Page 32 of Pure Killers

"You're wearing one," he points out, still eyeing me.

"Right.” I shake my head. “Never mind. It’s cute."

He pulls a face, and I try to laugh along, but the unease sits with me, a suspicion I haven’t allowed myself to have. And I’mnot about to let such a ridiculous suspicion worm in now. I’d know. I’d have to.

But then, what was I was just saying… about people missing the truth in their own children? Why not a partner?

"Are you, you know, alright?" His voice takes me by surprise, invading treacherous thoughts.

"I'm fine," I answer, too quickly. "Why?"

"You've just been acting strange."

"There's been a lot going on."

"Always is."

I take a deep breath, rubbing my eyes. "I'm just going dry, that’s all. It’s… hard." Not entirely a lie. I haven't had a drink recently, and itisaffecting my mental state, or maybe my mood. More than likely, all the above.

Dirk nods slowly. "That's really good. If you need anything…"

I straighten, suddenly awkward. He's being so earnest, and here I am, in a web of lies. "Anyway, how about you?" I let a cheeky smile curve my lips. "How's Yolena?”

Now it’s his turn to shift awkwardly. “Well… yeah. I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on, what’s wrong with her?” Just like the last ones, there’s nothing wrong with her. She’s pretty, smart, and patient enough to put up with his job commitment and his flakiness all rolled into one admittedly good-looking package.

“Nothing,” Dirk is saying, “She’s perfectly nice. She’s just so… carefree. When I look at her, sometimes all I see is bait.”

“That’s sweet. You should say that at your wedding.”

He laughs. “Something tells me we won’t be making it that far.”

“Oh?” I ask, as though surprised.

“I don’t know,” he says again. “She’s just not…” he trails off, apparently focused on the road, though nothing has changed outside.

“Not...?” I press.

He glances shortly towards me and gives a short laugh, running a hand through his hair before gripping the steering wheel again. “Right. I suppose.”

“Uh-huh,” I muse, though nothing about that was convincing. Something tells me not to press into his private life any further, lest he returns the favour. Thank goodness he never has.

The road winds over another set of hills, which would be picturesque if only the drizzle would stay away. As it is, they’re dark and washed out, the day appearing later than it is.

I watch Dirk out of the corner of my eye. Like I’m missing something… like he’s hiding something. The pressure, Needler, it all must be getting to me. But I don’t look away, and I end up focussing on his hand on the steering wheel. There’s a scar above his wrist, a burn mark. As I’m distracted by that, he leans forward, toward the steering wheel, looking out as though to get a better angle on the estate we’re coming up on. “I think this is it.”

“Mm.”

Unconsciously, he pushes the sleeve of his sweater up to his elbow. It bunches there. I can see the shape of his bicep through the wool. Suddenly feeling the uncomfortable urge to shift in my seat, I look away, my face a little hotter than it was a moment ago. Another aspect of this going dry is my long-dormant sex drive rearing its inconvenient head. The last thing I need to be doing is thinking about fucking Dirk. Or thinkinganythingabout Dirk, for that matter.

We’re driving down a long road bordered by chestnuts, a manor waiting at the end. Old money around here. Funny that this side of our belated would-be mayor was probably never shown to the masses.

The car door closing echoes on the empty gravel at the front. The police have already been through, taking computers and anyother evidence. The murder happened as most do, in Crennick Row, far from here. There’s no one in sight. The house is shuttered and closed. But the family should be back in as of late last week, since the funeral, and we were told to expect an interview with his campaign partner.

Dirk shares a look with me over the top of the car. “Are you getting a funny f—"

Something pings off the car bonnet. It takes me half a second to realise it was a gunshot. Dirk is already yelling, “Down!” as I dive for the back of the car. I meet him there, both of us with guns in hand, backs towards the tailgate as more pings shoot off metal. Something smashes.

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