I tap the photo thoughtfully against my opposite thumb, chewing on my lip.
Until now, I had come no closer to learning who was responsible for the murders of my family, other than that distinctive tattoo and the name Deacon.
Years had gone by with no mention of him. Every now and then I got Joss to do a half-hearted dark web search to see if anything new had turned up regarding his location, but it’s as if he was a ghost. Last time I checked, Joss told me the man was likely either dead or in prison—no one could possibly hide that well.
It didn’t do me any good to hire someone to kill the man if I couldn’t find him, so I never called on any of the contract killers on the list. I didn’t know if any of the numbers even still worked.
But now this.
What you seek.
What the hell was that supposed to mean, exactly? Apparently Midnight was connected to Noir in some way…was it possible thatDeaconwas there, too?
And who the hell knew I wanted someone dead? What else did they know?
Swallowing down my unease, I lick my lips and slide the photo back into the envelope, then grab my backpack-slash-purse from my locker. It could be a coincidence.
I don’t believe in coincidence.
Back home inthe seventh-floor brownstone I rent in Pullman, I drop my bag inside the door and collapse on the bed. I take long enough to dash off a text to Joss?—
Has anyone been asking about me? Have you TOLD anyone anything about me? Got a weird package today. —R
—and then collapse with a groan of bone-deep fatigue. I love my job, but it’s exhausting. I’m too tired to even think about the soap opera my life is turning into.
I’m almost asleep when I remember my shoes and have to sit up to shove them off. Daylight seeps in around the edges of the blackout shades, reminding me that it’s still daytime, and the sounds of traffic filter up from the street below.
With a sigh, I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head to cut some of the light.
This is as good as it gets. If I could stay awake longenough to get naked, that would be fabulous, but it’s not going to happen.
And a cat…a cat would be great as cuddle company during daytime naps, but I’ve never felt I was home enough to get one. Ah, well. Maybe one day.
I had one, once. Mr. T. An orange and white stripey thing, with a white cross on his forehead, sweet and goofy and friendly. I was petting him that night…
Mr. T wouldn’t stop lickingmy face.
I loved his kitty kisses, but I had just fallen asleep, and he woke me up. My sister, Delia, was having a sleepover with her friend Dani, and they’d kept me up for hours with their talking and giggling.
It was very annoying. Even more so because Delia was my twin, and twins should stick together. Delia was acting like she didn’t even want me around when her friend was here.
“Stop it, Mr. T,” I said, giving him a quick kiss of my own. He purred louder and burrowed into my armpit beneath the blanket.
At least he hadn’t abandoned me.
Then, with his purring muffled by covers, I heard it. An out-of-place noise, a thud like that time Mr. T pushed the pot roast onto the floor. It was followed by a squeal, quickly cut off.
I grew still, listening.
Was it…yes. There were voices. They sounded far away, but it was probably because of the doors and walls, and because I was upstairs. They sounded like grown-ups. Men.
“Mreowww.”
Mr. T poked his head from beneath the covers and pawed at me.
“Shh!”
As quietly as I could, I climbed from the bed and padded softly to the door connecting my bedroom to Delia’s. With a turn of the knob, I pushed it a few inches open and peered in. My eyes widened as I saw the empty double bed.
