Page 18 of Killing Emma

“I mean, she wants to invite you.”

“Fuck,” I grumble. “Why?”

“Look, I don’t know,” he snaps. “She thinks you’re great because you helped save my life or whatever. Just go with it and come over.”

“When?”

“Friday?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” I say, shaking my head as I dump the eggs onto a plate. I grab the toast as it pops up and stick it there beside the heap. It doesn’t look all that appetizing, but it’s edible—and that knocks my brain again. “How often have you used chloroform?”

Henry’s silent for a few moments. “Uh, not much. The side effects aren’t worth it. It’s better to sedate using—”

“I don’t need a course on what sedatives to use. I need to know what chloroform can do to someone. I only used it until I could get to my sedatives,” I add for clarification.

“Oh…”

“Desperate measures.”

“I told you, you’re better off to carry lethal force.”

I shake my head. I had a gun, but I let it slide. “Side effects?”

“You typically see them quickly,” Henry explains with a sigh. “Mostly if you use too much, you kill them pretty quick. Convulsions, vomiting—all very obvious signs. Otherwise, it usually doesn’t do much. Maybe knock them out for a minute or two.”

“I fell somewhere in between. She had to have been knocked out for fifteen minutes, and she seems okay… But…”

“Wait,” Henry stops me, and I realize my mistake.

“One of your targets is still alive? What’re you doing with her?”

Shit.

“Following orders,” I lie. “You know every now and then we get a weird one.”

“Right,” Henry huffs. “I don’t wanna know.”

“Yeah, we can’t all just kill the villains,” I snap, running my fingers through my hair. “But then again, she might be a villain, so I don’t know.”

“Just don’t use chloroform again and you should be fine,” Henry says flatly. “But don’t bring this conversation to dinner on Friday.”

“What? You mean your little writer doesn’t like to talk about kidnapping unsuspecting women?” I throw the joke out there, but it makes me feel sick for some reason.

“Yeah, anyway,” Henry mutters into the phone. “Good luck. You sound a little shaken up.”

“I just don’t want a mess in my basement.”

“Vinita?”

I don’t confirm it. It’s the name of the safe house, which is where I am, but I don’t want him showing up here. I’ve made a fucking mess of this, and my sanity is slipping with the roller coaster Emma has me on. I want to devour her, but the urge to destroy her is waning, replaced with the curiosity to know her.

“I’ll see you on Friday,” I tell him, hanging up the phone. I’m usually the guy that has my shit together when it comes to work, and if Victor, my mentor and father, were here, he’d be sending me down with a knife, not a fucking plate of food.

Never get attached to your target. His voice rings out in my head as I head into the pantry, unlocking the door. I push it away, though I don’t know how to lie to myself at this point. I don’t have a fucking clue as to why I’m doing what I’m doing, but I have thirty-five days to figure it out.

I step into the basement, and peer across to the daybed. Emma has managed to get beneath the gray and black quilt, her back to me. It’s a dangerous position to sleep in, putting her in a vulnerable position for me to slip up behind her and…

Do nothing at all.

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