Page 153 of Can You Take It?

“Hey, you coming?” Richard calls out from the living room.

“Yeah, just a second,” I reply, waiting for the Xanax to fully dissolve before carrying the glasses back to the dining table.

I hand him his glass, my eyes glued to it as he takes it from me. “Cheers,” I say, forcing a smile.

“Cheers,” he echoes, clinking his glass against mine. He takes a sip, and I watch intently, hoping he doesn’t notice anything off.

“What’s that look for?”

“Just thinking about how much I enjoy these moments with you,” I lie smoothly, taking a sip of my own wine.

He smiles, reaching out to take my hand. “I enjoy them too, Izel. More than you know.”

We sit there, drinking our wine and talking. My eyes stay glued to his drink as he continues to talk. Each sip brings him closer to the oblivion I need him for. I try to keep up with the conversation, nodding and smiling at the right moments, but my mind is elsewhere.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just... tired, I guess,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes. “Long day.”

“Why don’t you lie down?” I suggest, hoping he’ll take the hint. “I’ll clean up here.”

He nods slowly, getting up from the table. “Yeah, maybe I will. Thanks.”

I watch him walk to the couch and lie down, his eyes closing almost immediately. My heart twists with guilt and fear, knowing that by morning, everything will have changed.

I wait a few minutes, making sure he’s out cold before checking his breathing. Once I’m certain he’s deeply asleep, I grab his keys and quietly slip out the door, clicking it shut behind me.

I take Richard’s car and start driving towards the nearby detention center. It’s almost midnight, and the streets are eerily quiet. I press the button on my Bluetooth earpiece, connecting to Martin.

“Martin, you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Martin replies, his voice slightly distorted through the voice modulator he’s wearing. “Everything set on your end?”

“Yeah, he’s out cold. You sure this is going to work?”

“It’ll work,” he assures me. “I’ve hacked into Richard’s phone and sent a message to the detention center, letting them know he’ll be visiting Victor for further questioning. I also used skimmers to get through the biometrics.”

“Skimmers?” I ask, wanting to hear the details again.

“Yeah,” he explains. “They’re devices that mimic biometric signatures. Basically, it copies Richard’s fingerprint and retina patterns. When I get to the detention center, the skimmers will trick the scanners into thinking I’m him. It’s not perfect, but it’s close enough. As long as I don’t have to get into a long conversation, we should be fine.”

“Let’s hope so,” I mutter tightening my grip on the steering wheel. “Richard has a few inches on you.”

“Yeah, well, let’s hope the guards aren’t too observant tonight,” he replies. “We’re counting on the late hour and their fatigue to work in our favor.”

Suddenly, a truck swerves into my lane, and I barely manage to avoid it. The screeching of tires is deafening, and I hear Martin’s concerned voice through the earpiece.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just lost balance.”

“Don’t get yourself killed. After all, we have a vacation planned in Aruba.”

I don’t respond. That plan was out the window the minute Richard had me under his spell. He thought it was him investigating me, but it was always the other way around. Martin and I knew that Richard was the lead investigator working on the Ghostface Striker case. When Victor decided to make Cassie his victim, I had enough. I knew I had to end him, and I had to do it myself.

I couldn’t stop Cassie’s murder because Liam stalled me for longer than necessary. When I saw so many FBI officers at my apartment, I knew killing a man like Victor wouldn’t go unnoticed. So, Martin and I came up with the plan to frame Richard for Victor’s murder. Luna did get one thing right—part of the plan was indeed to drive Richard to Hollowbrook. But it wasn’t about manipulating him into killing Victor. I needed him there so I could frame him for Victor’s murder.

Not because I had a personal grudge, but because if it wasn’t him, it would be me going to prison. And it might sound selfish, but I didn’t want to go to prison, not after I spent seventeen years in captivity.

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