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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

“If you had taken her out when you were supposed to, we’d never be in this spot.”

“And I agreed to kill the cop in return. The deal is done.”

“The thing is, I didn’t kill a cop, you did.”

“You idiot. If I go down, you go down as accessory to murder one, so stop threatening me.”

For a few seconds, heavy breathing on both ends of the phone. Then they got their wits about them and went back to their corners.

“I want that woman dead,” Beaufort said.

“And I’ve had it with you,” Yanchak said. “I’ve put my neck out more than I should have already, and from here on, you’re on your own.”

And that was that. Beaufort disconnected, his mind darting from one idea to another like like a squirrel who couldn’t remember where he left his nuts. Everything had been going so well. Think, he thought, think. The Quinn woman was nearly two thousand miles away and there was nothing he could do about her. But the evidence against him wasn’t two thousand miles away, it was just around the corner.

All Beaufort had to do to be certain of that was remember the look on Santangelo’s face when he had said the name Carlo. What he could do was finish what he had come here for, get Carlo to give up the confession, which Beaufort was certain he had, and then get out of town.

Forty–two

I had thrown myself off the bar stool onto the floor, yelling at the bartender and anyone else in the place to get low. Then I crawled across the floor to the door, and by the time I got there the sound of the gunshots had been gone for a while.

So I stood up and ran outside, wishing I’d been able to bring my gun. With a glance to recognize that I could no longer see the car that had driven by the bar, I knelt next to Meadows and put two fingers against the side of his throat while dialing nine-one-one on my cell phone with the other.

I screamed, “Officer down.” And gave the location. Within a minute an ambulance and three squad cars arrived, but I had known it was too late. I told the officers who I was and how I had come to be at the bar with Meadows, both of which they could easily corroborate. But not all. If this had to do with me and Jeremiah Beaufort, or the Walker case after all these years, who knew who else might be in danger. Better to keep it vague, just an interest in his cold cases because I was ex-FBI, that kind of thing. I gave them my contact information and told them I’d be in town until the next day if anyone wanted to get in touch with me.