He nods.
“That still doesn’t explain how you know about his friends. I never told anyone.”
“You didn’t have to,” he says. “Royce has notes of his own.”
Notes?
Jesus, I don’t even want to think that could be real.
“How can I be sure that any of what you are saying is even true?” I ask him. “I mean, do they even let amputees into the FBI academy?”
“There was a case a few years ago,” he tells me. “A wounded veteran. It set a precedent. As long as I am fully capable of performing my duties, then it’s not an issue.”
It sounds legit, but I don’t know. I don’t know what to make of this guy at all.
“Why were you watching Royce?” I ask.
“I had suspicions about him. Most were unsubstantiated. I didn’t want to bring them forward to the bureau until I was certain.”
“And you are telling me this why?”
I know why, but fuck. I need to hear him say it. I need him to tell me how screwed I am.
“I don’t blame you for wanting them dead,” he says. “They deserve it, for what they did to you.”
I stare past him, so I don’t have to see his eyes. So I don’t have to witness the expression on his face while he talks about my past.
“I don’t know what happened to Ethan,” he continues, “but I highly suspect it wasn’t a robbery. And as for Trip? His overdose is questionable, but not unlikely either, given his history of drug abuse.”
I wait for the hammer to fall. Either he’s going to blackmail me, or he’s going to send me packing in an orange jumpsuit.
“Royce is growing reckless. And he has a pervasive obsession with you that’s only getting worse by the day.”
I do meet his gaze this time. And I put it into words he can understand.
“You’ve been to war,” I say. “You know some people are so fucked in the head the only humane thing to do is put them down.”
“That might be true,” he agrees. “But this isn’t a war zone, Tenly. And I can’t allow you to kill him.”
I feel it happening. The bricks and mortar of my carefully constructed house of revenge crumbling in on themselves. He’s taking this away from me, and I hate him for it.
“So what do you suggest?” I bite back. “Just let him kill me? That’s the way these things usually end. You want to tell me to get a restraining order and wave it in his face when he comes for me?”
“That depends,” he answers. “Tell me about Kylie and her friend Katie.”
I look away. But there is no hiding my reaction. Booker isn’t a businessman looking for a cheap thrill.
He’s got me cornered, and he knows it.
“I want to put him away for good,” he says. “But I need your help to do it.”
“Nuh-uh.” I shake my head. “No fucking way. Are you kidding me? You think prison is going to stop him? If he even makes it to prison. I know how these things work, okay. You’re asking me to get up on a stand and testify against him?”
“And Quinn, and Duke.”
“This is a goddamn joke,” I mutter. “Do you know what the likelihood of winning that case would be? There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell. There’s no evidence. It’s just my word against theirs.”
“There’s also a journal,” he tells me. “Trip wrote everything down. A confession.”
