Page 88 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

My pulse slams to a halt.

How is this possible?

Hunter Cole stares back at me from the center of the room, and for one impossible second, the entire world tilts beneath my feet.

What the hell is happening?

I wait for the shock. The confusion. The moment his eyes widen as he realizes who he’s looking at. But it never comes. Instead, he just watches me.

He’s calm, patient, almost amused, and a sick feeling twists in my stomach as the pieces begin falling into place. This wasn’t a chance encounter, and it sure as hell wasn’t bad timing. He knew. The bastard knew.

How the fuck am I supposed to explain this one?

“I, uhhhhh . . .”

A shadow steps out from across the room, and I recognize his build before I even see his face. Maddox. My fucked-up little psychopath.

He moves in beside Hunter, a cocky smirk playing on his lips as though he just won a contest. However, as he focuses on my face and not just the red hair, that cocky smirk fades away, and he gapes at me the way I expected Hunter to.

“Lyra?” he questions, his brows pinched as he tries to figure it all out. “What the actual fuck is going on?”

I wince as I look at my boys, feeling as though I’ve just been gutted, and all my dirty little secrets are spilling out onto the floor. “I swear,” I start, guilty as all hell. “I have a really good explanation for this.”

24

HUNTER

We sit in silence on the drive back home, my fingers drumming against the steering wheel as my gaze shifts back and forth from the road, and then right back to the little she-devil sitting beside me. I didn’t even wait to see if she had driven there, just grabbed that sweet ass and packed her into the front of my car.

I’d been suspicious of her for a while, and every chance encounter with this red-haired assassin only made it worse.

The night I’d first met her at Black Velvet and had that job in the alley, she was on her break. And when she was heading back in, she didn’t go in through the back door the same way the other bar staff had. Then during the DeLuca compound hit, she was sleeping on the couch and could have easily slipped out after we left and made it back in time. Not to mention how casually she accepted me and Maddox and the constant string of murdery comments that slip from her mouth.

She’s too okay with this world. And it’s suspicious as all hell.

She’s the red-haired assassin. I knew it in my gut, but I had to prove it.

Sure, these things aren’t usually something that should automatically make someone a suspect, but I felt it in my gut. Every occasion this redhead has shown up, Lyra has been “busy” with something that gives a perfect excuse to be away from me and Maddox.

Coincidence? I think not.

I’ve been watching Lyra carefully, and when the job for Nathaniel Moretti came through, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to test my theory. I’d given Lyra just enough information for her to figure out who the target was. With that, I left it in her hands, and just as expected, she took the bait.

The second Moretti walked into the private room, he was as good as dead. The woman was sent away while Maddox disposed of the body, and by the time Lyra was pushing through the door, I was already wearing the target’s jacket, just waiting for my girl to show up, and she didn’t disappoint.

Maddox had no idea.

He knew I was setting up the redhead, but he didn’t know I suspected Lyra. If she were anybody else, I would have let him in on the secret, but truth be told, the asshole is too fucking obvious. He wouldn’t have been able to follow through without accidentally giving it away, and then my perfect plan would have gone to waste.

The car ride seems to drag on, every second of agonizing silence only making the tension thicker around us.

It’s a competition of who’s going to break first, but I’ll be damned if it’s me. It’s between Maddox and Lyra, and honestly, I’ve got no fucking clue how this is about to play out. Lyra fidgets with her hands, folding and unfolding them before twisting her fingers, while Maddox just stares straight ahead, completely dumbfounded, as though replaying it over and over again.

Ten minutes turn into twenty when Lyra finally cracks. “Okay, fuck,” she says, twisting in her seat to look at me straight on. “This is killing me. I was too careful. How the hell did you figure it out?”

I shrug my shoulders as I drive, as though realizing that Lyra was the redheaded assassin didn’t completely blow my mind. “You don’t react like other people.”

She scoffs. “That’s because other people are overly dramatic.”