Page 112 of Kill Your Darlings

“Open the door!”Finn called.

Uh, sure.There was nothing I’d have loved to do more.

“Help!”I yelled.

“We throw him off the balcony.No one can say it wasn’t an accident,” Geo hissed.He nodded at the sliding glass door to the side of me.

Milo goggled at him.“You’re insane.No.You’re not laying a goddamned hand on him.There are cops all over this hotel.That’s Finn Scott out there.His boyfriend.His boyfriend who used to be a cop.It isover.”

No, it was not wishful thinking.Booted footsteps pounded closer, hard soles thudding against plush carpet.Someone barked, “This one—open it.”

Geo made another lunge for me and, heart pounding in alarm, I shoved the table forward full force with my foot so that he crashed down on top of it.I heard the glass break.

A voice shouted, “Police!Open up!”followed by a louder thump—then a bang as a shoulder—or possibly a small battering ram—hit the door.

Milo turned, sprinted across the tiled entrance hall, yanked open the door, and scrambled out of the way as the door slammed inward.

A stream of uniformed officers flooded in, weapons drawn.Shouts filled the suite: “Hands where we can see them!”

Finn followed the first rush, striding into the room.He was pale, grim-faced as he scanned the room with hard eyes.He saw me hovering near the small beige sofa with my hands up.

I stumbled forward to meet him and he grabbed me, gave me a little shake, and folded me into his arms.“What the hell wasthatabout?”

I shook my head.Why does any idiot in real lifeorin fiction think it’s a great idea to confront someone they believe capable of betrayal and violence?

Finn was clutching me so tightly I could barely squeeze out, “Annotation complete.Ending pending.”Apparently, editor-speak forI thought I was going to die thank you for saving me.

Milo pointed at Geo, being lifted off the shattered tabletop and dragged to his feet.

“That’s the one, lads!Broke in here ramblin’ mad—I’ve been tryin’ tae talk him into givin’ himself up!”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“How did you know?”I asked.

It was much later that night.Finn and I were in the very comfortable bed in the very comfortable Grand Bay suite, quietly bringing each other up to speed on the events of the last five hours.

After the hostage rescue operation, the police took me, Milo—er, McGregor—and Georgi Argyros downtown—three separate cars, three separate interview rooms.I gave my statement twice, drank bad coffee, stared at chipped walls, and listened to the muted hum of a police station going through the familiar motions.It was close to three hours before they finally let me go, paperwork and apologies trailing after me.

My story—andstoryis the correct word—was simple.As both a fan and his prospective new editor, I wanted to informally introduce myself to McGregor and welcome him to Wheaton & Woodhouse.Perhaps invite him to dinner.Unfortunately, I’d stumbled into a hostage situation and had also been taken prisoner by the author’s drunken and distraught captor.

It had only taken about 50 minutes to make my statement.My situation was straightforward: I was a victim.

Milo was still being questioned when Finn and I finally departed.

Geo had been arrested.Milo had been correct.Geo was all over the hotel’s CCTV surveillance footage.Nobody had confirmed that he had been caught on camera killing Troy Colby, but there seemed to be a certainWe Got Himbuzz of excitement in the station.

Howmanyhims was the question.

Milo’s version of events was a more complicated sell: Even if police temporarily bought the story that Geo, hiding from the police after accidentally killing Colby in a drunken argument, forced his way into McGregor’s room, I had to think there was a good chance cell phone activity and earlier security camera footage would indicate prior acquaintance.

Not my problem.Not anymore.My story only had to hold up for a few hours more.After that…

Well.That was the question.

But at least I would be done with the lies, with the hiding, with the fear of wondering what had really happened that night, what had happened to Milo.No more secrets.

Well, not many.

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