“Then what’s the point?” I complain.
Hunter sighs as he loads up another magazine with bullets. “They’ll guard exits and entrances. No one gets near you without being vetted thoroughly. We’re not playing fast and loose with your safety.”
“What about the Rose and Gold Gala tomorrow night,” Rory adds as he slides a magazine into the grip part of the gun.
"Fuck." Hunter growl out as he sets down his gun, rests his hands on his hips, and tilts his head toward the ceiling with asigh. “That’s not enough time to run background checks on all the guests.”
“The what and what gala?” I ask, looking at all three of them for an answer.
“Rose and Gold Gala,” Luke responds, holstering his gun at his waist. “It’s a function we have to attend. We show up, donate some money, make small talk while we pretend to like people, then leave.”
Hard pass. It sounds like a place where everyone drinks nasty champagne, wears insanely expensive clothes, and the judgment, along with subtle digs, run rampant.
I do a slow blink. “I’m sure you three will have a lovely time. Hollis and I can?—”
Hunter’s attention snaps in my direction as he interjects, “You’re coming with us.”
Shaking my head, I take a step back. “No, thank you. I’ll wait here. I got the whole A-Team at my beck and call, apparently.” I wave my hand toward the elevator where Hollis exited earlier.
Luke wraps his hand around my upper arm and pulls me back toward them. “Oh, you’re coming. If I have to go, you have to go.”
“Why do any of us have to go?” I throw my hands down at my sides.
“Because attending these things ensures our clients, who run in these circles, renew their contracts,” Hunter lectures.
Thinking I have a valid excuse, I shoot back, “I don’t have a dress.”
Hunter raises his brows and shifts his weight, leaning toward me. “Yes, you do. You bought three when you tried to max out my credit card.”
My cheeks warm in embarrassment. “Oh. Right.”
Not my finest moment.
“I’ll be sure to make it up to you, Heartbreaker.”
“Me too,” Rory and Luke add together.
Rory pulls a scrap of paper out his pocket and holds it up. “We need to talk about this new note.”
Luke snatches it from Rory. “It’s fucked up. Unclean hands clearly refer to us.”
Hunter takes his turn looking it over next. “What about ‘time of cleansing?’”
I don’t need to look at the note again. Each is seared in my brain. “John bathed his victims in bleach, rather, he ‘baptized’ them. Then he’d write on the wall in their blood, ‘she has been cleansed.’ I think he means to do the same,” I theorize.
“But Shepherd left a cup, not a bathtub,” Luke rebuts. “He intended for you todrinkthe bleach, not swim around in it.”
Hunter rubs his chin and points to me. “This raises the possibility that Shepherd and the copycat are one and the same.”
“Or it’s two people working together,” Rory adds.
My shoulders tensely raise, then drop dramatically. “Or it’s not connected whatsoever, and you’re all overreacting.”
Rory tilts his head to the side. “Mmm. No. I’m going with option B.”
My fingers rub my eyes, trying to dispel the stress. “You’re all impossible.”
“You mean impossibly sexy?” Rory smirks.
