Page 64 of Secondhand Soul

“I will.”

“Should we send Pazcuso the pictures today, or wait? If he knows you’re ‘gone,’ won’t that make him more likely to send someone else to Pine Ridge?”

“Yep. And then I’ll have to kill them,” Victoria says in a drowsy, drained voice.

Then she’ll have to kill them.

“Um. What?” I rub my ears in case the cold has short-circuited them or something.

“He’ll send new ones eventually. Probably better to send them while I’m still here.”

“You don’t know who it might be,” I point out. “It could be someone you’ve never met, who never did anything to you.”

Her eyes peek out. Then her nose. “Are they here to hurt you?”

“Well, I mean, they could try.”

The eyes disappear. “Then I’m killing them. I’m staying to protect you.”

The shivering bundle of pale limbs and fading bruises is gonna protect me?

Shit.

I’m feeling all... fuzzy inside. “I can protect myself. Very well.”

“I can help. I’m going to help.” Victoria’s nose wrinkles. “Is the soup burning?”

I sniff the air. There is definitely a smell of burning tomato soup. I shouldn’t have put it on high. Or I should have stirred it. Or turned it down. Something.

“Um. Let me try that again,” I wince, and head back to the kitchen.

“I’m too tired to eat. I just wanna sleep.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to sleep when you’re cold. You’ll die if you fall asleep in freezing temperatures.”

“I’m not freezing. I’m warm and cozy. Send the pictures, Lazarus. It’s one less problem you have to deal with. Our business can be officially concluded. You’ll still have problems, but I won’t be one of them.”

As I worry about what she’s eating, and if she’s warm enough, and if she needs a bath.

Holy crap, I’m gonna be an epic babysitter!

The smoke detector goes off.

Victoria pulls the pillow over her head.

Or not.

“THIS NUMBER IS NO LONGER in service.”

The voice that says it is cruel and deadly. Cold, callous, and vicious.

I’ve heard myself use that tone, looking into Frank’s blood-stained face as I told him goodbye, as I told him his apology was not accepted.

But I’m not the one speaking.

Lazarus is.

His voice makes my heart instantly fly into my throat as it pounds a million beats per minute, more like a buzz than a beat.