Deacon. The Syndicate. Ash.
Ash’s letters. My chest tightens. No.
No. That doesn’t mesh. Doesn’t matter how hard I try to make the pieces fit, they don’t match up right. Ash isn’t Deacon.
And even if he was…it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change anything. He killed them. That’s all that matters.
The need rises again. Hot, sharp, unrelenting.
I need to see him dead.
The mattress shifts, and a small weight lands near my hip. I glance down. The kitten blinks up at me, that little white cross stark against orange fur as he kneads biscuits near my hip.
Innocent. Unaware.
Nash stirs behind me. I go still. His breathing evens out again, slow. Deep.
I slide out from under his arm carefully, the A/C raising immediate goosebumps on my bare flesh as the covers release me.
The kitten follows immediately, a high mew sounding as he chases me from the room.
“Shh,” I whisper, scooping him up. “This idea is bad enough to begin with.”
The gun isin the drawer exactly where I saw Nash putit. So careless. Too trusting. Or maybe he just didn’t think I’d push.
He doesn’t know me that well.
I slide open the drawer, wary of giveaway squeaks, and take the gun. My heart is pounding, too loud, too fast.
Completely alive.
It strikes me that I’ve felt more alive in the past few weeks with these men than I have in my entire life, maybe. And here I am about to ruin it entirely by stealing from them and fleeing like…well, like a thief in the night.
Can’t be helped, I suppose. I firmly believe they’d do the same if they were in my shoes.
I grab my keys, also in the drawer, right where they left them.
How convenient.
Then I sit and power on Nash’s computer, wait until the screen lights up.
Password?A blinking cursor prompts me. Closing my eyes, I let the memory of Nash’s keystrokes wash over me. I type it in.
Once—wrong.
Shit. Again.
Second try—success.
“Yes,” I breathe.
File manager…search.
Deacon.There it is...everything I need. Addresses. Movement. Connections.
If they won’t help me?—
I’ll just help myself.
