Page 82 of Trick's Trap

“I know what I saw.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t see it. I did shrooms once. I saw lots of weird shit, too. But none of it was real.”

Tahlia sighed and kept eating. This was an old argument with Ethan. He kept bringing up the hallucination. Her soon-to-be husband didn’t like to talk about it. It took a few weeks for him to even tell her about it. In fact, she’d been forced to threaten breaking off the engagement before he finally told her about his experience.

Ethan nudged the report across the coffee table. “This is your copy of the bureau’s final report. They’re pretty interested in this Killian character. They were able to match the bullet in your uncle to two other high-profile deaths, and he’s suspected in dozens more.”

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably and put the sandwich down. Wiping her hands, she leaned closer to Patrick.

“I’m not surprised. He seemed so calm and controlled the whole time. The only thing that got his attention was when I told him how my dad really died. I guess it was shocking enough for a facilitator, or whatever he wanted to call himself, to sit up and take notice.”

“Facilitator, my ass. He’s a contract killer who does a little transporting on the side for the right price.” Patrick rubbed her back before putting a possessive hand around her waist. “We’re lucky he left you alone after double-crossing your uncle—although I hate the idea of someone like this even knowing your name, let alone doing you a favor.”

Ethan tsked and shook his head. “That’s not it. If Lucas thought he could get away with not paying someone like that, he was crazier than I thought. If this guy is who we think he is, then he’s been responsible for regime-changing assassinations. I honestly don’t know why he would do something like this. It must have been small potatoes compared to his usual jobs.”

Tahlia opened the report to the sketch they’d made of the man who called himself Killian. It wasn’t a perfect likeness, but she supposed it was close enough.

“What if he comes after me because I can recognize him? I bet the only reason he let me see his face was because he thought I was going to die.”

Patrick frowned, his face pale, but Ethan just shrugged. “If he was going to kill you, he would have done it before he left the estate. My guess is he wore some prosthetics to change his appearance—nothing major, just enough to make it hard to identify him later. Kind of like we did for Trick that one time.”

“When was that?” Tahlia twisted to look at Patrick. He’d never mentioned wearing prosthetic makeup.

“It’s a long story,” he told her. He turned to Ethan. “Are you sure about this? It says here Killian decapitated the cousin, too.”

“Well, it wasn’t either of you,” Ethan grumbled. “For one, the blood splatter on your clothes didn’t match. And you’d probably faint if you got one of those tailored shirts that dirty.”

Patrick glared at the agent. “Fuck you.”

“Whenever I’m at loose ends, I’ll think of you first,” Ethan promised before gesturing at Tahlia. “But this one might object…unless, of course, you guys decide to spice things up with a threes—”

Ethan was hit simultaneously. Patrick’s pillow hit him on the left side of his head and hers on the right. Ethan shut his mouth after that, but the wicked grin he threw her might have done some damage if she wasn’t madly in love with someone else.

Patrick picked at the salad garnish on his plate. “I still don’t think this Killian character killed the cousin. He would have used a gun like he did on the uncle.”

Personally, Tahlia agreed, but so many things about that day were a mess in her mind. She couldn’t be sure what really happened. She might never know.

Ethan sniffed. “If I wasn’t him, then it was the other cousin—the one I shot. Because there was no trace of anyone else in that room.”

Patrick opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but he pressed his lips shut. “Yeah, I know. Anyone else would have been passed out on the floor. You needed a gas mask in that room.”

“My point exactly. You had a drug-fueled delusion. Happens to the best of us. As for the freak cousins, maybe they were used to that stuff—up to a point. Some people build up a tolerance, but it’s possible they overestimated in their rush to conduct their ritual.”

That sounded plausible to Tahlia. Killian certainly hadn’t killed her father, and she didn’t think there were two killers running around cutting people’s heads off in this affair.

Patrick looked unconvinced, but he gave her a bracing smile. She checked her watch.

Shoot. It was almost time for her appointment with the doctor.

“What about the rest of the relatives?” she asked. “Have any of them come forward to accuse me of somehow orchestrating these deaths, too?”

“Nope. No one has made a peep about that. I was, however, contacted by that asshole law firm in Manhattan. Unfortunately, your uncle Lucas inherited your father’s estate, at least according to them. And you are specifically excluded from Lucas’ will. I’m afraid you don’t a share of the family fortune.”

He cleared his throat and straightened as if bracing himself. “Also, when the agents gave them the opportunity, none of them wanted to send a message to you.”

There was a tiny tremor in her lip. “So it’s official. I don’t have a family.”

She held up her hands. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want that lot either. And I definitely don’t want any of that money. They can keep the house, too, and everything in it. It can go to whatever relative wants it. As long as they don’t ever contact me again, they are welcome to it.”

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