Oaths and Omissions (Monsters & Muses #3)(73)

Blinking, I search the angular features of his face—so similar to mine in structure, but more worn from overuse. Like he’s been battling his own storm clouds, and it was long before my sky grew gray.

I’m not sure what to do with his assumption that I’m better, even though I want to believe it. Part of me does, knowing full well that my urges have lessened and the nightmares have ceased.

Still, some traumas weasel their way into your soul, and they don’t ever uproot. No matter how hard you pull or how deep you bury them.

Getting out of the car, I tell Palmer goodbye and make plans to see him again this weekend. Jonas doesn’t appear to be home, so the beach house is dark, and I push my finger into the biometric scanner at the front door, letting it process my print.

An eerie feeling washes down my spine, icy hands skimming along the bone, as I step inside and flip on the lights. Throat tight, I scan the foyer and down the hall, kicking the door shut with my heel.

“Hello?” I call out, in case Jonas is here and I happened to miss his Range Rover.

I’m met with tense silence, and after a moment, I shake off my unease and move on. Like the foyer, the living area and kitchen are empty, and I let out a sigh when I see no signs of intrusion or missing items.

Walking to the windows on the back wall, I draw the curtains over the iron security bars. My stomach growls, begging me to grab a snack, so I pop some popcorn and take it with me to my workspace on the other side of the room.

Bending down, I pull an unopened box of charcoal over and pull my sketchpad from beneath the couch cushion, shoving a handful of popcorn into my mouth.

I’m halfway through chewing, completely concentrated on the piece in front of me, when the office door swings open, and someone who is definitely not Jonas lets out an ear-piercing scream.





34





“How many people are left on this spiritual quest of yours?”

Zipping the black duffel bag closed, I give Alistair a flat look. “You mean the one you paid me to start?”

Taking a big drink from his insulated water bottle, he glances from me to the corpse at our feet. “I don’t remember taking a hit out on the comptroller’s son.”

“Right. Just anyone who might oppose your senate nomination.”

He shrugs, stuffing a hand in the pocket of his athletic trousers. “That’s just good sense.”

Good sense would be leaving me alone right about now, but Alistair’s never been one to observe social cues. Not because he can’t read them, but because ignoring them makes people uncomfortable, and he loves having an edge.

And the gossip blogs wonder why he hasn’t dated in over a year. Not since his boyfriend went off to become a stuntman in Vancouver and broke his heart.

Made him meaner.

Having just left the gym, Alistair insisted on stopping by my house upon seeing me parked outside for the first time in weeks.

“In any case,” he says, rolling back on his heels, “there’s been a massive rise in missing person reports lately. Chief of Police called me yesterday, asking if I’d be willing to make a statement on it.”

“So?”

“So, are you trying to tell me it’s a coincidence that the missing people are all connected to a Mr. Preston Covington?”

“I think it’s interesting that you seem to have so much information about a case you say you were just told about a day ago.”

“Due diligence, little brother.” He watches as I bend down with a nylon rope, maneuvering the comptroller’s son—whose name I’ve already forgotten—into the fetal position. “But truly, what’s your endgame here?”

“None of your bloody business.”

His eyes narrow. “See, that’s not true, is it? Our fates are quite intertwined, Jonas. You get into trouble, and it inevitably bleeds over to me. I’m the one who stands to lose something from the fallout.”

Clenching my jaw, I cinch the rope tight, tying the corpse’s wrists to his knees before rigor mortis can set in. “There won’t be any fallout from this. It’s just a little rubbish pickup.”

“For your fake girlfriend?”

“Fiancée,” I snap. Alistair’s head cocks to the side, and I kick myself internally. Why does the distinction matter when it’s all pretend, anyway? “It’s not anything she asked me to do.”

“Oh, good. You’re just killing on another’s behalf without even telling them first. I’m sure that’ll be a great addition to the vows at your imaginary wedding. Have you completely abandoned the list I gave you?”

Blowing out a breath, Alistair drags a hand through his inky hair and stalks to the kitchen sink off the living area. He dumps the remaining water in his bottle, then refills it from the tap before returning to my side.

“What’s gotten into you?” I ask, dragging the folded corpse into the corner where a hollowed-out concrete block sits on a plastic tarp. “You’re dodgier than normal.”

“I’m fine. Just a bit concerned you’re losing sight of our long-term goals.”

It takes some serious finagling, but I manage to stuff the dead bloke’s body into the block, then reach for the blue plastic wheelbarrow at my side. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, I check the consistency of the concrete batch I made just before Alistair showed, then aim the mouth of the barrow at the container.