A Chip and a Chair (Seven of Spades, #5)(70)

“Yes.”

She didn’t seem to plan on saying anything more, but he glowered at her in silence until she gave in. Sighing, she dragged over one of his dead captors’ chairs, sat in front of him, and crossed her legs, resting her gun on her top knee.

“I didn’t think I’d do it again, you know. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, a perfect storm of circumstances that couldn’t be repeated. But once I knew what it felt like . . .” She paused, gazing into the distance. “I couldn’t forget. It gnawed at me all the time, and the more I tried to ignore it, the worse it got. I had to capture that feeling again.”

“The feeling of power over life and death?” Levi said in disgust.

She made a face. “No. The feeling of seeing true justice done.”

“Vigilante murder isn’t justice.”

“And what is justice? A violent man escaping punishment altogether thanks to an expensive lawyer, or a mistake by the officer who arrested him? A rapist serving a handful of years in prison before being released for good behavior? Every day, people ruin others’ lives with little to no consequences. Being the one to set that right, to balance the scales-it was a satisfaction I’d never known.”

He’d had this argument with the Seven of Spades more than once. It was bizarre to hear the other side in Natasha’s melodic voice, rather than the grating electronic tones of her voice-changer.

“So you kept doing it.” He sorted the timeline in his head now that he knew the truth. “You found people who you believed deserved to die, killed them, and buried them in the desert. At first you stabbed them, the same way you’d killed Merritt, but when you realized you could use ketamine to immobilize your victims, it made it possible for you to slit their throats instead, which you found more gratifying. How am I doing?”

She inclined her head. “Accurate so far.”

“Now, here’s the problem, Natasha.” He leaned forward. “If all you really cared about was enacting old-school, Biblical justice, you would have just kept secretly burying your victims in the desert. Or you would have made their deaths look like suicides, accidents, random acts of violence-anything that would prevent suspicion from interfering with your crusade. You wouldn’t have started dropping playing cards on their corpses like a motherfucking psycho!”

Though his voice had risen to a shout, Natasha was unfazed. She waited with an indulgent air while he reined himself back in.

“The only reason you would do that was if killing alone wasn’t enough anymore,” he said. “You needed people to know what you were doing. You wanted credit for it.”

“Is it so unusual for a person to want their hard work acknowledged?” she asked, shrugging one shoulder.

“When that ‘hard work’ is slitting throats? Yeah, it’s a little out there.” He scoffed, deep and contemptuous. “I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: there is a sickness inside you that’s driven you to escalate things every single step of the way. Every murder had to be more dramatic than the one before. Every contact with the public or law enforcement had to be showier, more outrageous.”

Natasha was scowling at him now, but that only spurred him on.

“It wasn’t enough for you to be a killer. You had to be immortalized: a boogeyman, a national sensation, a living legend. The Seven of Spades.” With a shake of his head, he sat back in his chair. “That’s the kind of personality disorder that would take years to unpack. I doubt you truly care at all what your victims have done.”

“That is not true.” For the first time, irritation sparked in Natasha’s voice, and her posture stiffened. “I’ve never killed an innocent person. I wouldn’t.”

“Would Keith Chapman agree with that?”

She recoiled like he’d shoved her, her nostrils flaring. “I didn’t kill Keith.”

“You framed him for your own crimes. You were his counselor. He trusted you, and you poisoned him-with the baked goods you bring to the office, I’m assuming?” Levi saw her subtle flinch and nodded. “You pumped him full of drugs, gaslighted him, and brainwashed him into believing he was a serial killer. He committed suicide, but you may as well have pulled that trigger yourself.”

Natasha leapt from her chair, agitated, and paced behind it.

“You betrayed him.” Levi wanted to rend and wound with every word. “Aren’t you guilty of the very sin you punish in others?”

She whirled around. “Keith was weak. He was supposed to be a temporary diversion, a smokescreen. The case against him would have fallen apart in days, and he would have been fine. I couldn’t have known he’d give up so easily.”

“What about me, Natasha?” Levi’s fury was receding, retreating to the deep well at his core where it always lived. Left in its place was nothing but a crushing hurt. “What did I do to deserve the pain you’ve caused me?”

“Levi . . .” The anger drained from Natasha’s body, and she looked at him with sorrow in her eyes. “Everything I’ve ever done has been to help you.”

His mouth fell slack. That wasn’t a line she was spouting, or a game she was playing: she believed it. He could hear the sincerity ringing in her voice.

As he searched for a response, she jerked and turned her head to the side, touching her ear.