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I shake my head.
His head bounces in a quick nod, then he looks at Chris one more time. “Scumbag.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it.”
His eyes cut my way. “Tellyouabout it?Woman. I nearly had to do the job while he was choke-kissing you.” His eyes squint. “Jesus. You’re covered in blood. Clean up while I get his laptop.”
Rigger walks down the hall, a purpose in his movement, and I’m left with the chill of his disappointment. I know I botched this kill. Still got the job done in the end but I did something I shouldn’t have done.
I look back down at Chris, the red on his mouth from my lipstick. I lean down and use my blouse to wipe it away. No good for the cops to see that. I go outside where we were standing just a few minutes ago and get the glass I was drinking from, tossing the liquid over the balcony. Then I go back to the bathroom, stepping over Chris’s body on my tiptoes, ensuring my heels don’t press into his blood. I get my purse where I drop the glass inside. I wipe the doorknob and the bathroom handles.
My prints aren’t in the system. Never been arrested or so much as had a speeding ticket. And I plan to keep it that way. I’ll never understand these people who send their spit to private companies, just to have their heritage traced. You think you’re going to find out that you’re 10% Asian and 2% Hispanic and 88% German. But all you’re doing is giving the government access to your DNA. And then they use that data to track down distant relatives so literally anyone can find you. I watched this show about an adopted girl who fell for that shit. Then a few years later got a random call from someone which led her down a path of discovering her real father was a serial rapist.
Things that appear innocent are rarely so. And some things are better left in the dark.
“Let’s go.” Rigger walks past me in the hallway.
“Did you get the laptop?” I ask, trailing behind.
“Something even better.” He holds up both hands, a black box that looks like an external hard drive in one, a red chrome flash drive in the other.
“So this missionwassuccessful.” We get to the front door and I move my gaze to the frame. Pieces of wood have been splintered away, some of them lying on the floor. “What the hell?”
“I had to kick the door down to get in here. Which I suppose can be considered a good thing, making it look like a forced entry.”
He kicked a door down and I didn’t even hear it. That sends chills down the length of my body.
“Well, I’m ready to forcibly exit myself from this house.” I push past Rigger and out the screen door.
He follows closely behind and I seriously cannot get off this property fast enough.
Chapter 9
“I need a stiff drink.” I’m looking out the window, wiping Chris’s blood off my face and neck. But I can feel Rigger’s stare hitting me.
“Bar? Club?”
I shake my head, feeling like I have bugs crawling over my skin. “The sanctity of my own room so I can shake these vibes off in private.”
“Alright.”
We go back to the hotel so I can do just that. Rigger gives me a sweat jacket to pull over my head so I don’t look like I’ve just exploded someone’s brains all over their hallway. No one is even in the lobby so it doesn’t matter.
When I get back to my suite, I gulp down a bottle of water then make a beeline for the bathroom. My scalp itches like crazy even though I’ve already bagged the wig, and I spend the better part of five minutes scrubbing it in the sink with the cucumber scented shampoo the hotel provided before realizing it belongs in the dumpster behind the hotel. Some things you can’t salvage, and this sticky clump of red hair is one of them.
I finally get under the stream of water, hot as I can stand it, letting the past two hours wash off my skin. Without warning, I think about Chris’s tongue in my mouth before he died and I fold over, vomiting the water I drank when I got back to my room. After several violent retches, I swear I’m about to pull a muscle. My palm hits the fiberglass wall, and the puking stops as quickly as it started.
I feel a little better. I breathe in deep, feeling warm steam hit my lungs. And I think about Rigger being here with me and how glad I am that he is.
And then those images of Chris dropping like a corpse to the floor hit me and I silently pray that he is rotting or burning right now, wherever he ended up after leaving his earthly body. At least I take comfort knowing that no woman will ever fall victim to him again.
After drying off, I pull my hair back into a tight bun, still damp. Then I put on a pair of sweatpants with fuzzy socks and a navy-blue tank top. I haven’t finished half a bottle of beer before I remember Ben.
I send Rigger a message, asking if he can give me a rundown of where he’s been tonight.
Private residence in Atwood Village, then popped over to a restaurant for a few hours. Now … looks like he’s at a club in Glendale. Been there for about 30 minutes.
I toss my head back and groan.
