Page 26 of Death Kiss

Shit, it can’t be?

‘Police continue to appeal for any information regarding the recent disappearances, which the police now believe may be connected.’

Shit a brick.

Richard Ashworth is on our list.

Which means he knows what links these men.

He knows the people who might have a grievance against them.

He can find us.

And we need to kill the man leading the investigation into us, without being caught doing so.

Crap on a cracker, we’re fucked. I think I’m going to blow chunks. Reggie looks at me like he’s concerned I will too.

‘Kat?’ Liam comes into the room, rubbing his face and squinting at the TV. His hair sticks up in the most adorable way, and he’s wearing low-slung grey joggers, which in any other circumstance I’d be planning to leave lady juice stains on. ‘Why are you up?’

‘Nightmare—’

‘You should have woken me up for a cuddle.’

‘Liam, look.’ I point at the screen and wait for him to catch up with what’s going on. His dark eyes widen when he sees Ashworth’s name plastered across the screen.

His leg jumps as he processes the information.

‘Is it the same one?’ I ask, hoping that there might be two. After all, we’d been told PC. A police constable isn’t a detective.

‘It’s him.’ There’s pain in his words. While the news story sends me into a panic, it hits Liam in a much more historic way, filled with dark memories and trauma.

I take his hand in mine and kiss the back of it.

‘What do we do?’ I ask. He looks down at me, sliding his hand up and caressing my chin.

‘We make him a priority.’

‘He’ll be waiting. It won’t be like the others. He’ll have cameras, or security, or something.’ Panic threads into my words, and Reggie bumps me with his scruffy head.

‘Even a careful man slips up sometimes.’

The statement doesn’t calm me at all. Because the same could be said for us.

I tug him down into the blanket nest, much to Reggie’s annoyance, and the three of us wrap up in each other until daylight hits.

Daybreak brings me no closer to figuring out how to make this work.

Neither does Reggie’s fluffy backside in my face.

ELEVEN

LIAM

Ashworth’s place is as well covered with cameras as the fucking red carpet.

The one above the porch turns in a slow, mechanical motion as a cat walks by, following its path across the garden.

I’ve circled the house twice from a distance and identified one potential blind spot, but that assumes he doesn’t have anything hidden. Why did we have to have a cop as a douchebag? The fucking worst.