Page 12 of Last Shot

‘Whatmattersis that I know Kaine Skinner – Matteo La Marca’s man – was boasting to his missus that he’s getting paid the reward of his life for taking out a hit on Barbarani.’

Dammit. She hadn’t planned to give away her trump card this early. But she hadn’t anticipated the Barbarani Fixer to be ...

This.

She could see the pieces falling in his mind like autumn leaves. Kaine Skinner’s girlfriend was in jail.

I was at a prison all morning.

There we go – he was almost there ...

‘What’s her name? The girlfriend?’

‘Libby Johnston.’

His lips tightened. He thought he had her at that.

He’d know it was a strange lie for her to tell – too easy to disprove. She could practically hear two sides of him street-brawling in his mind. Should he risk the possibility that she could be a methaddict trespassing on the Barbarani Estate to lick someone’s foot, or would he do what every muscle in his damage-controlling Fixer body must be screaming to do?

‘I get it,’ she said, and before he could stop her, her fingers tugged up the bottom of his shirt so she could see the black holster she’d felt against the flat plane of his lower stomach. Max hated the way her skin tingled as she took in the shadow of abdominals above his belt. How much time did sculpting that physique, like a marble statue, take away from his divine duty as the Barbarani Guardian Angel?

‘You’re their hit man – you gotta take out the threat,’ she whispered, satisfaction pooling at the way his abs shuddered against her touch. ‘Let me help. Take me to Giovanni.’

He pushed her hand away. ‘I’mnota hit man. My job is to keep people like you away from people like the Barbaranis.’

‘How do you hire a hit man to kill a hit man? Is that the same thing as googling “Google”? How are the Barbaranis going to get rid of you once it comes out that you ignored the threat to their lives, just because I don’t fit your bourgeoisie description of a credible source?’

‘I’m warning you—’

‘How do you take your guilt, Mr Fixer? With a side of anthrax? Or will you be more poetic and make an identical bullet hole in your head to match Giovanni’s—’

‘ENOUGH!’

Finally. She’d found his bruises. Now she just had to press harder.

But he got there first. ‘You say you’re a cop? I’ll give your name to the sergeant in town and he can verify your badge number. Who knows, if he’s feeling generous, he might even let you make a statement. They can display it on the same wall as the kids’ crayon drawings.’

Fuck.Fuck!She could not get other cops involved. Not yet.

‘Valanga.’

Her final hand. Four of a kind. She prayed he didn’t have a royal flush.

His face hardened. ‘What did you say?’

‘Valangais Skinner’s code name. Only known to the La Marcas.’

A sharp breath escaped the cage of his gritted teeth.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘and I guess the Barbaranis’ hit man knows it too.’

Just as it looked like his jaw was about to grind off completely, something beeped, like a heart-monitor machine flat-lining. Grey pulled his phone out of his pocket, eyes still on her. ‘Your real name’s Maxella Conrad?’ His gaze flicked to whatever was on the screen, his expression giving no indication of what it was.

Hmm. Not what she’d been expecting. Luca’s cricket bat to the head would have been more fitting. ‘I’m not a liar. And it’s just Max.’

‘Well,Not-a-Liar-Max, if you’re really psychic and can predict murders before they happen ...’ He twisted her so she was facing away from him, his enormous hand on her waist, guiding her in an almost protective way down a small white-stone path lined with the winter skeletons of rose bushes. But it was only protective in the way a nurse guides a psych patient back to the padded ward after a regulated mealtime. At this point, there was really no other choice but to let him. ‘Let’s see if you canpredictwhat I’m about to do.’ His breath trailed down her neck, the threat in his tone blistering against her bare skin.

They were approaching the little limestone cottage she’d seen from Luca’s room. ‘Make a huge mistake?’

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