Page 30 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

“Lester’s on my list, actually,” I say.

“Mine too. Be a shame if a couple of vigilantes joined forces to take him down, don’t you think?” Gomez’s low voice is casual, but his eyes watch me intently. “And conveniently, Officer Timms is leaving for a tropical vacation next month.”

“Ohhh,” I say, my heart rate picking up. “How long will he be out of town, working on his tan?”

“His house will be completely empty for eight glorious days during the last week in October. And conveniently, my Thursday night’s completely empty that week.”

I bite back a smile. We met in Marshall’s closet on a Thursday, and we’re both here on a Thursday, too. Apparently we have the same convenient night free.

“Wanna find out if he’s as guilty as he looks, Morticia? Unless you’re already booked for ladies’ night.”

Hoping I didn’t visibly startle at his joke landing square on my normal Thursday night murder excuse, I make a show of thinking it over.

“The last Thursday in October? As in Halloween night?” I tap my chin. Honestly, I should feel goofier than I do, flirting behind a mask, but with Gomez, it comes naturally. “Yeah, I think I can cancel trick-or-treating with the girls to join you.”

“Okay then. It’s a date,” he says, sounding downright pleased, and now the mask is doing double duty, hiding my identity and my blush. And does Little Miss Ponies-and-Pedestals have a pre-murder date with Gomez in five weeks? I think not.

I shut down my flustered excitement by focusing on the practicalities, starting with cleaning up after myself.

“I need you to leave so I can finish making my plans before Navarro’s back,” I tell him. But my right shoulder protests when I reach up to climb the wardrobe again. Apparently, my scramble to the top earlier pulled a little too hard on the skin grafts, and I’m reluctant to test their limits for a second time tonight.

A glance at Gomez finds him entirely focused on me, as if he caught my hesitation and is scanning me like a Terminator to see if I’m injured.

Well, that won’t do. I pop a hip and give him sass. Artificially husky-voiced sass, but sass all the same. “Are you gonna watch, or are you gonna give me a boost?”

This sweet lunatic who kisses me through our masks and gets off on a knife to his throat doesn’t stop to ask questions. He just cups his hands and lets me use them as a stairstep. He even turns me so I can grasp the top with my left arm, not my right, which means he’s observant as hell. Another little fact to squirrel away for later.

I want to tell him my shoulder doesn’t usually give me trouble, and I can go whole days without thinking about the scars until they find some way to say, “Hey, you almost died in a fire and came out forever changed, remember?” But that’s, like, a fiftieth orgasm conversation.

“I can’t leave my ass print in the dust up here,” I explain once I’m taller than him again. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to pounce on Navarro the way I did you.”

“I fucking hope not,” he growls, but there’s a grin underneath it. “Does that mean you’re going to roll around for a while?”

“Yes. And you don’t get to watch. This is weird enough without catering to your weirdly specific French-maid kink.”

“How’d you know?” He winks. He winks, and it fucking works.

Before he leaves, he grabs my ankle one more time.

“Hey. Be careful. Navarro’s a big guy, and he’ll be home soon. If you need me for anyth⁠—”

I shut that shit down right away, pulling free of those strong fingers.

“Gomez. It’s handled. I’ll see you next month.”

CHAPTER NINE

Hugo

“So that’s what I need,” I tell Quinn over dinner three days later.

“For the murder you’re doing to distract yourself from the murder your new girlfriend stole from you,” she says.

“Yes.” I don’t bother arguing with her over the girlfriend part. “Oh, and also some kind of chemical compound that attracts cats.”

She drags a fry through the lake of ranch dressing on her plate. “… how many cats?”

“One,” I say. “One specific cat.”