"Film critic by day. Insider trader by night," Cass said.
Lotz-Moore twitched. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Why are you even here?"
"You know why we're here," I said. "We're here because of what you did to my sister. Remember her? Lottie St. James?" I hated saying her name in front of him. He didn't deserve to hear it. I sent her a silent apology.
Lotz-Moore smirked. "No, should I?"
He was trying to be offensive, to make me angry. I saw in his eyes he knew who I was referring to. He remembered the things he did.
That in no way absolved him of his crimes.
He could get on his knees, beg, plead and grovel and he'd still end up the same way. Although, if he wanted to do that, I was here for it. I'd like nothing more than to see him brought to his knees. Unraveling slowly.
Or quickly. Either way.
I wanted him to suffer, but I wasn't a complete sadist.
"You should stop living in the past," he told me. "I thought with two restaurants you'd be too busy to think about something that happened years ago." His eyes swiveled down toward his blade, waiting to make his move. Continuing to talk, in the hope I'd give him a window, an opportunity to lunge at me and drive that knife into my heart.
"Time doesn't take away what you did," I said slowly. "Time won't bring her back. It won't make everything okay."
"A wise person once said if you dwell on hate, it'll eat you alive," he said smoothly. "It might have been a fortune cookie."
He didn't seem to care one way or another "Is that what's happening to you? Is your hate eating you alive?"
"Not really," I said lightly, raising one of my shoulders a little before dropping it back down. "I'm driven by a lot of things: the desire to succeed, to learn, to make good food. Revenge, maybe a little bit of spite thrown in there. I don't hate you."
That seemed to take him by surprise. "Why are you here then, if you don't hate me?"
"To make sure you don't destroy anyone else," I said simply. "So no one can go through what my family went through. What Lottie went through. What I feel isn't hate. It's disgust. Revulsion."
"Do you get off on killing?" Lotz-Moore asked.
"I do," Boner said. "It's an adrenaline rush that turns me on something fierce. The thing is, I haven't felt it for a while." He exhaled dramatically. "Hypnos didn't stick around long enough for me to watch. Inconsiderate, wouldn't you say? Solomon Danforth was more considerate. Much more fun." He winked at me.
"You admit to killing Solomon?" Lotz-Moore asked. His eyes held something, an ulterior motive for asking, beyond stalling and keeping us talking.
"Cass," I said over my shoulder.
"On it." A few moments later, he said, "There were cameras recording everything we were saying, but I've turned them off and wiped them. I'll put them back on when we're done, on a loop. No one will ever know we were here."
I didn't miss a very slight sag of Lotz-Moore's shoulders, but they went right back up again. Determined to somehow get the upper hand on us. He tapped the blade against the palm of his hand and took a few steps away before turning back.
"There's a reason why I asked what brings you here. It's not only because I wanted you overheard. It's because of the gift I set up for you. I was surprised you weren't busy with it."
I turned my head and gave him a side eye. "If I'm supposed to be impressed or scared in some way?—"
He smiled. A flash of triumph passed through his eyes. "I see you're unaware of my little present to you. Perhaps you should go to your restaurant. While some of it remains."
"While—" Archer jerked. He pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen.
"Harlow," he said slowly.
"What is it?" I said on a sigh.
"Angel's Rest is on fire," Archer said reluctantly.
I swallowed and nodded. Of course it was. We knew he'd come after us. It made sense he'd try to hit me where he thought it'd hurt the most.
