Chapter 5

Grayson was held for twenty-four hours.

He had a rock-solid alibi. Over those nine days, every tollbooth he'd passed, every rest stop, every motel he'd checked into left surveillance footage and payment records behind him.

They released him on bail, but his movements were restricted.

He couldn't leave the city.

And that SUV of his, the one that had carried all his dreams of freedom, was seized too, held as evidence tied to the case.

By the time he walked out of the local police station, it was already dark.

The night wind up in the high country cut straight to the bone.

Grayson stood at the roadside and lit a cigarette.

He knew this was far from over.

Yes, he had an alibi. He could prove he hadn't killed the man, hadn't slipped anyone the drug.

But that insurance contract, the one with the beneficiary switched to his name, sat there like a time bomb.

As long as he couldn't drag the real hand behind it into the light, the suspicion would never leave him.

He might even end up sued by the insurance company, buried in a case that dragged on with no end.

He had to save himself.

He thought of that strange warning his son, Derek, had given him on the phone.

"If anybody comes looking for you, keep your guard up."

Did Derek know something?

He took out his phone, meaning to call his son, then hesitated and put it down again.

He didn't want to pull the boy into this mess.

He scrolled through his whole contact list and finally called his old army buddy, Owen Dickerson.

After his discharge, Owen had gone into a security firm as a technical consultant, in charge of installing and maintaining surveillance systems. He knew a lot of people and had ways of getting things done.

"Hey, Owen, it's me. Grayson."

"Grayson? Where the hell have you been? Every day I'm seeing you living it up out there on social media!"

"Don't get me started. I'm in trouble."

In as few words as he could, Grayson laid the whole thing out.

On the other end, Owen was quiet for a long time.

"Grayson, you trust me?"

"Obviously. Who else would I go to?"

"All right. Send me the exact time and place of the crime, and a photo of Michael. I'll dig into it for you. But you'd better brace yourself. This thing might not be simple."

"I know."

He hung up and sent Owen everything the police had let slip to him, the little they had.

The next few days were a long wait.

He checked into a small motel and did nothing but eat and stare out the window.

He couldn't work it out. Who was pulling the strings behind all this?

One of Michael's partners? Or someone on Eleanor's side?

Or someone he'd never in a hundred years have suspected?

On the fourth afternoon, Owen sent a picture over the messaging app.

A still from surveillance footage.

The image was blurry, like it had been taken in a dim underground parking garage.

Beside a black sedan stood two people.

One was Michael.

The other had their back to the camera.

Grayson opened the picture and zoomed in.

The moment he made out what the person was holding, and caught the flash of her profile as she turned, the whole of him froze, thunderstruck, and he just sat there, stunned.