Then the smell hits me.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
Heart pounding, I reach for the nearest wall and skim a hand over it until I brush against a light switch. I flick it on, blinding us both.
“A little warning, Nadia.”
I ignore him, blinking into the light, searching the room with my eyes—a toppled chair, dirty laundry in a corner. And that’s when I see it. Seehim.
Crossing the room, I peer into the corners, behind furniture, even look for a hidden camera just in case someone’s thought to place one. Finally, my gaze comes to rest on John. Or the body that used to be John.
He sits in his gaming chair, a black-and-red thing that looks like something out of a futuristic movie. His eyes are wide, staring into absolutely nothing, his hair matted with blood, and right in the middle of his forehead is a hole.
A bullet hole.
“Sweet Jesus.” Brian comes up beside me, raising a hand to his mouth.
“Don’t puke,” I say.
I squat in front of John, peer up at him, take note of every little thing—his desk, a mess with soda cans and a half-eaten bag of chips. A phone that I reach for, tuck into my pocket, because maybe it has his sources in it. But mostly, I look at the man I called my handler for ten plus years, and suddenly, it hits me.
I know who killed him. The bullet wound to the center of the head is the style of exactly one assassin—his trademark, but also, his weakness. It’s him showing off.
So he was headed somewhere, like Victoria said—but apparently, not home.
Ian killed John.But why?
I try to sort it out, coming to only one conclusion: Ian wouldn’t have traveled to the middle of Missouri for anyone but himself. At his core, he’s a selfish person. Which logically means thathe’sthe one who wanted Brian dead, and John knew that. By silencing John, Ian is protecting himself.
But again—why?
On the other side of the room, Brian seems to have gotten control of himself. “Well, I guess it’s over then,” he says. “We can’t ask him anything now.” Something in his voice is off, and I look up, but he’s still green around the gills—he’s not used to seeing dead people. “Guess we’ll never know who it is,” he tacks on.
But Brian is wrong.
I know exactly who put the hit on Brian.Ian.
And despite Brian’s words, nothing is over.
In fact, I’d say things are just getting started.
Chapter Fifty-Six
This time, I bring thechocolate cake.
Gran’s eyes widen as we come through the doorway, all five of us—me, Brian, Piper, Eliza, and Evie. She sits up straighter, adjusts the quilt over her lap.
“Happy birthday, Gamma!” Evie croons, clapping her hands together. “Present?”
“Oh, look at you, sweetheart, ofcourseI have a present for you! Here—” Gran looks around the room as though she might see something appropriate to give a three-year-old. She plucks a tissue from a box and hands it to Evie, who giggles with excitement.
“Gran, it’s important she learn she doesn’t get a present on someone else’s birthday.”
“Mom says you’re turning eighty-six,” Eliza whispers shyly, pressing a finger to Gran’s bedsheets.
“Am I?” Gran’s eyes go wide. At first, I think it’s in mock surprise, but then as she blinks from where she sits in her bed, I realize she doesn’t recognize a single one of us. She’s just playing along, following the script. A cute kid runs in and asks for a present, you give them one. My heart sinks a little, but I press forward.
