Page 62 of Secrets

The shining beam she gives me is nothing short of infectious, and I can’t help but kiss her soft lips. Once, twice, three times is barely enough before she smiles against my mouth. “Let a girl freshen up first, huh?”

I huff. “There’s a new toothbrush on the counter—that charcoal brand you like—and some toiletries.”

Her brows knit together. “When did you…” Her eyes flash over to the clock on my bedside table before her pupils swell, eating away the beautiful blues. “Fuck, I slept in-slept in.”

Returning to the kitchen to begin her breakfast, I shake my head. “As expected. You were physically assaulted and hospitalized.”

Another bout of vexation sears against my skin.

Dead.All of them. No need to be upset. In fact, soon enough, the entire cartel won’t even exist.

I consider Alexi’s plan to eradicate them once and for all and hope that we manage a way to move the timeline up.

“I didn’t even have a concussion. Just a couple of stitches and some bruised ribs. I’m fine.” But when she flips the covers off and tries to stand for the first time after a long night of rest, she immediately slumps back into the bed. “Okay. Maybe I’ll wait a second for the meds to kick in.”

I shake my head and decide to show her mercy by finishing her coffee and bringing it to her. She thanks me with a kiss and promises to be up and have her teeth brushed in a few. Ignoring her, I return my attention to the stove, humming a nameless song while cooking breakfast. Somewhere in between me de-seeding the avocado and toasting the sourdough, she manages to make it to the bathroom—all the while denying my assistance—and gets dressed.

When she returns to the kitchen, her steps are a little stronger, and her face a little brighter.

“Kicked in?”

“Thankfully yes. I wasn’t going to take the week off my uncle suggested, but honestly, I’m considering it.”

I met her at the small bistro table, bringing both of our plates. “You most certainly should. Give your body time to recover. You’re not meant to be in the field, anyway. I’m still rather indignant that you were sent there at all.”

Jessica waves a hand nonchalantly. “My uncle had his reasons, and I one hundred percent support?—”

A shrill ringtone fills the air, the vibration of the phone knocking on wood oddly making my skin crawl like nails on a chalkboard.

Jessica grunts, adjusting as she tries to stand, but I beat her to it, hurrying to grab the device for her.

She groans when she sees the name flashing over the phone’s display but answers nonetheless, frustration making her eyes a hue darker. “Frances.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before she nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing a couple of days with my feet kicked up won’t fix. What’s up?”

She listens for a moment, her fork idly playing with a small clump of avocado on her toast.

After a weighted pause, the person on the other end of the receiver begins to speak again, only this time, I can hear him more clearly. It’s as if she put him on speaker phone so he can speak directly to me.

“Six bodies, Frances. Three of them are the perps from yesterday.”

My heart plummets into my stomach with a sickening thud.

Ben warned me that we should find a new spot soon. He told me with all the recent bodies discovered and the new investigation of a potential serial killer that we should bury them, or perhaps turn them into compost like Alexi always assumed I did. But I told him it would be alright. That this was the last run we’d need to do for a while since I would be working with the Babins in a different way.

I should have heeded his request.

By the time my eyes flash back to Jessica, she’s thanked the person on the phone and hung up, turning it upside down on the table.

She’s quiet for a moment, her fork now scraping at the egg, and in this fraction of time, I soak up what I can. Because the moment the yolk bursts and her gaze flashes to mine, I know. I know without a hint of doubt that I’m about to lose her. That somehow this smart girl of mine has pieced enough of my puzzle together to know it was me.

It’s always been me.

Has since the day I killed him.

“Inmate number one eighty one. You have five minutes,” the guard warns my father as he shuts the door, his eyes lingering on me for longer than what’s comfortable.

But I pay him no mind. There’s no reason to when my target is right in front of me. The man who shaped me from the moment I opened my eyes. Or rather, cursed me, if you will.

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