Not now. She cannot break my concentration again. Not tonight, when Rourke is due to die.
The bartender leans in, wiping condensation off the counter as she settles on the stool.
“I was here last night with a group of friends. Do you remember us?”
He squints. “Yeah, four of you. Lots of laughing.”
“That’s us.” Her smile flashes.
I can’t wait to make her smile at me like that.
“Did you notice anyone near us? Watching?”
He stiffens. “Why? Did someone bother you?”
“A man followed me home. He left a note in my mailbox.”
My pulse stutters. Spikes.
The bartender frowns, the towel slowing in his hands. “Jesus, no. I mean, I don’t think so. No one stood out. It was a regular Friday night crowd.”
“No one sitting alone who took notice of us?”
Oh fuck.
“Plenty of loners but nobody creepy. If someone was paying too much attention, I’d have clocked it.”
Bullshit. He wouldn’t clock a damn thing.
Relief threads through me, laced with something darker: possession.
She’s looking for me, and fuck, it’s thrilling.
Laurette studies him, sharp-eyed. “You’re sure?”
He nods, more certain now. “Positive. I’d tell you if something was off.”
A pause. Her jaw flexes. “Thanks.”
“Want a drink? On the house?” he offers.
She shakes her head. “Thanks, but I didn’t come to drink. Just came for information.”
Laurette moves past me, making for the door. The air shifts as she goes, and her perfume catches in my lungs.
I’m here, Laurette. Right here. Closer than you suspect.
She showed up, and now the night tastes different. Sweeter.
I close my eyes for half a second. Just long enough to burn her deeper into my skull. And then I let her go.
My fists unclench, and my breath evens. The leash tightens around my need, because obsession cannot be a distraction.
Tonight is not about Laurette.
It’s about him. And the special gift I’ll have for Holloway when I’m finished with this job.
I spot Rourke in the mirror before I hear him. His shirt is unbuttoned low, collar gaping wide. A gold chain flashes against his chest, a cross dangling heavy at the center.
