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  Deeper in the residence, the voices went on and on. Christ, what was this, a coffee klatch?

  It was becoming increasingly clear that Bryce would not kill the two. Even after the traveler rushed to Bryce’s apartment and consoled him over the loss of his lover, then spent long hours convincing him of other things, more important things, it was obvious now that Bryce simply wasn’t motivated—or cold-blooded—enough to do what needed to be done. Oh, he might be desperate enough to blow his own brains out—after all, that was his idea, not the traveler’s—but still, suicide was only half the task. Upping his game to murder had always been problematic at best. Truthfully, the traveler had expected it to be. But that was okay. In the end, all that was really needed from poor dumb Bryce were a few fingerprints, a little trace evidence, and above all else, a motive.

  What Bryce lacked in gumption and killing skills, his newfound friend would supply. Happily. Bryce had only to provide a warm body and a convenient stooge for the cops to pin the other murders on. After all, Logan Hunter was a reviewer. All the other victims were reviewers too. It continued the pattern. As for the unfortunate Milo Cook, well, he would be simply collateral damage. Still, his bloody corpse would help make for a grand closing statement.

  The newspaper story would practically write itself.

  Author strikes back at unfair reviews, murdering three, then with the threat of being exposed as a plagiarist, goes after one more. Killing not only the reviewer but the reviewer’s gay lover in the process and bringing the body count to five.

  The shadowy figure stood in the glow of the pool in the unfamiliar kitchen, eyes closed, imagining the front-page story in the San Diego Union-Tribune, the story that would then be picked up by newspapers across the country.

  Stricken with guilt by the murders he had committed, the author, knowing his career and freedom would soon be over, turned the gun upon himself, closing out the last chapter of his own personal thriller. If only he could have written a story as exciting as the one he lived—and died in—he might not have needed to resort to plagiarism at all.

  The traveler grinned and took a quiet step deeper into the house, drawing ever closer to the voices in the hall.

  BRYCE SLIPPED his cell phone into his pocket while gazing apologetically at Logan and Milo.

  “Apparently someone is getting impatient,” he said with a smirk. “So just to be on the safe side….” And with an amused little tsk, Bryce lifted the gun and pointed it straight at Logan’s heart.

  “No!” Milo cried.

  Logan stretched out his arm and gently pushed Milo away. If he was about to be shot, he had no intention of letting Milo be taken down with him.

  He studied Bryce’s face, Bryce’s eyes. There was a disconnect there, Logan thought. The guy was losing his grip on reality, if he ever had a grip on it to begin with. But it was the phone call that most disturbed Logan. And the words Logan had heard the caller say.

  “Who was that on the phone, Bryce? Who called you and told you to kill us? Who is this person? Why do they want us dead? At least tell us that!”

  Bryce smiled, and then he laughed outright. “What? You don’t like the idea of dying? I admit it’s upping the game plan a bit, but still, you don’t think it’s dramatic? You don’t think it would fit well inside the closing chapter of a book? You don’t think it makes for an exciting denouement to our little drama?”

  While Bryce talked, Milo once again edged closer to Logan. He stood there now, his shoulder plastered to Logan’s as if daring Logan to push him away again. So Logan snaked an arm around his waist, accepting his presence, holding him close.

  Logan tried to speak calmly and patiently, like he might reason with a child. “This isn’t a book, Bryce. It isn’t fiction. This is your life. This is all of our lives. Who called you? Who put you up to this? It’s not too late to back out. If someone has coerced you into doing this, you have other options. You can fight back. Or simply walk away.”

  Bryce gave a huff of annoyance. “That’s all good for you. Saves your ass quite nicely, doesn’t it? Doesn’t do much for me, though. My career will still be ruined. My life will still be over.”

  “No,” Milo said. “Your life will not be over. This isn’t your closing chapter unless you want it to be. You can still write a whole new life. You can start over and do it properly this time. Find another outlet for your talents. But only if you stop this now. If you pull the trigger on that gun and hurt one of us—or yourself—you really will be lost. Think, Bryce. Please. Just think about what you’re doing.”

  Logan laid a hand to Milo’s back, taking a fistful of his robe in case he needed to pull him away in a hurry or shove him out of danger. His eyes never left Bryce’s face. Or the gun in Bryce’s hand.

  Logan spoke up now, following the thread of what Milo had said. “If you tell us who coerced you into doing this, Bryce, we can call the police. Do what Milo says, Bryce. Think! This is your chance to do the right thing. Don’t let this person exploit you because of the mistakes you’ve made. You’re as appalled by all the killing as we are. I know you are. You’re a good person, Bryce. Don’t let yourself become a part of this.”

  “Please, Bryce,” Milo pleaded. “Think.”

  “I am thinking,” Bryce said, and with a tiny metallic click, he released the safety on the gun.

  TREADING SOFTLY, the intruder ducked through the doorway to the left of the kitchen, entering a bedroom. The bed was unmade, the blankets hastily flung into a heap. At the opposite end of the room was another door. Stepping around the bed, the figure silently approached that door, easing it open to peer inside. This was an office. Two desks, two computers—currently turned off—a shitload of bookcases squeezed in here and there, each and every one of them packed tight with books.

  The hallway was to the left, and the door leading out to it was open. From this vantage point, Logan and Milo were standing just outside the door in their bathrobes, facing poor old Bryce, the nitwit who had a gun but was too afraid to use it.

  The traveler crossed this room too, advancing parallel to the hallway, moving stealthily through the shadows, then onward through another doorway to step out into a large living room that spanned the entire front of the house. Off to the right, shards of glass sprinkled the floor where Bryce had bulldozed his way inside by smashing a window. The figure gave a silent, exasperated cluck. What? Bryce had never heard of a doorbell? The curtains on the shattered window were billowing in the late-night breeze. The air was chilly and damp. It would be dawn in a couple of hours.

  The room was unlit; the only light was what spilled out from the end of the hallway where Bryce was standing with his back to the room…

  …and to the person standing unseen in the shadows behind him.

  The lean figure stood stock-still, listening to how the evening’s entertainment was progressing. Frankly, it didn’t sound promising. Bryce was never going to shoot these people. That much was obvious. As usual, a firmer hand would be needed.

  The figure in the shadows edged closer, as silent as a cat. Creeping ever nearer, the traveler pulled a gun from a jacket pocket.

  This gun, unlike the gun in Bryce’s hand, did not feel awkward at all.

  This gun, even through latex gloves, felt like a friend.

  “LISTEN TO me,” Milo pleaded. “Put the gun down. Don’t let this person talk you into doing what you clearly don’t want to do. If you kill us, you’ll be the first person the police suspect. You are the person Logan exposed tonight on his blog. They’d be crazy not to suspect you.”

  “Don’t worry, Milo. I’m not going to kill you,” Bryce monotoned around a vacant smile. “I’ve decided to stick to my original plan. After that, there won’t be anything the police can do to me anyway. There won’t be anything anyone can do to me.”

  His smile remained fixed and vacant as he lifted the Saturday night special and placed the tip of the barrel to his own temple. As if the metal felt cool and refreshing against his skin, and as if the to
uch had been too long coming, Bryce leaned his head into the gun and gratefully closed his eyes.

  Milo and Logan both gasped.

  At that moment, from around the corner of the arched doorway leading to the room beside him, a throaty voice sang out from the darkness. “Stop being so maudlin! Just do it, Bryce! Christ! I don’t need you anymore. Nobody needs you anymore. Pull the trigger, and I’ll finish this business myself.”

  Startled, and with the gun barrel still pressed to the side of his head, Bryce spun toward the voice.

  The moment Bryce turned, Logan charged. But as quickly as his charge began, the second figure stepped into the light and raised a gun, aiming the barrel directly at Logan’s heart as Bryce had done before.

  Logan skidded to a stop, and Milo smashed into him from behind. He wrapped his arms around Logan, and they stood there together, staring in shock at the second intruder.

  “You!” Milo cried in disbelief.

  Lois Knight blinked coquettish eyes and gave him a perky little wink.

  “Hello, boys,” she said coyly. “Surprised?”

  NEVER ALLOWING her gun to waver from Logan’s heart, she smirked at Bryce, who was standing there like a fool with the gun still aimed at his own head.

  “Pull the trigger, dear,” she calmly said. “If you don’t, I will.”

  Before Bryce could make a move one way or another, Logan spoke up, once again trying to push Milo out of the line of fire.

  “You don’t really think you can kill all of us, do you?”

  “We’ll see,” she said. “It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

  “You killed them!” Milo exclaimed, suddenly seeing the truth for the first time, suddenly understanding everything. “Grace and the other two reviewers! You’re the murderer!”

  “Holy shit, you’re right!” Logan mumbled under his breath. At the same moment, Bryce gaped at the woman in shock.

  Lois smirked, ignoring Logan and Bryce both, aiming her reply at Milo instead. “Please, don’t call them reviewers. That’s far grander than they deserve. But I’m afraid I did kill them, yes. There was a lot of traveling involved, don’t think there wasn’t. You should see my Visa statement. But in the end it was worth it. The trolls have backed off. Have you noticed? They’ve learned a little humility, I think. Or maybe they’re just afraid of having an ice pick stuck through their brain like poor old BooksOnWheels. Don’t look so shocked. I only did what I had to do. You know what those people were like! God knows I’ve seen enough of my books trashed by unfair reviews. My royalties have plummeted! Why should I stand back and let these trolls destroy my livelihood?”

  “You should have been strong enough to ignore them!” Milo yelled.

  “Well, I’m not!” she screamed right back. “And why should I have to be? They got exactly what they deserved, and I’m glad I’m the one who gave it to them.”

  Milo couldn’t believe he was standing there arguing with a killer. He chased down memories in his head. “But at the meeting you said you were appalled by their deaths!”

  Lois laughed. “No. I was appalled by the killer being called a madman, as if implying only an insane man could have been strong enough to accomplish it. It was insulting and sexist.” She turned to Bryce and with a simper added, “You and Adrian Strange are both pompous asses. You’re well shed of each other. Just so you know.”

  Then, seeing what Bryce was still doing, she impatiently slapped the gun away from his temple. “Oh, do put that down if you’re not going to use it.”

  Turning back to Milo and Logan, she hooked a thumb in Bryce’s direction. “It’s because of people like this that I work alone. Totally worthless. A coward, really. And a plagiarist, of all things. Even I was surprised by that little plot twist. Didn’t see it coming at all.”

  “It wasn’t like that…,” Bryce mumbled.

  But Lois only tutted. “I’m afraid it was exactly like that, and you damn well know it.”

  “You read my post,” Logan interrupted.

  Turning to him, she laughed. “Not more than two minutes after it went live. Lovely work, by the way. Succinctly written. Excellent grammar. When you set out to destroy a career, you really destroy a career. Of course, I knew Bryce would have no choice but to confront you, especially if I egged him on. After all, thanks to you he has nothing more to lose. It’s a shame about you two boys, though, but then Logan’s exposé on little Bryce here afforded me a perfect opportunity to duck out of the murder game while I have a chance.”

  “The murder game…?” Bryce muttered, looking confused.

  “You’re crazy,” Logan said, ignoring Bryce just like everyone else in the room.

  Lois smiled. “Am I? Of course, ruining Bryce’s career isn’t all you accomplished. You’ve also given Bryce a reason to kill himself, and to go out with an audience to boot. He thinks if he blows his brains out in front of you, see, you and sweet Milo will spend the rest of your lives wallowing in guilt for exposing him as a plagiarist. I convinced him of that. I also tried to convince him to kill you as well, while he was at it, but no-go apparently. He’d rather have you feel guilty about his suicide. What he doesn’t realize is that the rest of your lives isn’t going to amount to much. A matter of minutes, if that.”

  “Fuck you,” Milo said.

  Her smile broadened ever farther. Clearly, the cursing barely jarred her composure at all. “As far as revenge goes, it’s pretty pathetic, I know. But frankly, it’s about all Bryce is worth. The real prize here is that you’ve also made him my scapegoat and given me a chance to close up shop and save myself. Not only was the fool weak enough to come up with his crazyass plan, but he even brought his own gun to the party. It’s all just serendipitous as hell, don’t you think?”

  “N-no,” Bryce stammered. “What the hell are you talking about? It’s not supposed to be this way. This isn’t what you told me.”

  She let her gaze slide from Milo to Logan, then back again, ignoring Bryce completely, as if he simply did not matter. “At least I got him here. By doing that, half the battle is won. Otherwise I’d have had to kill him somewhere else, if he didn’t do the job himself, then schlepp his body into your house. No easy task for a lady. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. The trolls. I knew my work was done, you see. I had made my point. Taught those three assholes a lesson. Like I said before, trolling on the internet has now decreased substantially. Reviews are nicer. Not that I’ve ever had a problem with professional reviewers such as you, Logan. You’ve always been a gentleman. But some of the others! How nasty they could be. Anyway, when I saw your post about poor stupid Bryce, I knew he’d come after you. For a confrontation, at least. Maybe a bit of last-minute whining and wheedling. What better chance for me to wrap up the last chapter in this melodrama and retire? With poor Bryce taking the blame for everything. It was just too good to pass up.”

  “So instead of trying to talk him out of killing himself, you convinced him to kill himself here in front of us,” Logan said. “And once he’s done that, you’ll set things up to look like he killed us too. And the other three victims as well.”

  Lois offered a bashful smile, as if she’d been given a compliment. “Brilliant, isn’t it? And as for Bryce, it’s the best thing for him, really. Save himself a lifetime of humiliation after you branded him a plagiarist. Of course, I had really hoped he would kill you too, but at this point in the evening, I think that’s a bit of a long shot, don’t you?”

  “That’s impossible!” Milo seethed. “You won’t get away with it! Bryce, you don’t have to go along with this!”

  Bryce’s gaze skittered to Milo’s face, then quickly returned to the woman beside him. A dawning hatred flared in Bryce’s eyes, on Bryce’s weary, handsome face. The muscles clenched in his jaw as he stared at her, obviously appalled by the way she talked about him, mocked him, treated him like nothing, as if he weren’t even there. And most of all, how she had manipulated him.

  Seeing Bryce’s fury swell, a flurry of hope surged through Milo.
Lois was too busy gloating to notice Bryce’s growing anger. She still stared at Logan and Milo, her eyes veering continually from one to the other while the cocky smile remained plastered on her face.

  “Oh, I’ll get away with it,” she said. “A little rearranging of the evidence. A few extra fingerprints, gunpowder residue transferred from the murder weapon to Bryce’s hand after a final errant shot. That’s all it will take. I’ve written mysteries,” she added sagely. “I’m not a novice. I know what to do.”

  Milo cried out, his words pleading. “Bryce, don’t let her pin this on you!”

  At that, Lois truly did laugh. And with cold-blooded grace, she swung the gun around and pressed it neatly to Bryce’s head. “Oh, he’ll let me pin it on him, all right. He won’t have a choice. He’ll be dead. And as the pirates in all those swashbuckling sea stories used to say, dead men tell no tales. Like I said, our sweet little Bryce has decided to kill himself anyway. Why the hell shouldn’t I profit from that?”

  Bryce’s eyes popped open wide. The loathing in them was almost staggering now, but still Lois didn’t notice. Or care. Oddly, Bryce still let his own gun dangle uselessly from his hand, seemingly forgotten.

  “Shoot her!” Milo yelled. “Shoot her before she shoots you!”

  But Bryce would not. He simply stood there, his gaze suddenly filled with a terrible clarity, reeling from the realization that he had been played for a chump from the very beginning. The truth of it was written plainly across his tortured face.