Her pulse rate increased. She took a slow step back. “I just assumed you did.” Had she actually asked? Lance had mentioned the senator being a jerk while they were out, but he had never specifically said Jack was there. “You and Peter didn’t go?” she asked carefully.
“Peter went.” Jack swayed on the exam table. “Peter never misses time with the senator. I stayed here. Don’t you get it?”
“No,” May said, easing backward another step. He was beyond drunk. His words were slipping over each other. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re talking about?”
When he looked up at her, his eyes were raw and tortured. “Don’t you get it?” he said again. “I dropped off Kyle and Peter before heading back to the house to work. And drink. When I was done, I went over to Ivy’s. She was tipsy, I was drunk, and I trusted her. I thought I could tell her anything.”
May’s throat went dry. “Wait. Slow down. This isn’t making sense.” She reached behind her for the doorknob, her fingers brushing cool metal, and twisted it quietly. The latch released. “You can’t be the killer. You were fishing all night with Ivy when Laura died, so it couldn’t have been you.”
Jack slid off the table and stood, wavering. “I didn’t kill Laura.”
Relief flickered through May. Maybe it was the drugs talking. The guy wasn’t making sense.
“I killed Ivy.”
The air thickened around her. “Why?” May whispered. The door was open now, just a crack. If she needed to run, she could.
“Because I told him to.” The statement came from behind her.
She yelped and jerked the door wide, ready to scream, but the sound died in her throat when she saw the gun in Kyle’s hand. It was black and unnervingly steady, with a long metal tube extending from the end of it, making the weapon look longer than it should have been. The dark opening at the front was aimed directly at her solar plexus.
“Kyle,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” His tone was almost conversational. He shifted the gun and aimed it at Jack instead.
Jack’s shoulders collapsed. “I can’t keep the secret,” he sobbed. “I shouldn’t have killed her. I shouldn’t have listened to you. Politics isn’t that important. I just can’t keep it.”
“I know,” Kyle said calmly. He pulled the trigger, and the shot made a dull, suppressed thud.
May gasped.
Jack’s body snapped backward, eyes wide in shock before he crumpled to the floor. Blood spread fast across the linoleum, dark against the pale tile.
May shifted toward the open doorway.
Kyle swung the gun back toward her. “Now,” he said, his smile terrifying, “we need to have a conversation.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Jesus Christ.” Peter burst into the hallway and shoved May backward into the exam room, grabbing Kyle by the arm and dragging him inside. He kicked the door shut behind them. “What did you just do?”
May stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the counter. Her gaze locked on the gun. The long metal tube at the end of it looked obscene now, unreal. “What is that thing?”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “Shut up. You’ve already caused enough trouble.”
Peter slapped both hands over his face and dragged them down. “I can’t believe you just shot Jack, and where in the hell did you find a suppressor?”
“I’m inventive,” Kyle snapped.
May moved on instinct and dropped to her knees beside Jack. She pressed two fingers against his carotid artery and counted, then shifted to his radial pulse, already aware of what she would find. There was nothing. The entry wound sat just left of center, and the amount of blood loss combined with the location indicated a direct cardiac strike. The injury was not survivable. He was gone.
“Guess he’s not talking now,” Kyle said.
May looked down at her own hand, slick with blood. Her stomach turned, but her mind was suddenly very clear. She pushed herself backward on her heels. “I don’t understand.”
Peter stared at Kyle as if he had never seen him before. His blondish-gray hair was disheveled, his face drained of color. “You shot him. How could you do that?”
“What else was I supposed to do?” Kyle snapped. “He wouldn’t shut up.”
