Taking a dirty t-shirt from the top of a pile of laundry in the corner, I wipe down my fingerprints. Luckily, I’d used gloves putting the bullets in, so the police will think the gun was Zach’s. A suicide. It might not be a perfect angle to shoot, but hopefully it’s convincing enough for them not to go looking for the real killer.
Me.
I drop the gun by his right hand. Judging by where his mouse is, Zach’s right handed.
And I plant two more items. An empty Epi-Pen box without a label, like he’d stolen it form God knows where. I toss it on top of his dresser like some discarded, useless piece of trash. Luckily Zach is a bit of a pig, and I nearly stumble on a half-drunk Mountain Dew bottle before I make my way over to his closet. I grab the Ziploc bag from the waistband of my pants and yank it open, slipping the rest of the lunch invitations for the Committee members and stow them in the corner of his closet.
I return to his monitors, watching Grover fall to the floor, the tips of Daphne’s shoes just visible on the edge of the frame. I need to go and find out what the hell’s happened to her.
The dog tags have me curious. I’m usually not one for souvenirs, but this feels like a victory in a way the otherkillings never had. This time, it feels like Daphne is safe and the world’s right again. I tuck his dog tags in my pocket.
I grab the lighter and walk downstairs. If there’s one thing interior designers love, it’s scented candles.
In the living room, I spot two Warm Vanilla Sugar candles on a bookcase. I light them, setting them back on the shelves alongside memoirs and biographies I doubt Zach ever read. The flames dance in the otherwise dim living room.
Quickly, I head into the kitchen. I love fancy gas stoves. Rich people always spring for the best of the best. I turn the red knobs to start the gas, but it doesn’t ignite.
Already, the smell permeates through the kitchen, and I rush to the front door. Before I open it, I tap on my phone screen and send a power outage around the block. Then I pull off my mask and shove it beside the Winchester in my hoodie pocket. I lock the front door behind me. You know, intruders. Can’t be too careful
I peel my gloves off and cram them into my hoodie before getting into my car. The engine hums to life, and the Toyota pulls away from the tight parking space. Once I’m a few blocks safely away from Zach’s house, I return their power.
A powerful boom rattles the airwaves, making drivers in front of me slam on their brakes in shock.
An orange fireball brightens the sky.
Not such a fan of my explosions now, are you, Zach?
As people hurry out of their cars to watch the sky fill with smoke, my phone rings.
Daphne!
Finally.
I stay seated in my car. Not like I can go anywhere with these people rushing out of their cars to watch the fireballilluminate half of Baltimore. My muscles pulse with relief and adrenaline as I answer her.
“Daphne?”
“Tristan?” God, I’ve never been so glad to hear my name—tears well at the corners of my eyes.
“I saw what happened, Princess. Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Her voice is hoarse, like she’s been crying, but no one’s done anything to help her. Someone better get my woman a damn glass of water or something. “The Secret Service is escorting me home. I’m waiting for Dad’s doctor to finish checking on Mom.”
“Alright,” I tell her. “I’ll meet you at home.”
Home. I need to get the fuck out of here. I need to beat her and the Secret Service back to the house. “Hey, Daph?”
“Yeah, Tris?”
“I didn’t want to say it over the phone, but I need you to know. After everything that’s happened today. No holding back.” I take a deep breath. “I love you, Daphne.”
Silence stretches until Daphne’s soft voice floats through my Bluetooth speakers. “I love you too, Tristan. I’ll see you at home.”
She ends the call, and I’m smiling like an idiot. My girlfriend loves me. I drive off, away from the smoky sky and fire destruction I’ve left behind, and head straight home.
After a quick stop for roses. After all, the woman I love loves roses.
CHAPTER FORTY
