Page 20 of The Quiet Witness

“What, really?”

“Yes.” Lucien braced a hand on the car, leisurely leaning against the gleaming black surface. His head tilted in question, one green eye glittering in the soft glow of the lights. “Why so surprised? Is it okay to you when they deserved it?”

She bit her lip. Discussing morality with a man whose job was ending lives. Perfectly sensible.

“I don’t know.” An icy wind blasted through her clothes. She shivered, burying deeper into her own sweater.

Lucien nodded, pleased with her frank honesty. “A lot of people deserve it, Kate. More than you know. In fact, if it were written across people’s faces, we wouldn’t be walking the streets anymore.”

She huffed. “Same goes for you… if it were written on your face, I’d take a nice big loop around you.” Goddammit, she wasn’t able to keep her mouth shut or polite around this man.

She watched as a grin slowly spread across his face.

“Spirited, aren’t you?”

Kate let the question pass her by. “So, is there a code? Does everyone deserve it? Or is anyone up for grabs?”

The wind lifted, carrying their voices over the hush of the clearing.

With a nonchalant swing, he tossed the rag into the bucket. The water sloshed over the edge, becoming one with the icy carpet. “That is a good question.” He thought deeply. “I believe that everyone walking this Earth is guilty of some crime. So yes, in a way, we all have it coming.”

She couldn’t help asking, “What was the reason with me? How did you make it sound… right?” It didn’t matter and yet a part of her wanted to know. For if there was a code. Why aim death at the girl sitting at the Christmas table?

“You let them.”

“I what?” The blood drained from her face.

He held her gaze tightly. “You let them break you, use you even. And yes, there have been times when I’ve told myself, the person would be better off. In a way, there is always justification. If one needs it.”

Her breath hitched, who was he to speak on what she had or hadn’t done? He’d had what? A file with the name Kate on it twisted between his fingers?

Don’t let him get into your mind!

She pushed down the frustration ready to spill over, twisting the question back onto him. “So you don’t need it, a reason?”

“It depends. Did you never fantasize it? Dream of it even?”

“What’s that?”

He fixed her with a stare. “Taking matter into your own hands.”

She had. Many times. But she wouldn’t hand him the leverage of twisting what he did into something akin to right or wrong.

Her chin lifted. “No, I’m not a killer.” Right at that moment, the wind cut through the trees and howled its song. It sent up a flurry of snow to dance between them. Beautiful and haunting. Normally she’d sit at the window to enjoy it, now it only set her already firing nerves on edge.

Lucien pushed off the car with ease. “You’re deluding yourself, everyone has a killer inside of them.”

She shook her head but her eyes danced to the snow falling around them. “Guess that’s where you’re wrong.”

“Agree to disagree.” A shit-eating grin formed on his face as he stalked closer to her.

The smell of iron bit into her nose, spilling down the back of her tongue. Contaminating her as he advanced. Radiating the smell of death.

But she held her ground.

A glint of respect flickered in his eyes. “Stubborn. I wonder.” He leaned in. “Why are you so much more comfortable arguing with me than you were with your parents?”

So he had seen. Had already been in that puppet house during the Christmas spectacle. When her foster mother had… gone over the limits.