When No One Is Watching(75)

It’s rigor mortis.

I put in her unlock code and our text chat opens on the screen. I finally see the last thing she’d been typing. The unsent message that has been haunting me for days.

Luv u. Im sorrrrrrtttyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

The phone shuts off, and I sit unmoving and unbreathing as the darkness blankets on us both.





Chapter 20

Theo

I HAVE A CERAMIC KNIFE FROM CRATE AND BARREL IN ONE hand and a ridiculously tiny crowbar shoved in my back pocket as I jog across the street—Kim’s vast array of power tools are suddenly put away somewhere instead of lying all over the place and tripping me up. Maybe she thought I would sell them, or more nefariously, maybe she didn’t want me to have anything to defend myself with.

Kim, the woman I thought I could pin my future to.

Kim, who had texted something that made Sydney flee in terror.

Kim, whose father’s name had come up as a VerenTech Pharma shareholder as well as a lawyer for BVT Realty as I’d waited for the water to boil, as Sydney had freaked out and run away.

The iPad is in my other hand, but I haven’t read the messages because I have to go fight a man who’s likely a trained killer with the assistance of a kitchen knife.

Not being able to call the police when you need help really sucks, I’m learning.

I stalk to the house, aware that eyes are on me, tracking me from windows I used to peep into from my own and from the cameras that have popped up on several of the houses. A shadow is silhouetted by the warm lamplight in Melissa’s apartment. The curtains flutter in Josie and Terry’s living room, and Toby barks.

When I get to Sydney’s top step, I push the door open—the wood is splintered around the lock as if someone has forced their way in with a much bigger crowbar than the one I’m packing. I peer into the dark hallway, but can’t see much since dusk has mostly fallen and the place is filled with shadows. My eyes start to adjust, and that’s how I see the wall swing open. That’s how I see a darker shadow slip out.

Sydney.

The iPad pings suddenly, the screen going bright and illuminating me as I instinctively turn it to read the message that’s come in. Sydney’s head whips my way as my eyes skim over the messages, the latest of which is Did you get rid of the skank?

An earlier response from whoever Sydney assumed was me has a knife emoji aimed at a Black woman.

I am holding a knife. Sydney is a Black woman.

Correction: Sydney is an armed Black woman.

“This looks really bad,” I say, holding up the knife and the iPad as she points a gun at me. “I really wish I’d read this beforehand. I would have carried the shovel over instead.”

Her gaze is empty, her expression blank, but her whole body is shaking. “Drop it.”

I put the knife down.

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” I say. “You have the gun, you have the power, we can figure this out once we’re outside.”

Tears spill from her eyes and her expression crumples and then smooths as she battles to keep her composure.

“Did you know about Drea all this time?” She sucks in a breath, and turns the gun from side to side but with the muzzle always pointed at me. “While I worried and checked my phone? While I was pissed off at her for taking their money? Did you know she died like a rat in the wall?”

Her voice fades into a broken, wounded wail, and I understand that something horrifying has happened in the few moments since I talked to her on the phone.

A second shadow moves against the wall near the top of the stairs—someone walking slowly along the second floor landing.

“We need to get out of here,” I press. “Remember? The man who—”

“Did. You. Know?” Her eyes are wild, and I don’t think she even remembers that someone is trying to kill her, or if she does, she’s stopped caring.

“I didn’t,” I say gently. “I’m sorry, but—”

I reflexively chuck the iPad as hard as I can as the shadow takes solid, bulky form at the top of the staircase. I’m sure it doesn’t hurt much as it smacks into the man, but it does the job of knocking him off balance—a bullet bites into the wall to the right of Sydney’s head.

He’s got a gun. With a silencer.

“Motherfucker,” she growls, turning and popping three shots off at him. She isn’t using a silencer, and the sound echoes loudly in the hallway.

The intruder twists and tries to dodge, but the motion paired with at least one bullet hitting him sends him sliding down the steps. I snatch up the knife and run to meet him as he reaches the bottom.

He tumbles ass over feet when he hits the bottom landing, and I jump onto him before he can get his bearings. I straddle his chest with enough force to crush his solar plexus between the steps and my body weight, knocking the wind out of him. His muscles tense beneath me as he pulls against something; his gun hand is between the poles of the banister and in my peripheral vision I see Sydney trying to tug it from his grip.

Shit. One wrong move and he might—

No. She smashes a booted foot into his elbow and I hear him hiss, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

I bring a fist down on his nose and then his windpipe with one hand before plunging the knife into his side with the other. It goes in smoothly, gives barely any resistance as I twist, and I finally understand why Kim paid so much for this thing.