Page 60 of The Hitch
"All of them. I spoke with the building manager, and every single floor cut out around six. They didn't turn back on until we arrived and… found her." Roman rubs the side of his face.
"So, who did you talk to on the phone?" Helena pipes up.
"That's the problem—we have no idea. An elaborate recording, someone who sounds like Valencia—and using her phone—or one of those AI voices?" Dante shudders. "I hate them in general. They're dangerous, obviously."
"Clearly. We've shut down operation for the next week or so. Allow the staff to grieve her loss, and GoCon is sending their own investigators to the site." Roman plunks down in his usual armchair with a heavy sigh.
"When is the funeral?" Helena asks. "Has her family been notified? Her brother?"
Their conversation continues as I focus on calming Dante's shot nerves. I feel his heart rate decrease and his muscles relax as I position myself beside him, gently massaging the knots out of his shoulders. Valencia's death is weighing heavily on him; I can see the guilt and grief in his eyes. He's so different from what I once thought of him. Cold and aloof, indifferent to my suffering. But for the past few weeks, I've been able to see the man behind the mask.
I can see the man who is fiercely loyal, the man who always plans two steps ahead. He's practical, not shrewd. He's thoughtful and kind to those he loves. And, in some platonic way, it seems he loved Valencia. She had two brothers, one younger and one older. The funeral will be held on Monday. I may not have known Valencia, but I'll be there. I'll stand by my husband and offer sincere condolences to her family. I honestly can't imagine a worse way to go: brutally murdered in her office. She must have been terrified.
To be fair, I amalsoa murderer. A few times over, really. But I've never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. And I never fucking will.
Roman and Dante have set up shop temporarily in his home office. I don't quite know what they're doing up there, but Helena and I are free to go about our day. She's a little morose,understandably so, but shooting in the basement with me is putting a smile back on her face.
And she brought me a new toy. It's a big, matte black rifle. She told me the actual name, but I don't remember, and quite frankly? I don't care. I feel like a video game character about to wreak havoc on an alien world. And it isloud. Loud enough that I yelp in surprise when the shockwave reverberates through my shoulder.
"Oh, try these under the muffs." Helena holds out little silicone earplugs. "Some people like to double up on the hearing protection with these big boys. I recommend it, anyway. We're in an enclosed space—soundwaves bounce around. You only get two ears."
I thank her and insert the plugs, adjusting them until they're comfortable, and pop the earmuffs on top.Muchbetter. Helena gives me a thumbs-up with a questioning look, and I nod enthusiastically.
Turning back to the target, I feel like it's not far enough away. The house itself is around fifty feet deep, give or take, and the basement matches it. I re-engage the safety and cock my hip out. Helena raises her eyebrows and cocks her head to the side. Shifting the earmuff from one ear, I yell, "Feels a bit small?"
"What does?"
I wave my hand around. "This room. This space. Too small for one of the big boys, you know?"
She purses her lips and thinks for a beat. "We could try going to the range?"
"Yes! Yes. Let's get out of this house—after lunch? We could bring the fellas some snacks?" I rest the rifle against the steel table that usually holds murder implements. Well, it still does, just a much louder, faster one.
"Sounds like a plan," she smirks. "But I think you're forgetting something."
"What?" The safety is on, so it can't be that. I pat my pockets and look around the room, but come up empty. "What am I forgetting?"
"It's Friday." She gives me a pointed look. "You've got a date with a pee stick, as you love to call it."
Motherfucker. ItisFriday. My time is up. "You don't have to look so excited about it."
"I just have a feeling, that's all! A verypositivefeeling," she chides, and her wide smile is contagious. She's really a very good-looking woman. Tall, toned, and a slightly crooked nose that gives her bad girl vibes.
"Fine. Fine, you're right, it's time. But…." I drop my voice. "Not here, okay? If itisn'tpositive, I don't want to, I don't know, give him false hope?"
"Sure. We'll make a pit stop." She picks up the rifle and disassembles it with ease. Stunned by her efficiency with the weapon, I stand there slack-jawed until it's fully packed away in the carrying case. "What?"
"You're good at that," I mumble, and she smiles again.
"You will be, too, with practice. C'mon, girl. Let's get out of here."
On our way to the New Jersey shooting range, we make the previously promised pit stop. Helena stands outside the grimy bathroom stall of a random grocery store, patiently waiting for me to finish my business.
No one ever talks about how it's tricky to pee accurately, especially when you're on a time crunch. I read the instructions front to back, and itseemsvery straightforward, but angling my hips and shoving my arm through my thick thighs proves to be… difficult.
"You good in there?" Helena gently asks.
"Super good. Uncomfortable, but super good," I call back. "Could you, um, maybe step outside? I don't think I can pee with you listening intently."
