“Christian Claren.”
Lachlan stares at me, the way he does when he’s searching for patience. “As inSenatorChristian Claren?”
I raise my brows in faux innocence. “Oh, now that you mention it, yeah. I guess they must be one and the same. Funny.”
“You’re not killing a senator.”
My humor drains away. “Yes. I am.”
Lachlan steps off the stool and paces past the island. “He is the most beloved political figure Seattle has ever seen. He spends his weekends volunteering, he’s building a free-clinic?—”
“He filmed the video, Lachlan,” I cut him off. “Maybe he just likes to watch, maybe he stayed behind the camera so as not to incriminate himself, but what do you think he did after they stopped recording?”
The muscles on Lachlan’s jaw flutter as he grinds his teeth.
“You just said it yourself,” I remind him. “Everyone dies.”
“Not at the expense of you,” Lachlan snaps, spinning to face me.
I don’t react. He knows nothing he can say will change my mind. And I know he’ll help me do what needs to be done. For Hope. We’ll both reach the same conclusion, my long-distance relationship with emotions just means I get there a little faster than Lachlan. Eventually though, his shoulders drop.
He unbuttons the cuffs to his pristine white shirt and folds up the sleeves. “We take our time,” he says, his voice low. “You do this right, and you don’t get fucking caught.”
I smirk. “Don’t think you can get me off for a second time?”
“Do you realize the lengths I had to go to, to get you sent to Drayford?”
I stop ribbing him. I may be a sociopath, but we only got away with the insanity plea because Lachlan is a damn good lawyer. I should have been sent to Washington State Penitentiary, but Garret Sleet was in Drayford Psychiatric Prisonso we put on a little show, convinced the jury that’s where I belonged too.
That was three months ago, and as much as it’s good to see my brother’s face, I’ve been dreaming about a shower with proper water pressure for the last four weeks.
I snag an apple from the black ceramic fruit bowl on the island and throw it up in the air before taking a bite.Fuck that tastes good.
“I’m going downstairs, be a good little lawyer and don’t tell the police out front you’re harboring a fugitive.”
Lachlan’s dead gaze makes me grin until he throws my damp prison top at me.
“Take your wet clothes with you.” He turns back to the island before calling over his shoulder, “And stay down there for a while, the police will be back with a warrant to search the place soon.”
“Ugh.” I drag the shirt from where it landed on my head and ball the damp material up in my hands as I walk back out into the hall. Spending the foreseeable future dodging the cops is a complication I don’t need. How am I supposed to stalk Hazel if I can’t be seen outside?
You know most peopledatethe woman they like, Flynn.
I imagine myself tugging on one of Hope’s braids. I’m not so sure dating is in the cards for me and Hazel. I can already feel the compulsion pulsing beneath my skin, the need to know anything and everything about the girl dancing in her pjs, utterly oblivious to the world around her.
Dating is for normal people anyway. Stalking is far more fun.
3
#CEREALUNALIVER
Hazel
The doorbell wakes me up,which is concerning because I always set at least three alarms. My phone is lying on the bed in front of me and I stare at the lemon slice Jibbitz on the case for a moment until the events of last night hit me like a Mack truck.
I shoot upright, my room spinning and Flynn’s soft voice telling me to go back to sleep echoing in my mind.Crap.I fell asleep on a serial killer and he… carried me to bed. I take in the crumpled sheets, the knitted blanket from the couch tangled around my waist. Did Flynntuck me in?
I collapse back onto the bed.
