Did he know this would happen?
Could the knives have similarly sized blades?
He’s the one who warned me the stakes were real. He told me what Harrington had looped him in on. No details. Just lofty suppositions about strategy and chess.
This feels nothing like chess and more like a game of goddamn Clue.
Except, I know who murdered the man and it’s definitelyme, just not tonight.
But as much as I have an alibi, I question if I do.
People at the country club claim I was there. What if the people at the gala in the city claim I wasn’t?
What if?—
My throat tightens.
No.
No.
Maxim isn’t in on this. He wouldn’t betray me. And I was in a public place. People must have seen me. There’s no?—
Or is there?
The Veronians have power and Harrington is a well-respected name. Old money. Old connections.
Is this payback?
I refuse to stress out. That’s what this is about.
Putting me under pressure.
Waiting for the cracks to show.
Watching the implosion.
If I fuck this up, I could be facing a prison sentence.
If I don’t, then yay for me. Onto round three.
I can’t afford to fuck this up.
I won’t.
The cops lie all the time and they’ll say anything to get you to talk—both truths become my mantra.
Wallowicz’s return is so noisy that it makes me jerk in the seat,which, in turn, yanks on my cuffs and has me hissing in pain.
He has a stack of pictures.
I ignore them to check out the time.
Holy fuck, it’s 10.
AM.
Or… shit. I don’t even know now.
