Page 7 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

‘I know, but I’m on my way to Rodeo Drive, so, you know, silver linings.’ I try for a smile but a wave of tiredness and nausea washes over me and almost takes me out.

‘Kits? Are you okay? You look really pale.’

I look at the small version of my face at the bottom of the screen. She’s not wrong. I look like Death. But with an expensive haircut.

‘Jet lag,’ I say, swallowing down a mouthful of bile. ‘I’ll be fine when I’ve had some sleep. And I won’t be pale for long out here.’ I spin the view around so she can see the unending blue sky.

‘Okay …’ Tor says as I turn the camera back. ‘Just, you know, don’t get sick.’

‘I won’t,’ I say. ‘I’ve got something very important to do out here.’

She smiles again, winces again. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ I say. ‘Speak soon.’

My Uber takes me to Rodeo Drive and I feel the underlying anxiety that’s been niggling me since my baggage failed to arrive at its destination ebb away as I walk into the Gucci flagship store. I instantly feel relaxed as I breathe in the air-conditioned air and see rows of gorgeous clothes in the softest fabrics. Retail therapy is a real thing and I will die on that hill.

‘Can I help you?’ The voice belongs to a shop assistant who, like the airport worker, looks like she should actually be on a catwalk rather than working in a store. I’ve been to Beverly Hills before, of course, but I always forget just how beautiful everyone here is. It makes me a bit homesick for London and how there’s such an eclectic mix of people there. I don’t usually feel imposter syndrome when I’m shopping in Knightsbridge.

‘Um, yes please,’ I say. ‘My bag was lost at the airport so I’m looking for a few pieces for my stay.’

The girl gives me a sympathetic look. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘The same thing happened to a friend of mine a little while ago. It was a nightmare.’

‘How long did it take for them to get their things back?’ I ask, but the assistant just shakes her sleek head.

‘No,’ she says ominously. ‘She didn’t ever get it back.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Right.’ My clothes are probably being sold on Vinted or something at this very moment.

She claps her hands together so suddenly, it makes me jump. ‘So what you need is a capsule wardrobe?’

The words perk me up again. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Exactly that.’

‘How long are you here for?’ she asks. ‘What’s the purpose of your trip?’

I can’t really tell her that I’m here to hunt and kill a British therapist who went rogue. Although I’m quite curious as to how she might style that particular look.

Instead I say, ‘It’s a post-break-up trip,’ which is at least kind of true. My boyfriend Charlie dumped me in France a few weeks ago. In his defence, he had just been held captive by Antoinette’s insane brother – half-brother to be precise, that creep was not in my bloodline – and discovered that I’m a serial killer.

But still.

It stings.

A lot, actually.

Especially when I tried explaining to him that I only ever kill bad men.

The worst men who absolutely deserve it.

‘Say less,’ the assistant says and leads me to some dressing rooms. ‘So let’s find you some pretty day dresses and some killer night dresses.’ She appraises me. ‘You’re a size four, right?’

I nod and she disappears back into the store.

While she’s gone, I take my phone out of my bag and open Instagram. Thinking about Charlie has made me start missing him all over again. I scroll through until I find his profile. He’s not a big social media user so I’m not surprised to find that he hasn’t posted any new pictures, although I was hoping to get a snippet of what he’s up to. I sigh and open Facebook instead. Again, there aren’t any new photos but one thing has changed. And it makes my heart sink right into my shoes. In the little box where he previously declared to be ‘in a relationship with Kitty Collins’, it now says just one word – ‘single’.

I try to swallow down the lump that has suddenly developed in my throat.

The assistant comes back in, her arms laden with clothes. She sees my face and gives me a sad smile.