Page 111 of Trigger Happy

“What about the coordinates tattooed on your wrist?” I ask, pointing.

The hard ridges of her expression diffuse into something tender. “That’s where Walker took me the first time he told me he loved me.”

Oh.

Oh.

My stomach does a swoop. If Walker knew that place, and Ella’s body is buried there… I try to mask my train of thought, keeping my face neutral.

“So, how did you meet Walker?” I ask, stepping closer. One wrong move by her and I can lunge, redirect the muzzle, and destabilize her.

“We got paired on a job out here once, tracking a rodeo clown who was way too into kids’ birthday parties, so gross. Anyway, Walker asked if I knew how to lasso, and I thought he said, ‘Do you want some Tabasco?,’ so I said, ‘Hell yeah, I like it spicy.’ One thing led to another. We were only together a few months, but I’d already dragged him to the Daughters and Co. store to show him the oval solitaire I wanted. That’s how we met Ella. So when I found out you killed him, I knew I had to repay the favor.”

My heart leaps into my throat, thumping wildly. “So, all this was… what? Some sick revenge? Is Bobbi even your real name?”

“Don’t sound so woe is me.” She rolls her eyes. “And yes, Bobbi is my real name. Almost everything I told you is the truth, even my grandma. ‘Bobbi’ is my civilian identity, so I used that to create the fake job posting.”

All good criminals have a civilian identity—one that will pass any and all background checks. Most of the time, they work best when they’re based in reality. That’s why mine is a Manhattan darling who solo brunches on Saturdays.

“You were the client?” I balk.

She smirks. “Of course. You think a man could come up with this mastermind plan?”

She’s got confidence—I’ll give her that.

“My parents actually did die in that cycling accident when I was fourteen, but it was a hit-and-run,” she continues. “I took out my revenge on the guy who killed them, and that’s how I realized I was pretty good at it. And I really do live out here because I like the fresh air. And my candle business is real too. It’s how I dispose of the bodies.”

“Um…” I press my lips together, trying not to hurl. “What?”

“Corpse Candles,” she says, waving her gun in the air. “Obviously, I can’t market them as that, but it’s cute, right?”

Not the word I’d pick. I grimace, but because I don’t want to be buried on top of a mountain, I say, “So cute. I’m thrilled to know my lavender bath time candle is actually melted human remains.”

Her mouth flattens into a thin line. “No amount of bullshit will save you from dying today. I’m still working on my Etsy store, but Walker is the one who gave me the idea.”

Don’t puke.

“I’m not surprised,” I mutter.

“Huh?”

I clear my throat. “I still don’t get why you would go to all this trouble? You could’ve just poisoned my wine and melted my body into a candle called Rosé Regrets, or something.”

“True,” she admits. “I thought about killing you and getting it over with, but that felt too easy. You just die and that’s that? Where’s the heartbreak? I wanted you to hurt the way I did, and there’s only one thing worse than dying.”

No.

I won’t let her—I can’t even think it. But I manage to push the words out. “I won’t let you hurt Lawton.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she says with a pitiful grin full of contempt. “I was talking about betrayal. You had no one. No friends, no one to love. Just that stupid Betta fish you always talked to. I needed you to fall in love so I could take it all away. Genius, right? And Walker told me he thought you always had a thing for Lawton, so I thought, who better than him? And now that he knows the truth, he’ll kill you himself, so my work here is done.”

A chilling stillness ices over my spine. “What do you mean he knows the truth?”

She looks all too excited to drop this bomb. “Arch is telling him everything right now, so if I were you, I’d try to enjoy your last few hours on earth.”

My chest clenches, making it hard to get in a good breath. This isn’t how I wanted him to find out.

Lawton almost said he loved me this morning. Loved me. I heard it, but I could tell he wasn’t ready to say it so I brushed it off, but I can still feel those three words, curled up just beneath my ribs, pulsing, clambering for a way out. He might hate me now, but we built something real between the pillow wall and the stumbled-over “I Love You.”