The Snap by Elizabeth Staple

Author:Elizabeth Staple [Elizabeth Staple]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Women, Sports, Thrillers, Suspense
ISBN: 9780593686171
Google: SMHiEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0593686179
Publisher: Doubleday
Published: 2024-08-12T23:00:00+00:00

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*

“Did you try to fix this yourself?”

I stood in my office with my arms folded while Mohammad tinkered with my computer. After that massacre of a game I’d watched two episodes of The Americans (late to it, loved it) before lying awake most of the night. I’d gotten up as soon as the clock struck an hour that could reasonably be called morning and made it to the office while Chloe was still delivering the papers, then spent a frustrating few hours fighting with my glitching computer. My nerves were shredded—any small movement sent a jolt straight down my synapses.

“No.”

Mo stopped clicking around and gave me a look.

“Fine, yes.”

“A graveyard full of desktops,” he muttered. He stood. “Okay, well, you’ve killed this one, so I’ll have Nikko bring a new one this afternoon. It’s going to take some work to get everything configured, so you might want to pick up a project or something.”

Exasperated, I abandoned my office, and I tried texting Annika again.

Thinking of you. Here if you want to talk.

There was no response.

What now? We got the first note the day after Red was killed. Three days after that came the second, and two days beyond that the news broke about Annika. Now it had been almost another week. Sarah was still getting those creepy messages, and my skin crawled any time I stood near a window for too long, but there were no notes and no bombs. What did it mean? And why involve Dayanna and Nisha at all if nothing was going to happen to them?

I took a lap around the building and passed the detectives, now interviewing Dot. The younger detective met my eye through the window, and I increased my pace, taking the coach’s wing stairs down toward the dining room.

Coach Washington was there, with black coffee and a bowl of hard-boiled eggs. After a loss like yesterday’s I wouldn’t have gone near Red until at least Tuesday, but Craig seemed calm enough, if tired. “Coach,” I acknowledged politely. I had about ten seconds before I needed to get away from the scent of those eggs.

“Poppy Benjamin. We picked a hell of a time for the bye week, huh?”

Each team gets one week off per season, and this was ours. It meant no players in the building, no media—just a quiet little murder investigation and a series of threatening notes. “It probably would have been nicer for you to start after the bye so you could have had a longer runway. Are you settling in okay? Anything I can do to help you?”

He grinned, and a web of creases spread from his eyes and mouth. “You can try apologizing to my wife, since she doesn’t want to hear it from me,” he cracked. “She just convinced me to retire, and now I’m back here with a whistle around my neck.”

I pulled a sympathetic face. “It’s a big change going from Texas to Syracuse.”

“Oh, she’s not leaving Texas. We’ve been married long enough to give each other some space.

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