Page 43 of Kill Your Darlings

Thiscouldn’thave anything to do with U.N.Owen.It was not good business practice to injure or kill your blackmail victims.

But nothing else made sense, either.How could this be a coincidence?

It couldn’t.

Somehow, this was all connected.

I dropped the tire, struggled to fit the spare into place.It had been years, decades, since I’d had to change a tire—and never with the speed of an Indy 500 pit crew.

I fumbled the first lug nut, the small metal disc slipping from my damp, unsteady fingers and clinking sharply against the gravel.My swear was half sob, and I stopped again to listen, every nerve straining, for the telltale crunch of gravel, the guttural rumble of an approaching engine.

Hurry, the wind whispered in the tall grass.Hurry…

I turned my cell’s flashlight beam toward the ground, found the fallen lug nut, and dropped it in my pocket.I forced the spare into place, threading the lug nuts on with shaking fingers, my breath coming in harsh, shallow gasps as I tightened each one in turn.I cranked the jack handle furiously, the car groaning as it settled back onto its wheels with a shuddering thump.

I jumped up, tossed the ruined tire and tools into the trunk, slammed the lid shut, and stumbled back to the driver’s seat, half collapsing behind the wheel.I triggered the ignition, and the engine roared to life, headlights flaring against the trees, sweeping giant, monstrous shadows as I peeled out, jerking the car back onto the road.

The speedometer needled climbed steadily as I accelerated, flying down the vast, empty stretch of road back toward the lights and safety of civilization, back to Monterey.

Chapter Eleven

It was seven-thirty-five when I walked through the door of the Monterey Plaza Hotel, and the first person I saw was Finn.He was balancing several drinks on his way from the hotel lobby toward the banquet room.

He spotted me, frowned—nothing new there—and started to say something, but I nodded curtly and kept moving.It was all I could do not to break into a run.

I didn’t bother with the elevators.I went straight for the stairs and arrived on the fifth floor out of breath and drenched in sweat.I unlocked my suite, kicking off my shoes, hopping as I pulled off my socks, shedding my jeans, boxers, tearing off my shirt… I flung myself into the giant shower, breathing in the eucalyptus-scented steam as water streamed down my head and shoulders.

I lathered up, shaved, rinsed off, stepped out of the shower, grabbing for a towel.I brushed my teeth, slapped on moisturizer, aftershave, hair gel...

Finn used to tease me about being overly organized, and yes, I did like everything to be just right.But it was a handy trait to have when you were moving so fast you didn’t have time to think.

When I walked out of my suite eleven minutes later, my shoes were polished, my bow tie was straight, and my cufflinks fastened.Sure, my heart was going sixty miles an hour and there were ominous wavy lines at the edges of my vision, but no one was going to be able to accuse me of blowing off this damned banquet.

I did not—could not allow—myself to think about anything but getting through the next four hours.

I strolled into the banquet room just as everyone was finding their table.I got a few curious looks, a few smiles and nods hello, but mostly no one seemed to notice me at all.At conferences, authors, rightly, are the stars of the show.No one cares if an editor does or doesn’t show up for an event.Unless the event is delivering feedback to an author in a one-on-one session.

Moving around the large round tables, I greeted authors, asking if they were having a good time, asking if anyone needed a drink, the usual stuff.

“Actually,youlook like you could use a drink.”Adrien English came up beside me and pushed a drink into my hand.He was smiling faintly.

That was thoughtful—and unusual.I think the first author who ever bought me a drink was Finn.

My, “How did you know?”was only half-kidding.I downed three-quarters of the liquid in a large swallow.An old-fashioned.He was an observant guy.

“The number of times Lila Pendergast asked if we’d seen you.”

I nearly choked, but managed not to spray the nearest table with whisky and bitters.

Adrien nodded to another table where Christopher Holmes, J.X.Moriarity, Kyle Bari, and a tall, lean man with dark, curly hair were all watching me with unnerving interest.

I wanted to ask—well, I’m not sure what, but was forestalled when Cherry bounced up, her expression apologetic.She looked adorable in a short red silk dress.Her eyes were shining and there were sparkly red butterflies in her hair.

“Sorry for all the phone calls!You were right to ignore me.I figured it out.”

I said, just as if I knew what she was talking about, “I knew you would.”

“I suddenly remembered what you told me, and I offered her a shot of bourbon.”

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