Page 73 of Trick's Trap

He patted her shoulder. “No, of course not. You can let go of that phone by the way. You won’t be needing it in Florida.”

Tahlia buckled her seat belt with numb fingers. “So you’re not going to shoot me? Because if that’s an option, I’d rather you did.”

The man laughed, a booming hearty sound. “My name is Killian. I mentioned it before, but I think you forgot.”

“Sorry, the laser sight pointed at my future husband’s head kind of wiped it from my mind. It’s not every day an assassin comes after you. In my case, it’s only every couple of weeks.”

Killian flicked thick sooty lashes at her. “I’m not an assassin. At least not all the time. Funnily enough, the market for that sort is down, at least for the cases that fit my criteria. A man has to have standards. I’m very selective about my clients. “

“A selective assassin?” she asked flatly.

The cold surreality of her circumstances were pressing down on her. Nothing felt real—not the seat underneath her or the seat belt pressing against her chest.

Killian tsked, turning the wheel to pull onto the highway. “These days I call myself a facilitator. Your family wants you home by any means necessary. I make that happen with a minimum of fuss.” He glanced at her. “Don’t worry, your boyfriend is quite safe now.”

The tight coil of anxiety in the pit of her stomach loosened a fraction. “Good,” she mumbled, but then wondered why the hell she believed him.

The car sped along the road, weaving in and out of traffic with ease. “I did a little research on him by the way. Patrick Tyler is a pretty nice catch for a girl like you.”

Her brows pulled together. “What the hell does that mean?”

The hired killer waggled his fingers without taking them off the wheel. “He’s a young, attractive philanthropist. Excellent reputation, even among his ex-girlfriends. Very pro women’s rights. And he’s rich to boot.”

Unbelievable. “I know what Patrick is. I meant the girl-like-you dig.”

He frowned. “Do you honestly think that nice boy deserves a murderess for a wife—no matter how good she is at poker?”

Her mouth dropped open, the shock driving the numbness away. “Amurderess?”

Killian sniffed a disdainful little sound.

“Who did I kill?”

He sighed, keeping his eyes on the road.

She buried her face in her hands. Her head hurt. “They told you I killed my father.”

Her family had attempted to pin his death on her through legal channels. Why was she surprised to hear they would lie to an assassin as well?

Because killers for hire aren’t supposed to have standards.Shooting people was just supposed to be a paycheck to professionals.

Except her family had fed Killian the patricide lie, which meant they at least believed in these fictional standards.

“The way I heard it, you couldn’t wait for your inheritance,” he offered. “That was when you decided to slip a little something in his afternoon coffee.”

Tahlia groaned. This nightmare was swiftly turning into a farce. “I suppose my family told you they only want justice served, and they’ll be turning me over to the authorities.”

He shrugged. “If it makes any difference, I didn’t buy that line. But there’s something to be said about keeping things in the family. I’ve worked for a few outfits that worked that way.”

“Let me guess…you were the one who fixed these internal problems for them?” she said, making air quotes aroundfixed.

“My reputation precedes me, I see.”

Ugh. “I suppose you also believe I decapitated my father after I poisoned him?”

The car jerked a little as he twisted to look at her.

She could tell she’d surprised him. It was her turn to sniff. “I thought you did your research. Did you miss the part where my father’s body was dismembered?”

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