Page 51 of Haven't Killed in Years
“You think?” He had looked better. The train ride hadn’t done him any favors.
“Let me try to explain and you can ask whatever you want,” I said. “I really need you to understand you can’t tell anyone, and I know that sounds selfish, and it is, but it’s also because it will literally get you killed.”
He huffed and puffed a bit as he rested against a stool at the breakfast counter.
“Listen, okay? Reanne is dead,” I admitted, proof I was ready to be forthcoming.
“Seriously?”
“I don’t know if the police know yet; I assume they do, but she’s dead because of me.”
“I thought this talk was you convincing me you weren’t the killer?” He showed maybe, just maybe, a touch of a smirk behind his indignation and I sensed there was hope, even for the real me. I liked Dominic. He was no longer just a pawn but maybe a friend. I couldn’t tolerate him hating me long-term.
“I didn’t kill her,” I clarified. “But I got her killed. Whoever is doing these things brought those arms to my apartment. I was the one who planted them to be found. Someone has been messing with me and I was really worried they would do something to Porter, so I went to see Reanne as a diversion.”
“That’s fucked-up,” Dominic said, informing me of his opinion on the matter.
“I know.”
“How do you know she’s dead, then?”
“I just do. Please don’t make me elaborate.”
“Who do you think did it?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. It was a simple answer that carried a lot more weight to me. I really had no idea. My father had raised me with an inflated ego that told me I was somehow better, that I was tougher, scarier, and smarter than other people, just like he was. The truth was I had no idea who was behind this, no idea what they wanted, and no idea how to stop them.
I covered my face. I needed Dominic to get over it so I could focus on everything else.
He inhaled, audibly, on purpose. I lowered my hands and he opened his arms. “Come here.” A white flag.
I avoided eye contact, but went to him and let him wrap his arms around me. “I want you to let it go,” I said into his chest. “Just for now. Let me figure this out. I promise, I’ll tell you everything once it’s safe.” I pulled back so he could see me smile.
“Let me help you,” he said.
“No, I can’t worry about you too.”
He sighed like he understood, and I hoped it was true. I knew I had a very small window to operate in before he would stick his nose in everything again, but any window was better than nothing.
I left him, closing the door with an unintentional borderline slam, and jogged down the stairs.
I flung open the exterior door, continuing my momentum directly into the cozy midsection of a woman—one of two official-looking people standing on the small porch, fishing for a way inside Dominic’s building.
Twenty-Seven
“Excuse me,” I saidas I bounced back off the woman. From their ill-fitting bargain suits, I was pretty confident they were cops or IRS agents or bank managers, but cops were the most unfortunate option and therefore probably the reality.
“Hello, we’re looking for Dominic Joyce,” she explained.
I wanted to ask why or say he didn’t live there or push them both down the five steps like maybe they would land in such a specific way as to snap both their necks. “Second floor.”
The woman nodded while they both maneuvered past me and headed up the stairs. I knew I should get the hell out of there, but instead I found myself behind them, creeping back up to Dominic’s apartment.
Dominic opened the door with gusto, thinking it was me knocking, back to be like,Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I do need your help! You are the only person who can save me!His body stuttered once he saw my two companions and then he furrowed his brow when he noticed me cowering behind them.
“Mr. Joyce?” the woman asked.
“Yes.” Dominic’s eyes darted between the three of us.
