Page 109 of Trigger Happy

“I have to go.” I jerk to a stand but almost lose my balance when the boat rocks dangerously. Water slaps at my jeans.

Arch stays in his seat. “What’s the rush? We’ve only caught a few trout.”

I can’t describe it, but I just have a bad feeling.

“No,” I say, grabbing the paddle. I’ll row my way down this entire river. “I need to go.”

I start paddling my way to the shore, but Arch suddenly grabs it and throws it in the water.

“What the hell?” I shout, already climbing over the boat to swim to it.

“I can’t let you go, Lawton.”

My muscles go rigid.

Lawton.

Slowly, I turn to face him while reaching for the knife in my back pocket. I could play dumb, pretend I didn’t hear him, but I don’t have time for games if Sabrina’s in trouble. And now I’m sure something’s wrong.

“How do you know my real name?” I say carefully.

He sips his beer. He doesn’t seem guilty or panicked, just resigned. “There’s a lot I know, and a lot that you don’t.”

My fingers tighten around the handle of my knife. “What are you talking about?”

He sighs. “Put the knife down, Montoya.”

So he knows my first and last name. This keeps getting better. “Yeah, okay.” I scoff. “What’s going on?”

“All right…” He exhales a long breath, finishes the rest of his beer like he needs the courage, and tosses it on the floor of the rowboat. “Sabrina’s been lying to you. She’s the one who killed your brother.”

51Sabrina

What are you doing?” I ask, even though it’s obvious Bobbi’s planning to use my remains to fertilize the lilac daisies beneath our feet. She’s holding the gun one-handed, too, which means she isn’t worried about kickback, so she must be a confident shot.

Which means I’m daisy food.

I knew I should’ve worn my flare leggings, not the straight-legs. There are going to be crime scene photos taken, and if this is the last time Lawton sees my ass, I want it immortalized at its best.

My heart cinches. Lawton. At least if I become daisy food he never has to know the truth.

Bobbi waves the pistol between us. “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory, what with the gun and all.”

“Actually, there are a lot of possibilities here. Are you going to kill me? Threaten me? Lecture me about the Second Amendment?” I inhale a deep breath, trying to keep my heart rate down as my mom’s voice rings through my head. You can only control what’s in your control, darling.

Her lips flatten. “I’m here to kill you, Sabrina.”

My stomach tightens, because I really don’t want to become daisy fertilizer today.

“Oh.” I swallow. “Okay, then. I’d like to be cremated and have my ashes pressed into a cushion-cut diamond ring with a custom engraving that says for worse.”

Bobbi’s lips twitch. I think she’s trying not to laugh. I hope.

“Oh, and Garamond font, not Times New Roman,” I add, trying to keep her distracted while subtly reaching for the gun stashed in my puffer. When her brows pinch, I say, “For the engraving.”

She keeps the pistol trained on me. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“You would too if your job had a five-percent survival rate, and I’m assuming you know my line of work, since, you know—” I gesture toward the pistol pointed at my face. “This feels personal.”