Attest (Centrifuge Duet Book 2)(19)
I’d bet my left ball that the adults in the cars breathe a sigh of relief when their parent’s mansion is out of view. Honestly, I thought Amber’s parents were cold. Judge and Mrs. McManus make the St. George’s look positively warm in comparison. The tail lights from the departing vehicles are still lighting up the distance, yet Mrs. McManus is already climbing the curved staircase to the second floor with her bag of half-finished crochet pieces in her arms and the light to the judge’s office on the bottom floor has been switched on. Moments later, the side service door bangs shut and the maid whistles as she walks down the drive.
That’s my cue. My targets are alone.
Standing tall for the first time since I arrived here two hours ago, I make my way round to the French doors that the Judge and his son entered through barely fifteen minutes ago. It had been a gamble to trust that they’d leave their back door unlocked, like most older folk who live in good neighbourhoods, but it had paid off. My own parents would never consider going about their business with their house unsecured—day or night—however they don’t live in a community where the lowest priced houses still fetch over a million dollars.
Different strokes for different folks and all that.
I reach for the brass handle and catch sight of my exposed hand. Thankfully I pause before I touch anything. Grinding my teeth, I set my backpack down and ransack through the contents until I find the black gloves and knitted balaclava that I’d packed for tonight—all supplies courtesy of the false backed cupboard in the laundry of the beach house. B had graciously texted me about its existence after I’d spent an hour trying to work out how I was going to get my hands on an illegal weapon. Her glee at my distress could almost be seen coating the instructions that had blinked at me from my phone.
“Welcome to amateur hour, folks,” I grouse to myself as I wrestle the balaclava over my head. Once my gloves are in place, I reach for the handle once again. Lightly pressing it down, I hold my breath while I wait to see if it’s going to make a noise and alert the occupants to my presence.
“Thank the Lord for well-oiled hinges,” I say as I pull the door open.
Slipping inside, I close my eyes for a second once I’ve shut the door and conjure a mental image of the houses blueprint that I spent most of today trying to memorise. The judge’s office is the second door off the main downstairs living area.
Either the judge or his wife have kindly left one of the floor lamps in the living area on for me. It illuminates the short hall which leads to Judge McManus’ office so I use its light to navigate the living room as I head toward the Judge.
Now, you may be wondering why I’m offing him first. As a novice assassin, it would make sense to start with the weaker spouse, but I don’t have it in me. Technically, she’s innocent. Mrs. McManus hasn’t done a thing to me and her actual involvement in the whole Centrifuge debacle is only based on B’s word.
So, Judge McManus is first.
My first victim.
I’ll get rid of the guilty party before I move on to the less guilty.
That thought makes my brain backflip in my skull.
How the hell did I end up here? Making decisions about which person I’m going to kill first.
“I understand what you’re saying, Henry,” the Judge’s words become clearer as I near his office door. “Yes, Malcolm has already contacted me to assure me that he had nothing to do with what happened at the opening. I want to believe you, but I don’t understand how you expect me to accept that a dead woman and the man I put in jail for murdering her are behind all of this.”
Edging closer so I can hear better, I almost jump out of my skin when my elbow knocks a large vase that stands on a hallstand to my left. It clangs. I pivot and catch it at the last moment and set it back in place.
Crisis averted, I resume my original position.
If only my pumping heart and surging adrenaline was so easy to fix.
“My head is the one on the chopping block here,” Judge McManus growls down the phone. “I’ve invested everything I have in this drug. I’ve put my career on the line to help you lock up your fall guy, so I don’t appreciate seeing my name splashed across the front pages of the papers as part of some conspiracy to make money off the suffering of people who are losing their damn minds!”
The door is slightly ajar, and my curiosity is piqued enough that I’m willing to risk him discovering that I’m here by moving closer. B was right. Her plan to divide and conquer is working. They’re turning on each other.
“No,” he spits the word with hostility down the line. “I am not going to sit tight and wait for you to bring me answers. It will take me exactly one phone call and thirty-thousand dollars to find out what prison this Barrett character is currently held in, in order to have him eradicated, once and for all. I’m an idiot for letting myself believe that you had this under control.”
Pure rage churns within me at his words. The evil intent that he’s sent out into the universe eases my conscience. I am the injured party here—the innocent lamb who has been led to the slaughter by these power-hungry monsters. Right now, in this moment of clarity, I wish they were all in front of me because I would slaughter them without a second thought.
They deserve what’s coming.
The judge slams down the phone and throws his head back against the head rest of his big leather chair. Eyes closed, the judge lets out a long sigh that fills the office. I decide that it’s my sign. I pull the carving knife free from the side pocket of my backpack and push open the office door.