My phone is pressed to my ear, as I listen to Nero talk forever about his stupid dog. Like that little mutt will ever be impressive compared to Duke.
“I keep telling you,” I roll my eyes, “take that little turd to training classes.”
“He’s not a little turd,” Nero snaps back, making me laugh.
“One large black coffee and a large coconut honey latte,” a kid with suspenders calls out from the end of the counter.
I use my shoulder to pin my phone against my ear and pick up the drinks. The thin cardboard sleeve makes the cups warm, but not too hot to carry. And considering the chilly October air, it’ll be nice. Not as nice as the tropical vacation we all got back from last week, but I gotta be honest, I’m looking forward to spending the holidays with Savannah. Cold ass weather or not.
“That mean you’re on your way?” Nero’s earlier annoyance gone, hearing I have his latte in hand.
“Yeah.” I promised I’d bring coffee to his office since we’re gonna go over the latest Hans sighting.
I use my elbow to push the door open. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
Nero starts talking about something else, but I don’t hear him. Because standing in front of me, on the sidewalk, ready to enter the coffee shop I just stepped out of, is the mayor.
And his brother.
They both look startled to see me.
But they shouldn’t be. Because he might be the mayor, but this is my city. And I gave Christopher Denton the only warning he was ever gonna get.
With my eyes locked on the little brother, I cut Nero off. “Sorry, but I’m gonna have to take a rain check.”
“What? You already have my latte you prick.”
“Something literally just came up.”
Both men turn and hurry to the mayor’s car parked on the street.
I watch them drive away, letting them enjoy their short-lived sense of victory.
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”
Christopher’s head jerks up at my words, his hands still covered in soap.
He sees my reflection in the Wisconsin highway rest stop bathroom. The dim lighting doing nothing to hide my identity because I’m close.
Very close.
Before he can try to run, I step into his back, forcing him forward and pressing his thighs into the ceramic edge of the sink. And at the same time, my right arm swings around, like I’m going to hug him.
But the blade in my hand hits his chest first, the tip burying between his ribs, and piercing right into his heart.
The man who touched my wife opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
“I told you what would happen if I ever saw you again.” He’s still alive enough to see me lift my other hand.
So deep, your head will hit the ground first.
And then I do as I had promised. I slice the sharpened steel across his throat, cutting through to the spine.
So, when I step away, he crumples into a backbend. His head hits the dirty tile floor before his torso does.
