Page 43 of Sinners Retreat

I don’t even think Ezra would be mad if he learned my identity. Based on how enamored he looked when he spoke the name, he’d probably just come in his pants. If anything, he’d become even more obsessed with me.

And I can’t have that.

I need to stay focused. Ineedto find my brother’s killer. And I won’t find him in Ezra’s bed.

“So, the murder relay race...” I say, desperate to change the subject.

“The races are in groups of four. If you’ll partner with me, we just need to find two more. I don’t care if you recruit Ezra, but I veto Bennett.”

“Pass. I’m not interested in anything that involves running on sand in the heat.”

“Please?” she begs, and there goes her silk hair ripping from my hands again as she turns to look at me.

“I’m about to let you go to dinner with half your hair done, Cat.”

“I’m sorry. I just need you there.”

“If you need an emotional-support serial killer, then you aren’t ready for your first murder.”

“I don’t need an emotional-support person. I need a friend.”

A friend?

I’ve fought that word since the moment I met her. Friends don’t write extensive blogs about their friends. They don’t document every morsel of crime their friends commit. They don’t make it easier for the police to catch their friends.

But she speaks with such genuine human emotion, making it difficult to deny her assumption that wearefriends. I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to be a little kinder to her.

“Fine, I’ll do the damn relay race.”

I finish the second braid, and Cat gets up to admire it in the mirror.

“It’s perfect!” She turns back to me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to dinner?”

“I am absolutely certain.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.” She crinkles her nose, grabs her suitcase, and totters out the door in a pair of sparkling heels.

The door closes behind her, and just as I sit down on the couch, there’s a knock. Cat must have forgotten something.

“What did you—” I say as I whip the door open.

But it’s not Cat. It’s Bennett.

“Uh, hi,” he says. He peers into the room, his head on a swivel. Almost as if he’s ensuring there’s no one around to witness him murdering me.

I glance at the couch and make a mental note of the blade tucked beneath the middle cushion. Just in case.

“Bennett . . . come in, I guess.”

I haven’t actually said more than a handful of words to Ezra’s brother. He’s been too busy arguing with Cat since we met. Despite our limited engagements, he’s entirely candid with what he says next.

“You need to stay away from Ezra.”

I wouldn’t mind staying away from Ezra, though he’s drawn to me like a handsome fly to a pessimistic piece of shit. But I don’t like being told what to do.

“And why would I do that?” I ask.

Bennett brushes a hand through his hair as enters the villa and begins pacing in front of the door. “Because he’s a playboy. You’re being used. Don’t you see that?”

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