“It’ll be okay,” he promised. “I’ll protect you.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I desperately wanted to. My anger drained away as he held me. It took me a beat or two to realize how closely I was pressed against Russo, full body to body. I felt suddenly self-conscious and pulled away. Reluctantly, he let me go. He met my gaze, staring at me like an expensive convertible he wanted to take for a test drive with the top down.
I felt a surge of warmth flood my face and had the sudden urge to giggle. But then I realized my nose was running like a faucet, and I sniffed just as Russo produced a folded tissue from the inner pocket of his jacket.
I dabbed at my nose delicately and then crumpled the tissue in a ball.
“Give me your phone,” Russo said, opening his palm. I laid it in his hand and felt a little jolt when he touched me. It was probably static electricity, and not at all that his fingers were warm, strong, and capable. Russo made me wonder in what ways he’d putSpider-Man Mateo’s enthusiastic but still amateurish moves in the bedroom to shame.
Russo pulled up a text message and typed in his number, sending a winking face to his phone, which dinged on the table. “I’m adding me to your contacts. And I’m sending me a copy of those photos you took of the car. I’m going to find the driver.” I suddenly felt relieved. Between him and Oscar, they’d get to the bottom of it. “You get another text from this perp, or even get a whiff of anything off, you text or call me. Immediately. Okay?”
I clutched the safety tether he offered, like a life raft in a tumultuous sea. I glanced at his thick neck and shoulders and his strong hands as he handed my phone back to me. Hard to imagine me drowning when Russo was around.
“Thank you,” I said and reached out to touch his forearm, the muscles thick and taut even through his jacket. Russo glanced down at my hand and back up to me, a glint of warmth in his eyes.
“Shall we finish our drink?” He nodded back to our glasses on the table. I’d rather chow down on daisy stems, but I didn’t think I had a choice. I wanted the alcohol more than I cared about the taste at this point.
Across the bar, Jude and Kenzie appeared to be leaving. Huh. Wonder where they were going?
“Earth to Ella,” Russo prodded gently, bringing my attention back to him.
“Sorry. Yes! Beer is good,” I said, mimicking a Neanderthal as I slid back into my seat. I took a swig of the beer, only partially caring it tasted like I was flossing with pine needles. After the third swig, I was barely noticing that I actually hated it.
That’s a lie. I still hated it.
“So, I assume you have a plan,” I said to Russo. Because Russo always had a plan. “You didn’t come all this way just to say hello.”
Russo chuckled. “Maybe I like killing two birds with one stone. Ever think of that?” The way he said it made it sound like he really wanted to give me a nice shoulder rub. Naked. Also, he didn’t want to rub my shoulders.
“The plan?” I prodded.
Russo leaned across the table, his blue eyes fixed on mine, a little quirk to his full mouth. “How do you feel about teaming up again and helping me catch this son of a bitch?”
I felt a surge of excitement. Teaming up sounded nice.
But then I realized what he meant.
“Wait. So, you want to use me as bait?”
Russo’s eyes lit up. “Bingo.”
Six
An influencer who mocked a disabled participant in the Special Olympics became the Canceled Killer’s second victim. The killer ran her over, and she was found lying in a handicapped parking space.
—Crime Hivepodcast
I didn’t know how I felt about being a worm on a hook, but I guess it would be better than sitting around wondering when the Canceled Killer was going to strike.
“You okay, kid?” Russo asked as he walked me home after dinner. He’d insisted, and I’d gladly taken him up on the offer. We crossed over to Main Street, where the empty sidewalk, lit by the adorable old-fashioned streetlamps decorated with fall wreaths and decorative felt banners, led us to Koi. “You’re kind of quiet.”
We walked up to the bamboo gate and I unhooked the latch, triggering the motion light at the top of the stone lantern near the sand garden.
“It’s a lot, I guess.”
Russo nodded. “You know that you’ve got at least three days,” he told me. Russo meant that since the killer posted the skull emojis, I’d have three days before he struck. The Canceled Killer was nothing if not a servant to his routine. One day for each skull. Russo told me his best guess was that the killer liked the idea of lettingpeople twist in the wind, counting down each hour until the final day.
“I know,” I said. “I’ve already set a countdown clock.” I showed Russo my phone. “But what if he decides to break his pattern?”
