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Back We Were Killers Once Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty–one
  25. Twenty–two
  26. Twenty–three
  27. Twenty–four
  28. Twenty–five
  29. Twenty–six
  30. Twenty–seven
  31. Twenty–eight
  32. Twenty–nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty–one
  35. Thirty–two
  36. Thirty–three
  37. Thirty–four
  38. Thirty–five
  39. Thirty–six
  40. Thirty–seven
  41. Thirty–eight
  42. Thirty–nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty–one
  45. Forty–two
  46. Forty–three
  47. Forty–four
  48. Forty–five
  49. Forty–six
  50. Forty–seven
  51. Forty–eight
  52. Forty–nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty–one
  55. Fifty–two
  56. Fifty–three
  57. Fifty–four
  58. Fifty–five
  59. Fifty–six
  60. Fifty–seven
  61. Author’s Note
  62. Acknowledgments
  63. Also by Becky Masterman
  64. About the Author
  65. Newsletter Sign-up

I thought back to the time when I was new to the wife game, did not know the real Carlo well, and was crazy worried that he would find out what kind of woman he’d married. With my petite stature and little-girl looks (at least at that time), the FBI thought it found in me a gold mine for undercover work. Giving me the status of Very Special Agent, one that even many FBI agents don’t know about, they pimped me out across the country to use as bait for serial rapists, killers, human traffickers, child pornographers, and the low-life scum that got involved with these people.

In order to keep my cover, it meant doing things I don’t like people to know about at the potluck lunches at the Episcopal church Carlo and I occasionally attend. I don’t like to talk about the things I did with anyone, the groups I infiltrated, or what I did to nail them. How I skirted justice, how many I killed, most in the line of duty.

That I hadn’t killed anybody in about a year didn’t feel like a huge point in my favor.

Needless to say, my life hadn’t involved much fly-fishing. As I’ve said, my idea of nature was something you needed to get through in order to get to the next building. I wasn’t the sporting kind and up to now didn’t think Carlo was either.

Now I knew what the woman who had been a ghost for the past couple of years looked like. I hadn’t realized how much I physically resembled her, and it made me feel like the one who was the ghost. Or was that my imagination? I tucked the photo back, against the side of the bin next to the stack of papers.

“Aunt Brigid.”

I looked up at Gemma-Kate standing behind me, and wondered how many times she had said my name before I heard it. I shook myself out of the silly thoughts. What I needed to be thinking about was finding the burglar and making the home more secure.

“Are you still worried about the break-in?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s it. I think I’ll turn in. The sheets are on your bed.”

Twenty–nine

Waiting for the call, Beaufort sat at the same bar where he had met Gloria weeks before. He didn’t know much about brakes, but he knew Yanchak, and Yanchak knew everybody. At least that’s what he said. Beaufort thought it was a simple matter of cutting the brake line. So when the guy called him to report what had happened, and Beaufort stepped out in the parking lot to talk, he felt confident that he’d be told Quinn’s car went off the mountain as planned. But that wasn’t the story he got.