Page 54 of Cat and Mouse

He exhales, a deep, ragged breath, and then he looks me dead in the eye. "Whitmore… he's dead."

The words slam into me like a truck. Dead. Whitmore's dead.

"Shit," I whisper. "What… what the fuck happened?"

Harris rubs a hand over his face, his shoulders slumped like he's carrying the weight of the world. "It happened just after he left. His car was sprayed with bullets at the intersection before he even got home."

I can't speak. My throat feels tight, like someone's squeezing the life out of me. Whitmore was alive, just hours ago, and now…

"How?" I finally manage to choke out. "Do we know who did it?"

Harris shakes his head, frustration and sadness mixing on his face. "Not yet. But if I had to guess… it's gotta be tied to Whitmore looking into Miguel. He'd been digging too deep."

Miguel. Jesus!

I blink back the sting in my eyes, but Harris is wrecked. I know Whitmore meant a lot to him. They were rookies together, partners, brothers in all but blood. And now his friend's dead because of this mess.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, and for a moment, Harris doesn't respond. He just stares at the ground like he's seeing something far away.

"He was a good man," Harris mutters under his breath, voice thick. Then he clears his throat, forcing himself to snap back to the present. "Listen, I've got a police car stationed outside your house for the night. I don't want you alone in case something happens."

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.

"Take the next two weeks off, Kane. You've been through enough tonight, and I need time to get more information. It's… it's getting dangerous. You need to be careful."

Careful. What does that even mean anymore? There's nothing careful about this life, about the games we play.

I nod, forcing a tight smile. "Yeah, I'll… I'll be careful."

Harris studies me for a second longer, like he wants to say more, but then he just nods. "Get some rest. We'll figure this out. And don't do anything stupid."

The second he's gone, I slam the door shut and stumble to the bathroom. My stomach lurches, and I barely make it to the toilet before I'm throwing up everything I had earlier.

What the fuck just happened? I sit back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

Whitmore's dead. Leonardo had to know. He had to. He was always two steps ahead, always calculating, always fucking watching. Did he find out Whitmore was working with me? Did he have him killed, just like he had Miguel taken out?

My hands tremble as I grip the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide, like I've seen a ghost. In a way, I have. I've seen the ghost of the man I thought I could handle, the ghost of the man who's been fucking with me and using me this entire time.

I knew better. Iknewwho he was. And I still let him in. I let him get close. I should've told Harris everything that first night, the minute Leonardo started weaving his web around me. But I didn't. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could use him the way he was using me.

Stupid.

I splash cold water on my face, hoping it'll snap me out of the mess I've gotten myself into. But all I can think about is Leonardo. That smug smile. Those hands. The way he made me feel like I was his.

I hate myself for wanting him. I hate that I let him under my skin, that I let him fuck with my head like this. I should've never gotten involved. I should've stayed away.

But I didn't.

I slap the sink, the sharp sting jolting me back to reality. "Get a grip, Elizabeth."

I can't fall apart now, not when Whitmore's dead, not when Harris is watching, waiting for me to slip up. I've got to play this smart. I've got to figure out what Leonardo's really after, before he takes me down with him.

***

There's no sleep for me. Two hours, maybe, of staring at the ceiling, replaying Whitmore's death over and over in my head. My mind won't stop racing, going in every direction except where it needs to go.

At 6, there's a knock on my door. I sit up, my heart leaping into my throat. I force myself to look through the peephole, expecting to see the cop Harris said would be stationed outside. Instead, I see a policeman's uniform, standing too close to my door for comfort.

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