It’s not him. Not the oil baron. As soon as I get a good look at his shape in the darkness, it’s clear—from the broad shoulders to the shifty behavior. The blade of my knife glints in a shaft of moonlight as I lunge, setting it against the stranger’s jugular and purring in his ear. “Hello, darling. You’re not the man I’m supposed to kill.” There’s a long pause. The man’s frozen, shocked upright, his chest heaving as he vibrates with the effort of keeping still. One false move, and his blood will splatter the ugly wallpaper. It could only be an improvement to the interior design. Honestly, who
...more
