Page 5 of Love & Other Killers
We head toward the edge of the escarpment, where we can kneel beneath the heavy foliage and peer down into the valley. Kneeling at the edge of the rocky ledge, all the main structures are visible, from the well-kept farmhouse to the machine shed where tractors and utility vehicles are kept to the canvas buildings that house the chickens. I raise the binoculars and pan my gaze across the property before passing them to Rose.
“You sure this is the guy?” she asks, slowly moving the binoculars across the farm.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Then let’sfuck him up.”
Barbara snarls.
“Maybe we should check that he’s even home first,” Fionn says as Rose passes the binoculars to him next. Her eye roll is the perfect balance of sharp and adoring. “Do a recce of the property.”
“‘A recce?’” Rowan snorts. “Who are you, Jason Bourne? Feckin’ bellend—”
“Shut up.” Lachlan pulls the binoculars from Fionn’s hand and leans forward, his attention caught on something in the valley below. “It’s him.”
I follow his line of sight and catch the motion of a man in the distance, walking from the house toward the machine shed. A moment later, an old pickup truck roars to life, its throaty diesel rumble lapping at the valley walls. It pulls out of the shed, and then the vehicle is bounding across the unevengravel of the driveway in a cloud of dust, headed off the property.
Rowan nudges my elbow. “Does he live alone?”
“What, you don’t know?”
“Do you?”
My eyes narrow as Rowan smirks. “What’s that look for?” I ask.
“What look?”
“That,” I say, swirling my hand in the general vicinity of his face. “That shit-eating-grin look that you’re giving me.”
Rowan shrugs, and nothing about it seems nonchalant. “I dunno, Blackbird,” he replies as he reaches across me to pull the binoculars from Lachlan’s grasp. “Maybe I just know a thing or two about Mr. Munster too. Like whether or not he lives alone. And he does live alone, by the way. Though maybe you should have known that already?”
I can feel the crimson blush rising in my cheeks. And Rowan sees it too. His smile widens as soon as it appears beneath my freckles. “You’re the worst.”
“And you love me anyway.” With a swift kiss to my burning cheek, Rowan raises the binoculars and sweeps his gaze across the valley, that smile still lingering on his lips. I give him a nudge, just for the sake of feeling his warmth against my side. And though I don’t look up to meet his eyes, I still feel the heat of his gaze on my face. “I love you, too, Blackbird,” he whispers, and this time, when he presses another kiss to my cheekbone, my blush rises for an entirely different reason.
When we’ve all had a chance to survey the farm, we rise, brushing off our jeans. “It’s probably a good time to take a look,” Lachlan says as he checks his knife before sliding it back into the sheath at his side.
“Wewill.” Lark takes a sip of her water, letting her words linger in the air before she tilts the bottle toward Lachlan. “And by ‘we,’ I mean me, Rose, and Sloane. You and your brethren will wait for twenty minutes while me and the Sticker Bitches start having a look around.”
“Aww come on, you’re not serious about this twenty-minute shite—”
“Brother,” Rowan interjects as he drops an arm over my shoulders, “my adorably murdery wife will suck the eyeball from your face with an industrial-size vacuum in your sleep if you won’t stick to the deal.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I’m sure I’m beaming some lovesick teenager smile at him at the memory of our very first game, but he merely winks and returns to his conversation with his brother.
Within a few minutes, we’ve repacked our belongings, shed our heavier layers in the growing August heat, and checked our weapons. Lark and Lachlan lead the way down the narrow hiking trail that descends into the valley. Rose and Fionn go next. Rowan shoots me a lopsided grin before he trails after them. I take a final glance in the direction of the farm, anticipation rising in every beat of my heart. It’s an itch deep within the confines of my skull, one that starts beneath my skin and climbs into my brain and doesn’t let go. Not until the moment I kill a man like Munster. Only then do I feel relief.
I pivot, panning my gaze across the small clearing. I’m thinking about the web I intend to create for Munster, the final details of which I spent last night planning out as best I could while Rowan snored loudly by my side with half a bottle of moonshine whiskey coursing through his veins. And then my gaze snags on motion in the bushes.
An unfamiliar woman takes a single step onto the path.
At first, I startle. My fist tightens around the knife I grip close to my thigh. I don’t know if she’s a threat, though she makes no movement to issue one. And then I really take her in. Her unthreatening but confident gaze. Maybe even hopeful. Her haunted eyes and subtle smile. Hershirt.
I recognize that shirt. The faded plaid, the tear in the arm that she must have sewn.
“What’s your name?” I’d asked the first time we met. She was naked, covered in streaks of dirt. Cowering against a brick wall in the dark. Recoiling from the light of my phone, as though she hadn’t seen light in days. Maybe weeks.
“I—I’m Autumn,” she’d stammered. She seemed so breakable then. Blond hair, a frail frame, wild eyes. But I remember something else about her too. That her first words to me weren’t her name or pleas to be set free. She wasn’t begging for help. Her first words were about Adam. “He killed Adam. I h-heard it. Hek-killedhim.”
I’d given her the shirt she’s wearing now, and then I left her in that cellar as Rowan pulled me to safety.
