BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (38)
  1. Also by Jennifer Estep
  2. Acknowledgments
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 1

My frown deepened. I opened my eyes, dropped my hand, and stepped away from the brick. I looked at the room again with a more critical eye, putting all the facts together.

There was nothing in the apartment, no trash, no shell casings, no emotions, because Jake McAllister hadn’t been here. He wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t calm enough for this sort of action. This—this was the work of a professional.

An assassin, just like me.

My gray eyes narrowed. So Jake, or more likely Jonah McAllister, had hired a big boy to clean up his son’s mess.

Now I was really annoyed.

But still… I couldn’t shake the feeling I was missing something. Something important. Vital. Obvious.

My reading, my sense, of the vibrations in the stone was correct. I knew it was. Even from an early age, I’d been able to hear the stone murmuring to me, and my power to understand and interpret it had only sharpened and strengthened over time. And would continue to do so until I died, hopefully at the ripe age of a hundred and fifty or so.

From the vibrations I’d picked up, the shooter had been waiting the better part of an hour. Maybe longer.

Sophia came in early, usually by nine, to start baking the day’s bread. I usually showed up around ten, and the restaurant officially opened for business at eleven. But the shots hadn’t been fired until almost noon.

Why? Why had the assassin waited so long? I’d been moving through the restaurant all morning. Cooking, cleaning, wiping off the tables and booths, flipping the sign on the front door over to Open. He could have taken me out at any time during the morning. So why hadn’t he taken a shot before lunchtime? Why then?

I went back over the shooting in my mind. I’d been standing behind the counter when the shots had been fired. A tough shot to make, even for a professional assassin, no matter how good with a gun he was. Maybe he’d wanted an audience when he killed me. Maybe that’s why he’d waited. Finn had been in the restaurant, standing off to my left. The girl had been there too, more or less in front of me—

And I realized what I’d been missing. The shooter, the assassin, hadn’t been firing at me.

He’d been aiming at the girl.

6

6

The girl, Violet. The shooter had been aiming at her, not me.