Page 152 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

She dramatically drops her head onto her folded arms on top of the table while I pat her back. This is her “joking, but really I’m not” register; the time she’s spent on the forum has been a genuine strain on her usually sunny disposition.

“You are owed so many spa days,” I tell her. “And look at it this way: if it’s done right, a confession’s the one thing his police buddies and his union can’t cover up.”

“Not a confession.” Hugo’s voice is distant as his wheels keep turning. “What we want is a Socratic apology.”

His eyes go hazy as he thinks, and fuck me, this man makes planning an airtight murder unbearably sexy.

“Socrates, huh?” Quinn says as she pulls bowls from their new home in Felicity’s rearranged kitchen. “If you want true authenticity, I’ve got hemlock.”

Hugo frowns. “You do?”

“It’s what I use in the paralytic I made for him.” She jerks her head toward Pell. “I assume Rue has one of the injector pens.” She starts ladling out the steaming potato, tomato, sausage paprika stew, and Hugo stands to distribute the bowls.

“The dial-a-dose is hemlock?” It still blows my mind that the chemicals I’ve been using for years are courtesy of Hugo’s bestie.

“Yep. One of my patents is for a compound that enhances the effects of alkaloids like coniine. And actually…” She joins us at the table, reaches into her massive canvas bag, and produces a tube of lipstick. “I’ve been working on a new delivery mechanism.”

When she hands it to me, I pull off the top and grin at the vivid red inside. “Oooh, is this your color?”

Quinn’s straight brows meet over the bridge of her nose. “I don’t have a color.”

“Well, it’s definitely mine,” I say happily.

“Then you’ll be glad to know that’s the safe end,” she says. “Works like any other lipstick in your makeup kit: twist it up, twist it down, get your mouth pretty for your man, woman, theydy, or gentlethey.”

“And the other end?” I flip it over and study the sticker on the bottom with the color name printed on it. “Femme Fatale.”

“Seemed fitting.” Quinn’s bare lips twitch into a small smile. “Rotate the dial counterclockwise one, two, or three clicks. The injector’s loaded in the base and will spring once it’s dialed up and pressed against your target.”

“I love it.” I clutch the tube to my chest. “Can I keep it?”

“Only if you’re careful.” Quinn scowls and pries my fingers loose so the lipstick’s gently resting in my palm. “The tube itself won’t break if you drop it or shake it, but since it’s a prototype, I can’t vouch for how the seals will hold under stress.”

I look at the object in my hand in fascination, but Hugo’s the one who speaks.

“So there’s a chance it could get jostled, the seals could fail, hemlock could leach into the lipstick, and someone using the safe end could accidentally take themselves out in the name of beauty?”

“Pretty much,” Quinn says. “You have to be delicate.”

I bounce in my chair. “I only got to use the original injector once. A single click.” I point at Pell. “On him.”

Pell lifts his head, spoon hanging from his lips, already halfway through his bowl, and Quinn’s face splits into the first real smile I’ve seen from her.

“You just made my entire year.” Then she’s back to her deadpan self. “You should’ve used all three.”

“Aw, Quinnie, you said that third click might be fatal,” he says.

“And?” She raises her brows at him before turning to the rest of us. “Apologies, by the way. Potato paprikash should really be served with pickles.”

Three hours later, we have full bellies, licked-clean bowls, a pile of flicked pistachios in front of Hugo, and a plan. It’s risky, and it relies on far more luck than any of us is comfortable with, but it’s a goddamn plan.

“I still say it’s better if I go in alone,” Hugo says.

My mouth flattens. “The plan takes both of us.” Then I narrow my eyes at him. “And you need to promise to keep your cool. The last time somebody held a gun to my head, you almost got us both killed.”

“What’s that, now?” Quinn asks mildly as she finishes loading the dishwasher.

“Tell you later,” Fi says. “Love your boots, by the way.”