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A heavy pause.

“You need to be careful with that one,” Mom says, all the sunshine sucked out of her voice. “After everything that happened with his brother, you don’t know what he’s capable of, and you don’t have anyone to watch out for you, so please be careful.”

My stomach twists. I don’t need the reminder. That’s the reason I have backup plans for my backup plans. My parents always had each other, but it’s not like the Hinge date who thought my gun was a dildo could bail me out if things went wrong. That’s why I never leave the house without my pistol, my pocketknife, and my poison-tipped press-ons.

“I’m always careful,” I sigh, plopping onto a rattan barstool. “I miss you guys.”

“Come visit us, darling!” Mom says. “I know it takes two planes, a speedboat, a Cessna, and a canoe to get here, but it’s gorgeous, and—” A burst of static scarfs down her words. “—wanted to—?”

Not again. “What? Mom, you’re breaking up.”

“Let you know—” More static.

I press the phone to my ear. “What?”

“We’ll be unreachable for—few weeks,” she crackles out.

Nothing.

“Mom?” Three low beeps. I stare down at the blank screen. “Don’t forget to put on sunscreen.”

My throat burns. Choppy phone calls aren’t the same as seeing them every week. I miss how my dad always hummed AC/DC when he organized his knives, and doing DIY vampire facials with my mom using our target’s leftover blood, but at least they sound happy. Now that they’re gone, I only have Bonnie to talk to, and she’s not the best conversationalist—especially now that she’s in a baggie.

I pour myself a cup of chamomile tea, do my twelve-step skin-care routine, and sink into a lavender-scented bath overlooking the sea of skyscrapers.

I spot Lucas and Eva in the ornate Art Deco building across from mine. I have no idea if those are their real names, but they have one of my favorite lives to watch, which yes, makes me a stalker, but I once poisoned someone with Pop Rocks, so this isn’t all that bad. It’s the same routine every night: takeout from the gyro truck, brush teeth (together), snuggle while watching reruns.

It’s so exquisitely mundane, I’m envious.

My phone buzzes, so I lurch for it, hoping to see Mom calling back, but it’s a notification from Onyx.

I use my face to unlock the app and carefully read the encrypted file until the bubbles in my bath dissolve.

The target is a twenty-eight-year-old woman, but it’s marked Recon. Only surveillance. Perfect. No cleanup duty for me. The overview says I need to “get to know” this woman (aka stalk) and send weekly reports in Onyx for the next month.

“Looks like someone’s being blackmailed,” I say, scrolling down to check the job location. “Wyoming? What’s in Wyoming?”

All I know about the state is that it has mountains and maybe some cows, but I did binge-watch Girl Meets Cowboy, a reality dating show set in Montana, which is close enough to Wyoming, and it made the Wild West look stunning. The hot springs, the national parks, the showstopping mountains, it’s a year-round wonderland.

Benson looks like an idyllic place, nestled between the Tetons with a tiny town square complete with a gazebo and local stores that all end with Trading Co. or Mercantile. I zoom in on Google Maps and click on the Betty’s Mercantile website.

“Wow, forty-two dollars for apple butter? What’s it made of? Diamond apples?”

I continue reading the job description. Lodging provided. Even better. It appears like this woman runs a local rental called the Little Red Barn on her ranch’s property, which looks exactly like it sounds, but then I groan when I see the description.

Partner Assignment.

I prefer to work alone, but that payout is tough to turn down. This would put a big dent in my down-payment fund, which would get me a lot closer to having a place that’s all mine. A home where I don’t have to worry about stashing my arsenic in a jar labeled Powdered Sugar.

My options are this or staring at Lucas and Eva until I need eye drops, so I click accept, then go back to watching them. It looks like they got a falafel bowl tonight.

I pick up my phone and order a falafel bowl for one.

6Sabrina

I spend the next few days combing through the file Onyx sent, digging up every scrap of information on my target: Bobbi Rae Stockton. The client wants evidence, weekly photo check-ins, even a personality assessment.

What kind of blackmailer wants a Myers-Briggs test?