Page 42

Fuck.

Eleven years working for the bastard, and I’ve never fucked up. Until now.

“There was a complication.”

“What kind?”

“Unexpected witness.”

Silence.

“You don’t have unexpected witnesses.”

“I did tonight.”

“Did?”

“He’s dead.”

Another pause.

“Did you take care of it?”

“No. I got... stabbed.”

Fuck. It’s humiliating admitting that.

“Jesus Christ.” I can hear his boots as he paces. “Your blood at the scene?”

“Yes.”

I should’ve handled the witness, called Bishop, and gotten the cleaner there before I left.

But I didn’t do any of that.

“What the fuck, McConnell?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, knowing it’s about to get worse.

“Why the fuck didn’t you call me immediately?”

“I was trying to get to my truck to do that.”

“And?”

Here we go.

“There was someone else.”

“Someone else?”

“A woman found me after I left the property.”

“She saw your face?”

She saw a helluva lot more than that.

“Yes.”