Sidetracked (Mindf*ck Series Book 2)

When anger rises, think of the consequences.

—Confucius

Harsh. Oblivious. Arrogant.

Three words I never thought I’d use to describe the man before me.

Unfairly confining me to my house, while not giving me the same option of knowing he’s safe… I can’t even put into words how pissed off I am.

“You don’t even take the time to fire off a text that you’re okay,” I go on, keeping my tone even, refusing to show too much emotion.

I don’t bleed for the world anymore.

He saw more than anyone else, and he didn’t bother to care when it mattered the most.

“Lana, I get that you’re pissed, but you can’t be here,” he says, his voice softening.

“I see that,” I retort tightly, taking a step back. “Sorry I cared. It won’t happen again.”

Tacky and juvenile as that sounds, it’s a bitter girl’s prerogative right now.

I turn and start walking away, but he follows, grabbing my arm. I rip it free from his grip.

“You don’t understand,” he whispers, looking over at a camera. “He could be watching. We don’t know what he’s capable of right now, and his past is mostly a mystery.”

“You put me in a bubble, and I gave you peace of mind. You cared. I’d do anything to ease your mind so that you didn’t worry.” I swallow down the knot in my throat, refusing to get emotional, disallowing my weakness or vulnerability to shine. “I worry too, Logan. Duke got the call your team was hit, and you were all at the hospital. You wouldn’t even answer your phone. Or send a text. Or respond to my hundreds of texts. I can handle a lot of things, but I won’t let you walk all over me, then refuse to offer me the same peace of mind. And then get pissed at me? Talk down to me? Who the hell do you think I am?”

I turn and walk away, and he lets me, because he can’t follow. He can’t make a scene.

The Boogeyman could be watching.

Let the sick bastard come.

I need something to stab.

“Stay with her. I’ll be there as soon as I can get free,” I hear Logan saying, probably to Duke as I keep walking. “And someone find me a fucking phone charger!”

The first tear falls as I step into the open elevator and stab the Lobby button fiercely. I ran up three flights of stairs, worried out of my mind that Logan was hurt when I couldn’t get him to answer my million and one calls or texts.

Turns out, I’m just someone he didn’t bother to think of when I was going out of my mind with all the worst case scenarios.

Dead phone is not a good excuse. Not when everyone on the team is here with their phones he could have used.

Duke slides into the elevators just before the doors close, and he leans against the wall.

He doesn’t say a word, and I toss him the keys the second we hit the lobby. Silently, we make it to the car, and make the long drive home. I don’t speak. The radio is silent. The only noise is the sound of my V8 Mustang vrooming down the street.

My phone lights up with a text from Logan—guess he got that charger—but I don’t bother reading it. Just like he didn’t bother with me.

When we finally reach my house, I take the keys from Duke, but I cross over to the driver’s seat.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Giving you time to get out of my house. I don’t want to be around people right now. All of you better be off my property before I return.”

His eyes widen. “Look, Lana, I get that you’re pissed right now. He’s an overbearing douchebag who just acted like a thoughtless prick, but don’t risk your own safety to punish him. Let us stay and protect you.”

I hold the door open, one foot inside the car. Duke’s a good guy, but it’s hard not to take this out on him, since he’s the only one around right now.

“You have no legal right to be here. Just as you said. I can’t stop you from loitering on the street, but you’re officially trespassing if you stay on my property. Be gone before I get back, or, ironically enough, I’ll call the cops.”

He groans and curses, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Where are you going?”

“Wherever the fuck I want to,” I say, flipping him off as I get into the car. “If Logan has a problem with that, remind him it’s a free country,” I add before shutting the door.

Without giving him more time to argue, I crank the car and slam it into first gear, spinning on a dime in my driveway, feeling my rear swing around as I start barreling out. I don’t glance back as I drive to the warehouse in town that Jake rented out. I also drive with my knees as I turn off my phone and pull the battery out.

When I get there, I leave my car in the warehouse before grabbing the keys to the Altima. We have several cars I use when I go to collect the debts. No cameras are out this way, meaning no one ever sees me do this.

The warehouse has the best security, and even if someone breaks in, they won’t know who it belongs to. Well, unless my pretty little Mustang is in here when they hit.

Not likely enough to be concerned.

The cars are disposed of after they serve their purpose.

I leave the warehouse, turning on a burner phone in the car, and call Jake.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. Find anything on the Boogeyman?”

“No. This guy is pissing me off,” he grumbles. “How’s Logan?”

“He’s in one piece and untouched. He’s also recently single.”

He grows quiet, and I ignore the tear that rolls down my cheek.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, since I’d feel so much better if you weren’t dating a federal agent or living with cops, but are you sure you’re not overreacting?”

“He didn’t bother to care that I was going out of my mind with worry, even though I’ve jumped through hoops to keep him updated on my safe-and-sound state.”

“Sounds…petty. Sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to get out before you get too attached?”

I’m already too fucking attached. I don’t cry.

I haven’t cried since the day the tears stopped falling.

Yet tears are breaching my eyes with a renewed vigor as I drive toward Jake’s house.

“Petty is getting pissed that he doesn’t call when he says he will. Petty is not being livid that he didn’t bother to tell me he was alive. I can’t do this, Jake. I can’t live with cops in my house. Those badges…I want to rip them off and flush them down the toilet. They wear them with pride.”

“They’re not from Delaney Grove, babe. You can’t confuse the two.”

“I’m not. They’d be dead if there was any confusion. I just feel…dirty. I don’t want them there. I don’t want him there anymore—not because he makes me feel dirty. I’m giving up too much by playing by his rules. I haven’t even started Anthony’s house yet besides the two cameras.”

“I’ve jumped a leg on that one for you, since I knew it’d be hard to go put more cameras in a house if a cop was trailing you to keep you safe. Pretty sure aiding a murderer isn’t what they had in mind.”

He’s trying to be light and funny, but I don’t have the headspace for it right now.

“Good. I need something to focus on.”

“Feeling stabby?” he muses, still trying to lighten my mood.

“Very.”

“Where are you?”

“Heading toward your house. Plotting a murder at mine isn’t going to be easy for a while.”

“Why the burner phone? And why don’t I hear your Mustang?”

“I’m in the new Altima we picked up. I’ve had a cop in my house for however long it’s been—feels like years. I don’t trust him not to call friends and put a whatever out on my ride. Also, the FBI have the ability to turn a phone on if the battery is in it, so I don’t trust the GPS to not give them my location.”

“Paranoid much? They can’t do that unless you’re a suspect.”

“You’re acting like they play by the rules. Don’t forget Agent Hadley Grace hacked my hospital records. Well, Kennedy’s hospital records.”

He blows out a long breath. “I take it back. I’m very glad this relationship is over, even though I hate that you’re losing the first thing that seemed to make you smile in over ten years.”

Bitterness rises, but I swallow it down as I angrily bat away the fresh tears. I don’t have time to cry and wallow over a breakup. It was stupid to think I could ever be in a relationship.

I survive to avenge the wrongs of the past.

Falling in love? It’s the end of a girl like me.

“Speaking of Agent Hadley Grace,” Jake says, breaking me out of my concentration. “I dug up that dirt you need.”

“And?” I prompt, wondering if it even matters now.

“She was recruited by the FBI at sixteen after hacking a secure file in their network. It was jail time or FBI time. It’s a pretty common thing, especially amongst juvenile hacking offenders. She apparently became some sort of forensics prodigy though, and moved up to Logan’s team.”

“That’s not dirt,” I point out.

“No, but she was a hacker at sixteen because she was a runaway. Her dad died in Iraq shortly after she was born. Her mother remarried Kenneth Ferguson when Hadley was about ten. Hadley was sent to therapy about two years after he came into the picture. Her mother was a major bank president, which means she was barely even at home. And the therapist diagnosed Hadley as a pathological liar within three weeks.”

I slow down, processing the facts, waiting on him to go on.

“She claimed Kenneth was touching her. Said he came for her on the nights her mother worked. They found no evidence of sexual trauma, and no evidence in his past that suggested he was a pedophile.”

“So was he?”

“She was wetting the bed nightly. I’d say there was some merit.”

“Pathological liars believe their lies,” I remind him.

“Pathological liars don’t get recruited by the FBI. They also never really get better. She’s never had any demerits against her. Her file is pristine. And her stepdad is now a social worker with unlimited access to children, Lana. He took a job in that field after she ran away at thirteen. It makes it seem like he needed access to other little girls.”

“What about before her?”

“He was married to a woman in Texas. A woman who had a ten-year-old daughter. A daughter who frequently wet the bed and had nightmares, according to this sealed file I just opened. No accusations were ever made there.”

A knot buds in my throat. For all the bad shit that has happened to me, that’s one thing I never had to suffer.

“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is hell no,” Jake says after a spell of silence.

“How far away is he?”

“Damn it, Lana! I just said no. We have a list—a specific one. We have a system. First we get all the sick sons of bitches who wronged you and Marcus. Then we take out the ones who wronged your dad. That’s it. We’re not some avenging angels who can go after every pervert out there.”

“He’s a social worker with unlimited access to children—dejected kids who are far more likely to keep their pain silent so as not to feel more dejected. You said it yourself. Can you sit there and tell me you’re okay with letting him continue on with what he’s doing? Can you say that you’re no different than that dirty town who knew what was happening to us and did nothing?”

He grows quiet for so long that I know I have him.

“He’s not too far away. I’ll text you the address. Don’t use your MO. This can’t be connected to the Scarlett Slayer.”

“The what?” I ask, amused.

“It’s the name I’m going to let the media give you.”

“You’re going to let the media give me a name?”

“Yes. Yes I am. Don’t get seen, and then ditch the car in the usual place. I’ll have that guy pick it up, and I’ll come pick you up—same thing as always. No mistakes. Have you got any kill supplies with you?”

“A knife in my boot. It’ll do. I’ll stick to rocks and sidewalks so as not to leave any tracks. As much as I’d like to cut his dick off, I’ll refrain.”

“If he’s innocent, you can’t kill him.”

“Don’t worry,” I tell my overly concerned friend. “They always confess their sins to me.”