Page 4 of Dark Wishes

He leans away, closing his teeth around his taco. The soft tortilla looks like torn paper, the meat glistening red under the green salsa. I sit anxiously, waiting for him to explain. “We don’t know what the cops know,” he says. “Maybe they’re fishing.”

“You think the footage they have isn’t very good?” I ask hopefully.

“It might show a girl with pink hair, not a high-res face.”

“But they knew my name,” I remind him. “They got my number and everything.” An awful idea occurs to me that makes me want to hurl up the taco. “Are they playing the camera footage on the news? I haven’t checked. My face could be plastered everywhere.”

He doesn’t look bothered at all by my suggestion. “Are you on social media?”

“Barely.”

“Did anyone talk to you at the convention? Take any photos of you?”

A cold wave goes up my spine; I hunch over the table, making myself smaller. “Two girls that I can think of. I didn’t see them snap photos, but maybe when I wasn’t looking. People do that when they see someone dressed as a character they like but are too shy to ask.” I gasp sharply. “They could have posted them all over Insta or TikTok or anywhere. Thousands of people might be studying those pictures. Fuck.”

“Selena.” He reaches over, putting a napkin on the table. A second later my taco spills its contents across the napkin in a gory splatter.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t notice it was falling.”

Jamison studies me in that piercing way of his. I’m still not used to it. “All we can do is be proactive.”

“Okay,” I agree, though my tone sounds verynotagreeable. “How do we go about this?”

His dark eyes fall on the knife. Lifting it by the short handle, he ticks the razor tip in the air like it’s the hands on a clock.

I shove myself to my feet, hands held high in defense. “We’re not cutting it off!”

“That wasn’t going to be my suggestion,” he chuckles. “Remember what I told you? How I cleaned the blade?”

My heart begins to settle in my chest. “Bleach. You want to strip the color from my hair.”

“It might be enough to create a seed of doubt when the police talk to you.”

“I could just not talk to them.”

His frown creeps lower. Rising to stand, he tucks his knife into his jacket. I try to see where it goes, certain my gun is in the same place, but the bastard is too quick. I wouldn’t be shocked to learn he can do card tricks like a street magician. “Avoiding them is impossible. We can draw it out, though. They can’t force you into the station without a warrant.”

“That’s a good point. Then we just have to stay ahead of them until Caruso is dead.”

“At minimum.”

My shrug is cavalier. “After he’s gone, it won’t matter to me what the cops do.” He sneers, not hiding his dislike. I pounce on the moment. “Why does that bother you?” I ask.

Jamison stands as tall as he can, like every bone in his spine has been tugged upward by a string. “It’s reckless.”

I’m sure there’s more, but before I can pry, he turns to walk towards the kitchen sink. Crouching, he digs around, then lifts out a dark brown bottle. “Bleach?” I ask.

He places it on the counter, then peels his jacket off, draping it on a stool beside the granite island. “Unless you decided cutting it is better.”

I roll my eyes dramatically as I approach him. “Do youwantme to cut it off? Got a thing for short haired ladies?”

His smile is thoughtful... enigmatic. His voice matches it. “I almost want to say yes to see how you’ll react.”

“You’d get no reaction. I don’t care what you’re into.”

“Yeah?” He moves fast—I twitch, thinking he’s about to touch me, but his arm stays an inch beyond my waist. Holding up the towel he grabbed from behind me on the counter, he smirks wide. “I suspect you’re a little curious, Selena.”

“Wrong. A hundred million batillion times wrong,” I snap.

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