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She shrugged, but a smile danced on her lips. “One day.”
We shared a glance. Nodded.
“One day,” I agreed, praying she wouldn’t be someone else who let me down. Who betrayed me. Shoving those miserable thoughts aside, I placed the rat trap on the bed. “But I’m not crazy.”
“Preaching to the choir.”
I grumbled, “I’m not crazy. I just don’t like it when my family is hurt.”
“Who was hurt?”
“A lot of people,” I said grimly. “Now, Michael, I’d like to know why the ECD needed Michelle Keegan to die.”And why they used my mother as the murder weapon.
“Who’s Michelle Keegan?” Star questioned. “Why do I know that surname?”
“You know Finn’s wife?” I asked.
“Yep. I know of her.”
“Her mom.”
“Ah.” Star’s brow furrowed. “I see… this really is personal.”
Did she sound disappointed?
If anyone was crazy here, it was her. Not me.
“Nothing more personal,” I confirmed. “That’s a problem for you, Michael. See, my father would just threaten to kill you, and you’d die, and that would be the end of that.
“You’d probably be feeling nice and smug that your death is going to have a purpose, so you’re further encouraged to hold out.
“But I’m not my father. I’m not someone who delivers death lightly to people.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Star muttered. “Death by rat? That’s medieval-grade torture. I’d high five you if I were there.”
“That’s an ex-CIA agent giving me kudos, Michael. So I think we both know that this isn’t going to be a pleasant death.”
“Fuck—” An inhalation. “You.” Exhalation.
I sighed and turned back to my computer. “There are five levels to this program. You’ve only experienced the first one.”
I hit level two which had Michael’s pain-filled shrieks morphing into an endless squeal.
“Wonder how long it will take for him to break?” Star queried.
Hearing a noisy crunching sound over the video, I turned and found that she had a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos on her lap.
“Settling in for the show?”
She nodded. “You’d better be entertaining.”
I rolled my eyes. “This isn’t Netflix, Star.”
“Nope, it’s even better.”
