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“Now, aim and shoot it like I’ve taught you.” Michael’s deep voice makes me focus again.
I move the gun a few inches to the left, making sure my eyes are in line with the sack. Then I fire seven shots, hitting the sack right on all its red marks.
“Good job.” He kisses the back of my neck. “Reload and do it again.”
I look up at him. “I don’t want to kill anyone, Michael. Ever.”
“I know,” he says. “I would never let you.”
“Then why are you making me learn this?”
“So, that if you’re ever alone, I won’t have to worry,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “You also look sexy as fuck doing it, so reload the clip. Now.”
Blushing, I open the chamber and insert the ammo. As I’m preparing to fire again, the doors on the far side of the room open, and Trevor steps inside.
He walks toward us, a cigar between his fingers, a smirk on his lips. This is the first time I’m seeing him in person, and the more I look at him, the more I can’t help but think about the pictures I once found in Michaels’ bedroom. They’re definitely identical under this set of lighting, but their demeanor and the way they walk easily give away their differences.
“Well, hello there, Mrs. Anderson.” He smiles and extends his hand. “Nice to finally meet you in person.”
“Nice to meet you too, Trevor.”
“I went to your memorial a while back,” he says, letting go of my hand. “It was a very lovely affair, but I must say, you look a lot sexier up close and in person. I can now see exactly why my brother—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Michael says, rolling his eyes. “Are you finished with the phone taps and video patches we need?”
“Of course,” he says, pulling a manila folder from his coat. “This is all you need for the end, Mr. & Mrs. Batshit Crazy. It’s been a pleasure, and I can’t wait to see how this ends.”
“You already know how it’s going to end if I’m involved. It’ll be perfect.”
“Maybe.” He smiles, looking over at me. “If it was just you, I would. I’ve never seen your wife’s work before, though, and I don’t think she has any idea how much research truly goes into this. But hey, she knows how to shoot a gun she’ll never use and she’s intrigued by crime, right? I’m sure that’s all she needs…”
“Get the fuck out of my building, Trevor.”
He laughs and gives me one final wink before leaving.
When the door shuts, Michael gently grabs the gun from my hands. “He has a point…”
“Does he?”
“Yes.” He looks at his watch. “You’re taking your father down the night of his victory gala, and that’s two weeks from now. You’ve done some research, but—”
“I know every move in his daily routine, everything in his business history,” I say. “Give me the time of day and I’ll tell you exactly where he is. Give me the name of the business deal and I’ll tell you everything about it.”
He raises his eyebrow. “What about your aunt?”
“You’re researching my aunt,” I say. “That’s what you’re supposed to know…”
“It’s a shared job,” he says, his tone a bit terse. “You’re supposed to know everything. Six forty in the morning, on a Tuesday. Where would she be?”
“Standing outside her office on her cell phone, five minutes after she fills her coffee mug at the complimentary café in her building,” I say, glad that I followed him as he was following her last week. “That’s twenty minutes after she sends my dad a dirty text message about all the things she wants him to do to her the next time they have sex. And it’s exactly one hour after she sends a flirty message to her neighbor who gets up for work as early as she does.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me, slowly looks me up and down.
“Are you going to tell me that you’re impressed and we can get back to the gun training?”
“No.” He sets the gun on the table, grabs my hand. “I’m going to tell you that you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met and we’re going to end this day in my bedroom. You’re more than ready to take them both down…”
Michael
Now
The day of the gala
“We’ll never get that deal with Nike off the ground if he keeps dragging his feet,” Meredith’s Aunt Catherine is currently taking a call outside her office door.
She’s been standing out there for over twenty minutes, berating one of her highest-paid agents over the phone. According to her staff, she prefers to take her early morning calls in the hallway, hours before the first team member arrives.
She’s told them that she does this because it’s the time of the day that’s most “quiet and humbling,” the time when she and her “beloved” sister used to chat on the phone. In reality, it’s the guilt.
