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being recorded.
The trunk of Daisy s Audi pops up with a press of a button, and I ease the body inside. Once the
trunk is shut, I turn to McFadden. Why are you helping me?
I told you. I didn t believe you were the shooter.
But you think I am something. Even as we speak, I am moving back into the building. The
bedroom will need to be remediated with bleach, and I would like to do that before other law
enforcement personnel arrive.
Sure. You have that look.
I stop on the stairs and stare backward. What look is that?
You re always watching. You know who is around you at all times. When I watched you shoot,
you sensed me immediately. And, your precise shots. It all added up to something odd.
I see. I give myself away then.
Yeah, you do.
To everyone?
Maybe not to regular joes, but to someone who is paid to distrust everything and everyone?
Yeah.
Heart heavy, I climb the stairs.
Not everyone is going to assume that you are something bad, he calls after me. Just not a
regular art student.
Halfway up the third floor stairs I remember the printout. It s a way for me to even the scales.
Come then. I have something for you.
Outside the door of my apartment is my abandoned backpack. In it is the sound amplifier. There
is a gun in my pocket and knives in my boots. The entire building is one that I have purchased with
money I earned as a paid assassin. No, I am not a regular art student. I will never be one.
Inside the front pocket, I pull out the sheet and hand it to him. He peruses it silently as we move
to the third floor and into the apartment. I bring with me cleaning supplies and begin to spray the floor
of the bedroom with a mix of bleach, lemon, and water.
Behind me I hear him suck in a breath. A game?
Da, I do not know who these are. Which are playing the computer game and which ones have
taken it off-line. It appears the Mall of America will be targeted next.
Biggest public space, he muses to himself. Did you break any laws to get this? He shakes
the paper at me.
I pretend to look offended. Nyet. It is out in the open. They speak in loose code and believe
they are clever.
Stupid assholes, he mutters. He pulls out his phone. Pierce. McFadden here. I m looking at an
online forum for the new game Hitman. No, I m not playing video games. I think some punks are
playing Hitman in real life. Next stop MOA. I m finishing up a DV and will be in soon. He pauses to
listen and then says, No, the perp ran when the boyfriend of a friend interrupted.
He ends his call just as the sirens signal the arrival of the emergency services.
Before he leaves, I have to know what kind of threat he poses. Why do you not arrest me?
I m interested in justice and keeping the streets safe. How that s done? I m not really interested
in the details. I didn t become a cop because I believe in the badge. I became a cop because it s the
way I can keep those safe who need to be safe, and I get the badge to cover it.
We speak the same language.
You have a Daisy then?
He shakes his head. I wouldn t want a Daisy. No offense. I m not into relationships and
permanent entanglements.
Then what are you fighting for?
He shrugs. What do we all fight for? To make the world a safe place for those we love.
So you have a Daisy but she doesn t love you back?
At this he scowls and turns away, stomping into the living room. No answer is voiced but none
needs to be. His actions speak more loudly than his words.
Chapter 15
Daisy
Trembling, I try to stay out of the way of Nick and the cop as they get to work. I don t like the way
this man moves so casually, helping Nick dispose of a body.
He s got something on us. He could stop our happiness.
My mind s racing with wild thoughts. I want nothing more than for Nick to stop what he s doing
and come hold me. I want him to come and comfort me, to tell me it s all right, that the man holding
me down would never have raped me. That my throbbing cheek won t turn into a bruise where he
struck me. That the idea of him showing up five minutes later was impossible.
Nick would have been there. I know he would have. But I still want him to hold me.
Unfortunately, he s cleaning things up, and so I have to be brave. I move to Christine and try to
rouse her. When Saul found us, he refused to listen to Christine s excuses, her entreaties as to why she
was with me. Saul immediately decked her in the face, knocking her out. Part of me hopes he didn t
kill her, and a small, ugly part of me hopes that he did. Because if Christine is not dead, how do we
explain that Nick killed Saul for her own good? It s clear to me that she still loves that horrible man,
even though he attacked her and then me.
There s a throw pillow next to her head, and I stare at it long and hard. It would be so easy to
push it over her face, to hold it there until she stopped breathing. She d never gain consciousness.
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