Bishop flipped open the wallet first and pushed it over. The driver’s license was easy to read in its plastic sleeve.
“My name is Matthew Bishop. I retired from the San Corvo Police Department five years ago. Since then, I’ve been working as a private investigator.”
He slid a business card from the wallet, then flipped open the second item on the table. A police badge.
Kit averted his gaze from the information. “I told you. I don’t want to know anything.”
“Too late.” Bishop circled around the table and laid a hand on Kit’s shoulder. His grip was deceptively gentle through Kit’s clothes, and the touch lingered on Kit’s skin even after he let go. “You’ve seen my face—you already know too much.”
Bishop left the room for a moment, with the sound of cabinets unlocking and closing. When he returned, he set a thick folder on the table, but didn’t reveal it yet. “I’m going to explain who I am and what I do. What you do with that information will be up to you.”
This had to be some sort of sick game. Kit suddenly missed James, with his unmistakable leer and confident, possessive touch. James’s desires were clear. Simple. A lot easier to deal with than whatever the fuck Bishop was up to.
“I promise I won’t go to the police,” Kit said, and it was probably even true. He didn’t want to get involved in aninvestigation. He didn’t want to be awitness. Better to stay anonymous, flying under the radar, find a different shitty gang to leech from, crash from party to party until—
Whatever the final goal was.
Kit was already starting to forget the smell of blood. The memories of Uncle Ed and the other bodies were blurring. He could shove them aside and ignore them. He could shove everything aside. He would be fine.
Bishop continued, undeterred by Kit’s protests. “Usually, my job means investigating neighborhood disputes and stalking cheating spouses. Tracking down long-lost whoevers. But some of my clients are desperate.” His eyes were like ice. “Real desperate. When the justice system fails, I’m their last resort.”
“People hire you to kill people?” Kit asked, curious despite his best intentions.
“I don’t always agree. Not every case ends in a bullet. That’s part of the service I offer—I’m the judge and the jury. I take that decision off my clients’ hands. Helps them sleep better at night.”
The sunny clock ticked another half minute, as Kit bit back his question.
What about you? How do you sleep at night?
“Was—were the guys you killed today part of a job?” Kit almost slipped and saidUncle Ed. Not many people called him that anymore, and if Bishop was killing Ed’s friends, he didn’t want to seem like he knew Ed Addersen at all.
Bishop tapped the folder. “How much do you know about Ed Addersen?”
“He let me crash after a party, and I just kind of stuck around. That’s all.”
Bishop’s gaze raked uncomfortably over Kit’s body again. “You might be lucky we showed up when we did. He wasn’t thefun kind of drug dealer, and I don’t kill men just for selling weed to high schoolers. Dealing was just how he met the kids.”
Kit’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t known that—but he wasn’t surprised.
Bishop tapped the folder again. “You might have been too old for him, though. I can show you the file, or you can take my word for it.”
“I don’t need to see it,” Kit answered quietly. There was only so much he could shove back at once.
As if confirming he was certain, Bishop paused, but didn’t push him. “I’ve killed a lot of people since I left the force, and all of them have deserved it.” Bishop leaned back in his chair. “As far as I’m aware, you don’t deserve it. So, I’m going to let you go.”
Kit stared into Bishop’s piercing blue eyes. And realized that he had it wrong. The life at stake today wasn’t his. It was Bishop’s.
The driver’s license. The badge. Bishop was giving Kit everything he needed to turn Bishop in.
This time, Kit was the judge and the jury.
Kit’s wrists stung in the handcuffs, and his head felt light and floaty. “You’re really letting me go.”
“I’m really letting you go.” Bishop cracked a sardonic grin. “In a week.”
“Excuse me?”
Bishop stood up. “I can offer my neck for the noose, but not James’s. He has his own burden to carry, and his road isn’t over yet. Don’t expect to get anywhere squealing on him—a week is more than enough time for him to cover his ass, and his lawyers will make your life a living hell.”
