A Note to Die For

He walked into the room and instantly regretted everything. The place was a mess—papers strewn across the floor, a coffee mug shattered in the corner, and the sour stench of fear hanging in the air. It wasn’t the state of the room that made Alex Falco hesitate. It was the body slumped against the desk.

He swore under his breath. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. He’d been hired to find a missing woman, not step into the middle of someone else’s violent secrets. Yet here he was, staring at a man he recognized: Randall Greer, a mid-level attorney with a bad habit of pushing people’s buttons. Too bad someone had finally pushed back.

Alex crouched, careful not to touch anything. Greer’s lifeless eyes were wide open, fixed on something Alex couldn’t see. His lips were parted as if frozen mid-sentence. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and sticky, staining the edge of an envelope still clutched in his hand.

The missing woman. Claire Livingston. Greer had been her last known contact. Alex had come here hoping to shake him down for answers, not find him dead.

He exhaled slowly, piecing the scene together. The broken mug—had it been an argument? The overturned chair—did Greer struggle? And then there was the envelope. He pulled out his phone and snapped a few photos before leaning in to read the name scrawled on it.

Falco.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Whoever killed Greer wanted him involved. That much was clear.

A soft creak broke the silence. Alex froze, his instincts firing on all cylinders. Someone was still here.

He stood quickly, scanning the shadows. “I don’t like surprises,” he said, his voice calm but loud enough to carry. “If you’re planning to finish the job, you’ll have to work for it.”

For a moment, there was only silence, and then the faintest shuffle of movement—near the closet. He edged closer, his hand brushing against the weight of the revolver holstered under his jacket. He didn’t draw it. Not yet.

“I’ll count to three,” he said. “One.”

The door burst open, and a figure bolted past him, too fast to grab. Alex spun, catching a glimpse of a dark hoodie and gloved hands before the person disappeared into the hallway. He followed, but by the time he reached the stairwell, they were gone.

Back in the office, Alex stared at the scene, his mind racing. This wasn’t random. Someone wanted him here, wanted him to see this. But why? And how did it tie back to Claire?

He needed to think. He grabbed a clean tissue from the desk and carefully pried the envelope from Greer’s lifeless fingers. Inside was a folded note, written in tight, hurried script:

Claire isn’t what you think she is. Be careful who you trust.

Alex frowned. This wasn’t the kind of thing you left for a private investigator unless you knew he’d be walking into a setup. Greer had been trying to warn him—but warn him of what?

His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Time’s running out, Falco. Clock’s ticking for Claire. Attached was a photo of Claire tied to a chair, her face pale but alive.

Adrenaline shot through him. He couldn’t trust the police; this was too messy, too connected to something bigger. He had to work fast, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being manipulated. Someone had gone to great lengths to involve him, and if Claire wasn’t what she seemed, maybe none of this was.

He pocketed the note and took one last look at Greer’s body. Whoever was behind this wasn’t playing games. The only question now was whether Alex could outthink them before Claire—or he—ran out of time.

For the first time in years, he felt the old fire reignite. The exhaustion he carried every day was pushed aside. He had a mystery to solve—and someone’s life depended on it.