Page 88 of X Marks the Stalker
“You’re willing to stake your membership on this,” Thorne observes. Not a question.
“I’m willing to stake more than that,” Xander replies, and I realize with a jolt that he’s offering his life for mine.
Warmth floods through me at the gesture.
“How deliciously dramatic,” Calloway says, clasping his hands together. “The stalker finds love. I’m living for this narrative arc.”
“Shut up, Calloway,” Thorne and Xander say in unison.
Thorne’s mouth quirks in what might be a ghost of a smile. “She found you,” he says to Xander. “Despite your precautions. Your obsessive protocols.”
“Yes.”
“That’s...concerning.”
“Or impressive,” I interject.
Thorne’s gaze shifts to me, measuring. “Perhaps both.”
Something clicks in my mind—pieces falling into place with horrifying clarity. The gallery murders. Three art critics found posed like Renaissance paintings.
“You’re him,” I breathe, staring at Calloway. “The Gallery Killer.”
The room goes silent. Xander tenses, his hand reaching for my arm in warning.
Calloway’s expression shifts from surprise to delight. “My, my. She is good.” He turns to Xander with mock offense. “You didn’t tell me she was a fan of my work.”
“She wasn’t supposed to know about your ‘work,’” Xander replies, his voice tight.
I can’t stop myself. “The composition of the bodies—thelighting, the positioning—it was brilliant in a terrifying way. I covered the murders.” I swallow hard. “He deserved what he got after what he did to those young models.”
Calloway’s eyes widen. “She gets it! Oh, I like her.” He moves closer, studying me with renewed interest. “Tell me, what was your favorite detail?”
“That’s enough,” Xander cuts in, stepping between us, his jaw clenched.
“Oh, someone’s jealous,” Calloway singsongs, looking delighted. “Are we keeping her? Like a pet journalist? Because I am here for this plot twist.”
“She’s not a pet,” Xander says through gritted teeth.
“No,” Thorne agrees. “She’s a liability. Or an asset. The question is which outweighs the other.”
“This tie is coming out of the cleaning deposit if we have to dispose of her,” Calloway mutters, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. “Blood splatter is so last season.”
“I’ve been hunting assholes for years,” I say, stepping alongside Xander. “I have sources, evidence, connections that none of you have. If you’re after the same thing I am—justice—then I can help.”
Thorne studies me, his expression unreadable. “And if we decide against your continued existence?”
Xander tenses beside me, but I hold Thorne’s gaze. “Then you’re not who I think you are.”
A heavy silence fills the room. Calloway looks between us with undisguised glee.
“What in the Bob Ross happy little accident is this standoff?” he whispers.
After what feels like an eternity, Thorne straightens his already perfect cuffs. “A probationary period,” he declares. “Under Xander’s complete responsibility. Any breach, any risk—it falls on both of you.”
Relief floods through me, but Xander remains wary. “And the others?”
“I’ll handle Lazlo and Ambrose,” Thorne says. “Darius will want to assess her himself.”
