Page 116 of Hunt Me

His lips quirk up. “I know. You were the first one to figure that out. Percy was the second. I think Milo’s still working on himself.”

Maybe, but in reality, I think Milo was just born to be the man he is. He loves differently, like we all do. And maybe some of it was from the way we were raised and how we were trained. But part of it is just being our father’s sons.

“I think what I’m trying to say is that I understand better now. So do whatever you need to do to help you get through this. I know being away from Denver is hard, and I also know that you love him. And because of that, I will do everything in my power to protect him.”

That settles me a little, and I’m able to stay calm as we grow closer to the apartment. I can see the distance shrinking on the GPS on my dad’s car screen. I count down the minutes, excited to have a moment to breathe.

By the time he finally pulls into a parking lot and shuts off the car, I swing the door open and step out, bobbing on my tiptoes to try to work the anxiety from my system.

My dad doesn’t rush me along, just steps out and assesses the situation. I’m doing that too. My eyes are roving, my mind whirling. When my dad finally tells me the apartment number, my stimming stops, and I follow behind him, through the worn pavement and up some rickety steps. This is the third address we’ve gotten from Matias. The first two were duds, and it took him almost twenty-four hours to track Byron’s credit card. I know that my brothers have the other guy in the shed at home now, but my dad isn’t convinced that Byron isn’t behind this.

And I feel the same.

Glancing around as we reach the landing, I grimace. This apartment complex has seen better days, the paint chipping, the roof slightly caved in. We make it to the front door when my dad turns to look at me, and something shifts inside of me. A moment of realization.

He didn’t need to help with this. He could have let me deal with this alone, but he didn’t. He’s here with me. Helping. Assisting. Putting his life at risk because I love someone.

Because I want them to be safe.

I offer him a small nod, and he twists the front doorknob. It’s locked, and a moment later, he reaches into his suit pocket andpulls out his lock-picking case. It doesn’t take him long to jimmy it open, the dead bolt snicking softly.

The door swings open with a squeak, and my dad pulls out his gun, positioning it like the professional he is, and I follow behind, armed with my knives and ready to pounce.

My dad flicks his flashlight on as we clear the rooms one by one, but the place seems empty. The apartment is small, with very minimal furniture and a significant mess. Whoever lives here is a slob.

We don’t find much at first. There are piles of trash, dead plants, and a heap of dirty laundry. But then, as my dad is going through some of the mail on the table, something flutters to the ground. A photo, curled at the edges, two men smiling in the frame.

They look familiar.

I turn to tell my dad when he steps up to me, a phone I don’t recognize in his hand. The picture is forgotten for a moment as he opens it and flicks through the messages.

“I found some bills to confirm this is Byron’s home, but it looks like he hasn’t been here in a while.” He flicks the phone toward me so I can see the screen.

“How did you get into that?”

He shrugs. “It didn’t have a password.”

My eyes widen. That is peculiar. Why wouldn’t someone have a passcode on their phone? It would make sense only if they were sure they wouldn’t get caught.

My dad pulls open a few messages, but all are benign, leading us to nothing. And then I see something that looks like it could have information. It’s a text thread under the name Lewis. I reach out and touch his arm, stopping him.

“There. That one.”

My dad clicks on the name, and a moment later, our eyes scan the messages between the old stalker and Lewis. Most of itis normal couple talk. What they want for dinner, where they’re planning on going for the weekend. But then I see the letterDpop up and then the name of the club.

And then the date—the night Denver was attacked.

The longer the messages go on, the more Lewis seems unhinged. He devolves into all-caps rants, cussing and describing all the horrible things he wants to do to Denver. Byron clearly agrees with him, but there’s something about the way Lewis types that tells me he’s the one behind this.

They’re both to blame, but at least there’s a genesis for the reason Byron came back to town.

“Byron and Lewis are together,” I murmur aloud. My hands shake slightly as I pull out the photo I found and point to the man on the right, the one with the straight brown hair. “This is the one I stabbed.”

“Byron. I recognize his photo from the file Thorne gave me.”

I nod and let my finger slide to the man with lighter hair and brighter eyes. “This must be Lewis.”

“Yes.”