deep breath. “Writing my book wasn’t my way of trying to grab attention. It was my attempt at therapy, of making sense from the unimaginable. I bled all the hurt and trauma onto those pages, but I don’t feel any better. He has more victims out there. The certainty thrums through my body, and I can’t let it go. I won’t heal until I find them.”
Casting Sawyer a rueful grin, Alec said, “That nagging pulse sounds an awful lot like the drumbeats from theJumanjiboard game,whichshould scare everyone. I really need investigators like you to help me see this through, and I’m sorry that my behavior didn’t adequately show my appreciation. Please give me another chance to do that.”
Everything Alec said rang true, and it reminded Sawyer why he’d found both the man and his story so intriguing. The elevator pinged softly, and the doors opened. “On one condition,” Sawyer said as he stepped onto the first floor.
“Name it,” Alec replied as he followed Sawyer.
“Do not unleash the animals from theJumanjigame on my city.” The scene with the monkeys stealing a cop car sprang to mind.
“Deal.”
Royce held a drink carrier in one hand and a fast-food bag in the other as he navigated the Suttons’ uneven porch steps. In daylight, the exterior of the home looked a little scruffy, but it hadn’t fallen in complete disrepair. The structure and roof were in solid shape, giving him good bones to work with. But that begged the question: Who was he doing this for? He didn’t have a full understanding of Nina’s prognosis and wasn’t sure how long Cayden would even live in the house. Did Nina have medical debts that would exceed any profit that came from selling the home? Royce could help Cayden fix it up to turn a bigger profit, but…he was getting ahead of himself again. He breathed deeply and took several mental steps back.
Shoving the paper bag in the crook of his left elbow, Royce knocked on the door. Cayden answered with a mop in his hand and a wary expression in his icy blue gaze. His skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, and exhaustion had turned the smudges under his eyes to a deep purple. All he needed was a little glitter, and they could cast him as an extra in aTwilightreboot. The smell of strong chemicals wafted out of the house and made Royce’s eyes water. He didn’t know what Cayden hadbeen cleaning with, but he looked like he’d been at it since Royce left. “I think we better open some windows, buddy. I don’t think those fumes are very healthy for you or your mom to inhale.”
Cayden moved to let Royce enter, but he swayed on his feet and grabbed onto the doorjamb for support. Royce hoisted him back up to his feet with his free hand and kept it there until he was sure Cayden wouldn’t fall over. “The house is moving, sir.”
Royce assisted him to a plaid couch. “Have a seat while I open some windows. Where’s your mom? I don’t want to startle her or disrupt her rest.”
“She’s in her bedroom sleeping.” He pointed to the hallway leading off the living room. “First room on the left, but I shut her door last night and haven’t cleaned in there. She should be fine.”
Royce set the drinks and bag of food on the coffee table. Squatting down in front of Cayden, he said, “Did you mix cleaning chemicals by chance?”
When the boy only shook his head, Royce stood back up and started opening windows in every room except Nina’s. He’d isolated the source of most of the chemical smog in the bathroom. It smelled like Cayden had dumped five gallons of undiluted bleach in the small room. Royce flipped on the overhead exhaust fan and opened the small window in the shower. Once he finished the task, he backtracked to the living room and found that Cayden hadn’t moved an inch in his absence. The kid stared unblinkingly into space like he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open. A disheveled swoop of black hair had fallen diagonally across one eye, but he hadn’t attempted to move it. Sometimes teens went through a phase where they tried to hide their eyes under their bangs, but Cayden had always worn his hair tidy and swept back from his face during their previous encounters.
Royce sat down on the coffee table. Cayden blinked but didn’t focus his eyes on him. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
Cayden immediately sprang to attention as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. “Hospital? Did something happen to my mom?”
“Hey,” Royce said, laying a gentle hand on Cayden’s shoulder. “I’m asking if you need to go to the hospital. You’ve breathed in a lot of fumes and seemed dazed until now.”