I nod along, crossing every finger and toe that my face doesn’t give the lie away.
The officer’s eyes pause on me before he leans down, peering past me into the back of the van. “What’s under the tarp?”
“Demo debris,” Nico says. “Had to remove a section of drywall from a basement.”
I imagine the officer peeling it back, finding Donny’s face staring up at him.
He hands the documents back to Nico. “I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle.”
“Is there a problem, officer?” Nico asks, and I get the sudden intrusive thought that Nico would be a great crisis hotline operator.
“I won’t ask again,” the cop says. “Step out of the vehicle.”
Nico steps out of the van, keeping his hands visible as he faces the officer. The cop gestures toward the back. I crane my neck to watch through the rear window as they go to the doors.
“Mold remediation,” the officer says, and his voice is muted through the open window. “Interesting line of work.”
“It pays the bills,” Nico says.
“You look familiar.” He pauses. “Have we met before?”
Nico goes still. “No, sir.”
“Open the van.”
Do I run?
What will happen to Nico if I run?
“You don’t have probable cause,” Nico says, and I catch the smallest tremor in his voice.
The cop makes a tutting sound with his tongue. “Probable cause? I’ve got the Boy Next Door Killer standing in front of me. That’s all the cause I need.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nico’s words are still steady even though I can hear the fear underneath. “My name is Alexander Wyman.”
I try to get a better view through the back window. A passing car’s headlights sweep over the cop’s face. A thin smudge of crimson is smeared across his hairline. Wait.
The cop’s grin widens. “So you’re not just a monster, but a liar, too.”
A faint scratch accompanies each word.
“That’s not a cop!” I scream. Nico turns his head, eyes finding mine through the rear window. I undo my seatbelt, my hands already gripping the headrest as I lean over it to yell as loud as I can. “Nico, he’s not a cop!”
I see the exact moment he understands what I’m telling him.
The cop grabs Nico by the shoulders and shoves him into the rear window so hard the glass shatters, leaving a jagged hole amongst a spiderweb of cracks.
I scream. The cop yanks Nico’s head back to smash it forward again, grinding his face against the broken glass until blood runs down in rivulets. Nico’s body goes slack. He crumples to the ground.
I grab the shotgun mounted on the wall and a handful of rounds, then jump out of the side door. The shotgun is already at my shoulder by the time I come around the side of the van, aiming for center mass like Dad taught me and pulling the trigger.
The boom is so loud that my ears start ringing. The recoil slams into my shoulder and the cop staggers backward, smokerising where stray salt granules burned through the shoulder of his uniform.
Closing one eye, I brace for the recoil and fire again. The sound bounces off the building. The shot lands squarely on his bulletproof vest just like the last one and the cop staggers back another step, one hand clutching his sternum. I need to shoot him somewhere off the vest if I want to stop him, but I don’t want to hurt the host.
Go. We need togo.
