Page 13 of End Game

The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself of the mistake. Feeling ridiculous, she crossed the structure’s threshold and reached for the switch.

“Leave it off, please,” a familiar female voice said from the depths of the wooden structure.

“Aunt Vicky, why are you lurking in the dark?”

The governor peeled away from the shadowed back wall. “Kayla, thank you for coming.”

“Of course. Is everything okay? Where are Glenn and Ford?” The governor’s security detail was never far away.

“They’re taking a long bathroom break.”

It wasn’t unusual for Vicky to dismiss her bodyguards in order to have a private conversation, but they generally just hovered farther away.

“This must be serious.”

“There’s something I need to tell you. Something you must keep to yourself. For now.”

Kayla moved deeper into the gazebo. “I would never break a confidence. You know this.”

“Promise me.” She hesitated a moment. “Not even your mother.”

Kayla’s heart gave a hard beat. What could be so sensitive that Vicky would cut out her friend? Something inside her warmed at the thought that Vicky, the governor, trusted her with the information above all others. “You have my word.”

A small smile appeared on Vicky’s face, and she reached for Kayla. “Thank you.”

Kayla rushed forward to take the older woman’s trembling hands. “Of course?—”

The pointy toe of her silver stiletto caught beneath the floral outdoor rug that covered much of the gazebo’s floor. She stumbled, but managed to break her nosedive by grabbing the arm of a nearby chaise longue.

Righting herself, she lifted her gaze, amused embarrassment stretching across her mouth.

Until she spotted the perfect hole drilled into the center of Vicky’s forehead. A trickle of dark blood oozed from its center.

The governor—her godmother—crumbled to the floor, as if every bone in her body had turned to dust.

Kayla screamed.

6

The distinctive tick-thump of a suppressor reached Cameron’s ears seconds before a sharp, piercing wail erupted from somewhere deep within the garden. The loud, pulsing calls of whip-poor-wills, spring peepers, and katydids cut off.

Kayla?

He pushed away from the exterior brick wall, rushed across the veranda, and plunged down the garden path.

Another scream. This one choked off suddenly.

“Kayla!”

After she had exited the French doors for her meeting, he’d waited a full minute before following. Seeing the tiny white lights framing the dome of what he assumed was a gazebo and Kayla’s meeting place, he’d positioned himself in a shadowed alcove, where he’d had a perfect line of sight on the garden path. He wouldn’t let her slip away again before she’d answered his questions.

Within seconds, the now darkened gazebo appeared. He removed his Glock from his shoulder holster, keeping his forefinger on the outside of the trigger guard. “Kayla?”

No response.

The unnatural silence seemed to amplify his footsteps against the gravel path.

As he approached the gazebo, he heard a shuffling sound from within. Then, about a foot above the floor, a pale, slender arm speared through the opening, frantically waving him forward.

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