Maybe I should have asked Lars to check my horoscope before I left?

Luther’s rubbing his jaw, and this whole silent Bond villain thing is working for him. It makes his head-face meld slightly more sinister.

“It was an easy hit,” he says. “I gave you three sitting ducks. You had to have actually wanted to botch the job to fuck this up.” He cuts a look toward Arlie.

“Why would you give him this job in the first place?” she asks before he can direct anything her way.

“He knew about us. It was either bring him in, or kill him. This is what I get for trying to be nice. You said he was ready.”

“No. I said he could make any shot.”

“And yet …” Luther spreads his hands out to the side. “He didn’t. He let his guy go free when a toddler could have made the shot and then thought he could steal from me and take his payday anyway.”

Everett’s disappointed groan stings because yeah, yeah, I get it. Not my finest moment.

“About that,” I say before he can list any other of my idiocies. “I have the money, and I thought I could, you know, pay it back. Call it even? Then we can pretend like this whole thing never happened.”

His—I think blue? I dunno, it’s dark in here—eyes bore into mine. “You have my money?”

I go to confirm that, then stop. “M-most of it?”

“Most of my money?” His eyebrows creep higher. “And you think giving me back most of the money you stole from me will call it even.”

“No, I thought giving you back all of it would have us call it even. I’m happy to sign a non-compete and everything. It didn’t even occur to me that taking it would be stealing from you, just your client, and I’m really sorry, Luther. Truly. If I’d known you were the one paying for the job⁠—”

Arlie’s jab to my shoulder is painful. “Stop talking.”

He’s still staring, and his lack of blinking is getting creepy.

“Well, someone needs to fill the silence,” I mutter.

Luther’s lips quirk. “I’ve always liked you.”

A twinge of hope kicks in. “This is what I’ve been telling everyone.”

“Everyone?” He perches on the side of his desk and looks me over. “Who’s everyone?”

I’m about to say Lars and St. Clare when my brain throws up an alert. If Luther is the one I stole from, does that mean he’s the one who wanted to kill St. Clare? Wow, this thing keeps on getting weirder.

If that’s the case, letting him know that we’re hanging out and playing house isn’t a good move. See? Fuck you, Lars. I’m smarter than you think.