Page 94 of Jonas

He did, just not verbally.

Apparently, Lore was fluent in badass, because she understood what Jonas’s brow lift meant, and went on, “Zane wanted a private word with Kira and Nebraska.”

There it was—not a no, but a clear indication he didn’t trust Lore and had no problem kicking her out of the house to make sure she didn’t hear what he had to say.

“And he followed me upstairs and locked the door.”

Ouch.

Jonas’s eyes cut to me. Evidence was suggesting I spoke silent-badass, too. When I caught the question in Jonas’s stare, I shook my head.

There was no way I was going inside after Zane kicked out Lore. That would be like salt in a wound and I wasn’t going to be the one to rub it in. Neither was I going to take the chance of going in and getting kicked out like Lore.

He smiled and returned the head shake.

“I’m going in,” he announced.

I watched him walk to the door, punch in a code on the keypad, and enter the house.

“Clusterfuck of a day,” she muttered.

“Yup.”

“Plot twist, killing the driver,” she went on.

“In on it, or wrong place, wrong time?”

“Nothing in Les Stevenson’s background suggests any ties to criminal activity,” Lore told me something I knew. “On one hand, that makes him the perfect target. But it takes years to work a man like that. Les has only worked for Lou Peterson for eighteen months. The level of skill required to turn someone from law-abiding to not isn’t something Lou possesses.”

“But you do.”

Lore read my statement as just that. She didn’t prevaricate or dodge. She did exactly what Jonas said she’d do.

“Yes. If I wanted to turn Les into an accomplice and manipulate him into doing my bidding, not only could I do it, but it would only take me a few months. Maybe less if he had triggers I could exploit.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact. Not bragging, but not ashamed. I admired that about her—she was who she was and didn’t pretend to be anything else. Master manipulator or not, it was refreshing. The flip side to that was, she could be manipulating me into appreciating her candor. Not hiding who she was, which upped her likability.

“I get it,” she quietly said. Not harsh but not gentle. Unemotional and straightforward. No hint of coaxing or laying the groundwork for empathy.

“Get what?”

“I didn’t get where I am by not being able to read people. I get where your mind went. I get that everything I say is scrutinized and dissected. You’re smart to keep your shields up around me. I’m not to be trusted, and yes me telling you that straight out is a form of controlling your prejudice. If I’m honest with you three-fourths of the time, when I lie to you, you’ll question your judgment. You’ll want to believe me because I’ve been forthright and truthful with you. But deep down you know, I’m not to be trusted. You seem like a smart woman; stay that way and trust yourself, not me.”

There was a twinge of sadness, not in her tone but in the way she held herself. I reckoned she’d be good at telegraphing what she wanted someone to see, yet for some reason I didn’t think the melancholy was for show.

Or, I was playing right into her hand.

“Do you regret turning into the person you are?”

“No. There’s safety in who I’ve become. I’m protected by lies and truth. There’s power in keeping someone on guard around me. If someone’s on their back foot trying to anticipate my next move they miss what’s right in front of them. Distraction and defense means I can play offense⁠—”

“Offense,” I mumbled. “We’re playing defense when we should be playing offense.”

“Go on,” Lore prompted.

“Kira’s busy playing defense—anticipating where the Chinese will hit next. We’re all busy tracking down leads, trying to round up the people who we know are involved, with the hope they’ll give us intel—that’s defense. We’re going about this the wrong way. We should be playing offense.”

I reached for my back pocket but remembered I didn’t have my phone.