Page 75 of Run for Her Life
His eyes narrowed. “So he was just stalking you? A suspected hitman.”
Not just a hitman. A hitman dispatched to kill Rachel—who, ironically, was also a hitman. Zoe didn’t even know how to begin absorbing that information. “Yes. Hitmen can also develop an obsession with women. They have personal lives too, you know. Twisted fantasies. Bad dates.” She rambled on.
He let out a chuckle. “Jesus, Zoe. Trust you to try to make light of a situation like this.”
“Well, the thing is that because he’s involved in Red Trigger, I’m worried if word gets out that I killed him?—”
“They’ll come after you,” Simon whispered.
She nodded. “That’s why I called you. I’m not asking you to cover this up but… I’m just worried.”
His face hardened. “I’ll take care of it. Are you okay, though? Killing somebody isn’t easy. Even when it’s someone who probably deserved it.”
If only he knew just how easy Zoe had found killing Viktor. Power surged through her veins. A long-awaited satisfaction that made her blood sweeter. It felt surreal. She closed her eyes and relived that moment over and over again. The last bullet that went through his skull.
How his blood had sprayed like red mist behind his head. How his body had fallen to the floor with a thud. How his skull had cracked from the impact. Zoe wished she could forever hook herself into that moment and stay there. Keep breathing in Viktor’s last breath.
She’d killed the man that had murdered her mother. The outcome she chased in fights, that pain she sought, her unfinished business, it had all culminated tonight.
Her phone rang. It was Lisa. “Hey.”
“Agent Storm, are you coming to the station tonight?”
“Yes.” She gestured Simon to give her a moment. “I was running some lead.”
“Okay, because remember those shady transactions into Adam’s account? I just found out where they’re coming from.”
FORTY-SEVEN
The biting chill of the evening air cut right through Zoe’s sweater. The grand estate before them loomed in the dim glow of the garden lights, its towering columns and polished stone a testament to old money. She adjusted the folder in her grip, her fingers tightening around the crisp bank statements inside.
“Storm.” Aiden climbed out of another car. His breath misted in the cold as he walked toward her. “Lisa told me to find you here. Where were you? I waited for you at the station and you didn’t answer your phone.”
Zoe struggled to find the words. “I… we’ll talk about it later, okay?”
His gaze was suspicious. “You look… different. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Her teeth chattered in the wind.
“Here.” He shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders before she could protest. He frowned at his own action.
His scent enveloped Zoe and she wanted to close her eyes and slip into a dream where the day she just had never happened.
She rang the doorbell. The heavy oak door swung open. David Harrington stood dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his sharp eyes flickering between the two.
“FBI,” David greeted them warily. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure at this ungodly hour?”
Zoe stepped forward, leveling him with an even stare. “We need to talk, Mr. Harrington. Inside.”
He hesitated for just a second, as a muscle in his jaw ticked. “Of course. Do come in.”
The warmth of the house enveloped her after what had been a very long night. Simon had ordered her to resign from the case and suggested a replacement. But this case was personal now.
It was her mother’s actions that had inadvertently led to Michael’s death and the massacre. Her involvement had spurred a decades-long obsession in Jackie and the other killer, leading to two deaths and a disappearance. This “job” was Rachel’s biggest regret. The one that had finally given her the courage to walk away from this life. Zoe’s bond with Pineview Falls ran deeper. It was discovering a critical part of herself, uncovering her history. Now she needed to see it through to the end and finish the cycle started by Rachel.
The scent of aged whiskey and expensive cologne hovered in the air. David led them into his study. A lavish space lined with dark mahogany bookshelves and a roaring fireplace where Dawn had admitted not so long ago how, in order to save her company, she had created an immersive game based on a fire that had killed her daughter.
“Drink?” David offered casually, heading to the liquor cart.
