Page 112 of Trigger Happy

“No. Lawton wouldn’t do that. He…”

“Hates you?” Her smile grows claws. “You’re right. He does now.”

The banter, the late-night baths, the makeshift shoulder sling. I can’t… I gasp for air. I can’t breathe. “But the job?”

“Was all my idea,” she finishes, like she’s explaining how to pick a cheap padlock. Everyone in the industry should know how to do that. “I’m the one who ordered you both to stalk us. There’s nothing better than a shared goal and a one-bed situation to force some intimacy. Classic.”

All I can do is try to suck in air. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” she goes on, all too eager to break my heart. “You think those condoms just magically appeared in your nightstand? The BnB setup? All me. That runaway horse? I put you on Dragon because I knew he was feral. I knew Lawton would help you. Men, so predictable. Oh, and the swan towels? Perfect honeymoon setup. I even turned off the heat in the barn, so you’d be forced to snuggle, and look, you started falling for him after that. I didn’t think he’d actually fall for you, though. That was a surprise.”

I think back over all the little things. The way she assumed we were married when we first met, forcing us to play the part. How she always said we’re perfect together, so much that I started believing it myself. It was all so perfectly nuanced, so subtly crafted, I didn’t notice she got the best of me. My fists clench in frustration.

“What about all the wigs I found in your workshop?” I ask.

“I like playing dress-up for jobs,” she continues. “But I have to admit, you’re better than I thought. I wasn’t expecting you to find my workshop, so I started keeping a closer tab on you after that.”

Then, she grips her blond curls at the hairline and pulls, revealing a short, cropped, dark-brown pixie cut underneath.

“I knew your part line wasn’t that thick,” I say.

“Rude,” she says, scratching her short hair. “But wow, that breeze feels nice. Hiking with that on was the worst. It’s so itchy. Now…” She clicks the safety off her gun. “Shall we wait for the boys to get here? I think it’s only fair you die betrayed by the man you love, since you killed the man I loved.”

A hot, raging flush cannonballs through me. I can’t believe she fell in love with Walker Montoya. What kind of woman sees that walking maroon flag and thinks, You know what he needs? A Property of: Bobbi ass tat.

“You’re such a bitch,” I spit out.

“Aw, thank you,” she sneers. “Bitch.”

I launch myself at her.

She’s fast, but even with my shoulder I’m faster. A bullet goes off right as I misdirect the barrel, scattering birds in the trees. She swings a leg around, and I duck, so she tries to knee me in the stomach. I catch the momentum and wrench her arm back. She tries to yank free, but I twist harder until she shrieks in agony. She drops the gun, and I pick it up, pointing the barrel at her chest while backing up so she doesn’t lunge for me.

“Was this part of your plan?” Adrenaline rushes through me, but my pulse is steady.

“Honestly? I didn’t think someone as obsessed with matcha as you could fight like that,” she pants, reaching into her bra. “But you’re not the only one obsessed with backup plans.”

She takes out the tiny gun and aims it at me so we’re in a standoff, both panting.

“How could you even fall in love with a man who murdered women and scalped their heads as a hobby?” I cut out, but then it hits my brain. No, please no. “Or wait, were you helping him?”

She lowers the gun an inch, brows squeezing, then another inch. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your serial killer boyfriend,” I say, keeping the gun steady. “The only reason I had to kill Walker Montoya is because he was trying to kill me.”

52Lawton

Sabrina killed your brother,” Arch says with a heaviness I’m not used to from him. “Her mom took the fall and muddied the crime scene, made sure her prints were everywhere, so no one would trace it back to Sabrina.”

My brain’s playing catch-up. Sabrina—my Sabrina—wouldn’t kill my brother and lie to me about it for months. No, over a year. That’s just… no.

I shake my head, even though there’s this awful weight in my stomach. “She wouldn’t do that. You’ve got it wrong.”

“We don’t,” he says, eyes dropping to the river like if he doesn’t look me in the eye, this won’t hurt as bad. “We have proof it was her.”

What the hell is going on? I should be asking a fuck ton of questions, starting with who is this guy I’ve been fishing with every Saturday? And does he even like fishing? Because if not, I learned to fillet trout for no reason. But there’s only one thing I really care about right now.

“So, are you gonna show me this so-called ‘proof’ that the woman I lo—Sabrina—killed Walker?” I say.