In the six months since Asher died, no one has even attempted to take my life. Whatever bounty he mentioned must no longer exist. Maybe it had been cancelled or expired after Asher’s death, or maybe they’re biding their time, and this is it for me.
I may have invited my killer to sit with me.
“You worked with Asher, right?” I ask, my eyes now on Asher’s name.
“I did.”
A simple response. Maybe she doesn’t talk much. Or maybe she doesn’t talk much with her targets.
Maybe she’s grieving, Ella.
“Are you here to kill me?”
Her silence sends tiptoes of anticipation down my spine. The breeze picks up a strand of her hair, and she tucks it behind her ear.
“No,” Monty says quietly. “I came to see Asher.”
Am I naïve for believing another killer? Probably. But I do, anyway. We sit quietly, me stroking Motor’s head, Monty leaning back on her hands and staring at the headstone.
Then something occurs to me.
“Were the flowers from you?”
Monty finally locks eyes with me. “Flowers?”
“Asher knew I loved orchids, and I found one on my porch last night. It wasn’t you?”
It feels like too much of a coincidence for it not to be. To have two reminders of Asher in less than eighteen hours is strange.
“It wasn’t me.” She sits up and dusts off her hands. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“Why?”
“Because whether they want to get to Gable, get your bounty, or get that hard drive, you’re in danger. And Asher would want you safe.”
So, the bounty is still on my head. How is that possible? Six months and not a single attempt on my life. Either assassins are lazy as hell, or they suck at their jobs. Sure, I’m living with the chief of police, but I still go places alone. Unless my dad is having me followed more than he’s let on, which is always a possibility. Maybe the police presence is keeping me safer than I realized.
“What hard drive?” I ask. “Is that the thing Barnaby had?”
“The less you know, the better, Bambi,” Monty says. “Come on, I’ll walk you and the mutt back to your car. I don’t want Asher haunting me if someone slits your throat.” She stands. “And this coat is Prada. Blood will never come out of it.”
“How … sweet.” I stand and fold the blanket. I touch the headstone once, squeezing the smooth edges of the marble.
We walk back to the parking lot in silence. Motor slinks sadly by my side, head down, not even sniffing thegrass. He hops into the front seat of my car robotically and sighs before I close the door.
I need to cheer this damn dog up.
“Listen,” Monty says. “I’m not a sentimental person. I don’t believe in heartfelt rubbish, and I certainly don’t like you, but I know Asher did, for some reason. So don’t die, okay?”
It feels like talking to Gable, and I suddenly miss his annoying ass more than ever.
“I’ll try not to die,” I say.
“Good. At least I’ve said it. Now if youdo, my conscience is clear.” Monty looks up at the sky. “Hear that, Asher? That’s how much I love you, you tool.”
I smile. For someone who doesn’t believe in heartfelt bullshit, she’s certainly acting like someone who does.
“Don’t smile at me, heathen,” Monty says, narrowing her eyes. “Who knows how long this will last? Next time you see me …” She runs her finger across her throat, but I grin. “What?Stop smiling.”
