“My real name is Lydia Ortiz, and I moved to Seven Roads to try and find my biological brother before the people who killed my parents find him.” She touched her chest with her free hand. “I’m the person you fought in Josiah Teller’s house, but I am not the one who hurt him, and I am not working with the man who hurt Georgie. The man who most likely did is walking away with Marty Goldman right now.”
She moved her hand so she was pointing to Marty’s retreating back.
The doors were already closing behind him. She couldn’t even see the black suit his companion wore anymore.
It pulled her anxiety as high as it could go.
She had run out of time.
If Price wasn’t going to help, she hoped he wasn’t going to stop—
“What do you need from me?”
His words came out calm and even. His expression was impassive.
JJ didn’t question either.
“I need you to be a distraction.”
* * *
The soundproofing ofthe doors was impressive. As soon as they closed behind Price, it was like he had stepped into an entirely different world.
It was quiet, for one. Not even the thump of the music behind him penetrated through. The same went for those chatting inside. Instead, Price only heard lowered voices and footfalls from the few guests who were walking to and from their destinations.
No one was stopping to chat.
That went double for Marty Goldman and the man in the black suit.
They weren’t wasting time to get to wherever they were going. Price was surprised at the distance between him and the two already.
He wasn’t the only one.
JJ had followed him into the hallway. He couldn’t see her but felt her tucked back at his flank.
JJ.
Lydia.
Price didn’t have time to sort out the bombshell she’d just dropped on him.
The only truth he knew and accepted was her belief that Marty Goldman was in danger and that the man in the black suit was the danger.
He wasn’t going to let that instinct go simply because he couldn’t see the whole picture he was apparently now a part of.
It helped that the more he closed the distance between him and the two men, the more he could tell something was wrong with them.
Marty, a man he knew by name and had seen a few times around town, was walking like a man who’d had too much to drink. There was an unevenness to it. A tilt. Barely there but like his body and brain couldn’t decide what either were supposed to do.
Go fast? Slow down? Stop? Run?
The man at his side, though, was the complete opposite.
He knew where he was going and just how he was getting there.
His gait was smooth, his clip even.
But where were they headed?
