Page 51 of The Last Shadow

“Never,” I agree, pulling her against me while cameras click frantically around us. “Can we get out of here now?”

Her head falls back with that thrilling laugh I love. “You don’t want to meet with your adoring crowd?”

“Fuck no,” I growl, nibbling her ear.

“But Olivia is having so much fun.” She gestures to where my sister stands laughing with a group, looking completely in her element.

“One hour,” I tell her. “And I’m leaving with or without you.”

Something flashes in her eyes before she grabs my lapels, pulling me close. “How about you get out of here right now?” shesays, reading me like a book. “Slip into something a little more comfortable?” Her eyebrow wiggles make me want to laugh. “And Olivia and I will join you at the penthouse in about two hours. Is that enough time?” She doesn’t ask for details, but her eyes tell me she knows exactly what’s on my mind.

“Yes, that should be more than enough time. Thank you.” I stare at this woman. This impossible, perfect creature seems too good to be real, like something I conjured up from my twisted mind. “Thank you, kitten.”

“My pleasure.” She kisses both my cheeks and whispers, “go now and be slick about it.”

I smile, shaking hands with professional acquaintances as I make my way out, breathing in the slightly sticky evening air.

Then I’m on the move, catching a cab down the street before jumping out a few blocks later. I repeat this dance several times before stopping to change clothes and collect the tools I need.

Time to scratch another name off The List.

My kit isn’t what it used to be, not since I made that promise to Frankie about keeping things clean and simple. No more spectacles with my enemies. Still,sometools are necessary, and I grab what I need before heading to North Hollywood where the streets stretch wider and quieter at this time of night. The ranch house is easy to find, with its sloped roof and those shabby green shutters that have definitely seen better days.

The driveway sits empty as I cruise past, parking a few blocks away before doubling back on foot. Security is absolute shit here. I slip inside like I’m walking through my own front door, and then I wait.

And wait.

Twenty minutes pass before headlights flash from the street, turning into the driveway before the engine cuts off. I stay perfectly calm because this isn’t the last name on The List, but it’s close. This name isn’t about Olivia’s safety or peace of mind. Oh no. This is pure, stone-cold vengeance.

The front door’s squeaky hinge tells me exactly where my prey is and where he’s heading. Keys drop into the wooden tray beside the front door. He toes off his shoes with a grunt before walking through the living room and into the kitchen to grab a beer. His usual ritual.

I wait in the den, surrounded by a leather sectional and oversized television. When he hits the light switch, a harsh golden light floods the room. His reaction is immediate.

“Jesus fuck,” he growls, spotting my silhouette. “You scared the ever living fuck outta me. What do I owe this visit?”

I watch him closely, noting he’s slightly inebriated and not as sharp on the uptake as usual. “You don’t owe me anything for this visit. Consider it on the house.”

“Oh.” He nods, a smirk playing on his lips. “You think you can stop the payments now that you married her?”

“The payments.” I savor the word, letting silence stretch between us. “They were never about the money, Detective. They were about keeping you exactly where I needed you. Coming back, again and again, thinking you had the upper hand.”

His smirk falters. “What are you talking about?”

“Hope House.” I lean forward, watching the color drain from his face at those two simple words. “You remember Hope House,don’t you? September 15th. The night they took my sister to Saint Mary’s Hospital. You were there. I saw you. Standing in that hallway, pocketing an envelope while she fought for her life three doors down.”

“Ancient history,” he grunts, but his hand trembles as he lifts his beer. “And your sister was?—”

“A vegetable. Yes, that’s what you said back then, too. Such a convenient excuse to bury the case, wasn’t it? But we both know there was evidence. Witnesses. Everything needed to put those monsters away. Everything except an honest cop.”

He surges to his feet, swaying slightly. “You think you can prove any of this? After all these years?”

“Prove it?” A soft laugh escapes me. “Hawkins, I don’t need to prove anything. While you were busy counting your money, watching your bank account grow, I was takingeverythingthat mattered to you. I married your daughter, Detective. Your own flesh and blood. Sweet Francesca, who’s quite the catch, never knew her real father was the corrupt piece of shit who let this all happen.”

Pain twists his face. “She was never supposed to know.”

“But she does. And she knows you were fucking her mother until she committed suicide once she realized you’re a dirty cop. And what a great man her father was. You know, the one who raised her? Well, until you had him killed.” I can’t help the scoff that escapes.

“You don’t know that.”

---