I don’t really know what I’m looking for, internet sleuthing is more Olivia’s jam than mine, but I keep scrolling until something catches my eye.
Garret Sleet’s mug shot. He’s holding the placard with his details in front of his chest but it’s the tattoo on the inside of his wrist that has my attention. Guys like that don’t normally have ink in places that show.
I zoom in and my gut twists. Uneasy familiarity grows like weeds in the pit of my stomach.
I go back to the photos of the other victims, scanning through each one more carefully this time. There’s nothing obvious so I google each of them individually, scrolling through the bank of photos that appear. I strike gold with an Instagram photo of Randall Leewood. He’s lounging by the pool and there, cutting into the waistband of his trunks, is the same tattoo.
A snake in the shape of an S coiling around a calligraphic K. My heart beats in my ears. Loud, deep rushes.
I know that tattoo.
6
WHAT’S A LITTLE MURDER BETWEEN BROTHERS?
Flynn
A shadow hauntsthe roof terrace as I hop from the neighbor’s house to Lachlan’s. I whip around to find my brother waiting in the dark, the vines that climb the wall behind him creeping out, black tendrils in the night.
He brings his drink to his lips, the moonlight bouncing off the diamond pattern of the whiskey tumbler and dancing over his black suit jacket. He always seems so put together, so measured and meticulous. But I know my brother and he’s looking for a fight.
“Where have you been?” he demands.
I tilt my head, my hair falling over my eye. “You know you can turn the whole lawyer thing off, right? You don’t have to be like this all the time.”
His gaze rolls to me. Unamused.
I shrug. “I had things to do.” Things like following Hazel to and from work so I could make sure she got home safe. I may have hung around a little longer than necessary after that because Hazel’s become my new favorite TV channel. I could spend all day watching her dance around the house. If she’d have let me keep the cameras on, I could have done just that, but I’ve decided to respect her wishes and turn them off. For now.
Lachlan puts his glass down on the filigreed metal table. “Care to be more specific?”
I slide my hands into my pockets. “I got a job,” I say, which is true. I had some time to kill while Hazel was at work, so I visited an old friend.
“You don’t need a job.” Also true. Our parents left us both enough money to never have to work a day in our lives. It’s part of the reason Lachlan managed to get custody of me after they died even though he was only nineteen.
“I need the access the job will give me.”
His gaze flicks up to me. “Claren?”
I dip my head.
Lachlan stands up. Spears his fingers through his dark hair. “I don’t like this.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t like anything.”
The switch in him comes hard and fast, all of that tightly contained fight snapping like elastic as he slams me against the glass doors.
I keep my hands in my pockets, letting him pin me there with his forearm across my collarbones as his chest heaves.
“You need to take this more seriously,” he bites out.
I run my tongue along the inside of my teeth. “Been hunting lately?”
The arm against my chest presses harder and I ignore the urge to cough. Lachlan likes to pretend no one knows about his little vigilante side gig but my big brother’s more like me than he cares to admit. Personally, I’d argue he’s a whole shade darker because he’s not lacking those pesky social emotions like guilt and empathy. No, he knows exactly what he’s doing when he goes out at night to finish the job the prosecutors can’t.
“Little hard to hunt when I have the SPD breathing down my neck,” he growls, his breath hot on my face in the night chill.
Ah, so that’s why he’s so on edge.
