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Say it bluntly.

I swallow, trying to wet my dry mouth. “Does that mean you killed him?”

He chuckles darkly. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

I breathe out, pretending to be relieved. “You didn’t, did you? You’d like to claim credit for it, but you can’t. So, who was it? Do you have any idea?”

“No one else had the courage to kill the fool,” he snaps, his pride wounded. “I killed Etienne, and I’d do it again. And if your husband decides you’re not worth saving and Cassian miraculously ends up on the throne, I’ll kill him, too.”

I stare at him, wide-eyed. I did it. I secured his confession—the one we weren’t sure we’d be lucky enough to get. And though I try to mask it, my triumph must show on my face…which doesn’t bode well for me.

Jameson’s eyebrows twitch, and his brow wrinkles as he studies me. Suspicious, he slowly asks, “Where’s your phone?”

I step back, sensing danger. “In my back pocket.”

“Let me see it.”

I slide it out, offering it to him, thankful I wasn’t recording our conversation with the phone, nor using the speakerphone trick that Noah is so fond of.

Jameson frowns at the cell. “Open it.”

I do as he asks, my fingers fumbling, and then hand it back.

He pokes around it, scowling, until he’s finally satisfied. Then he slides it into his own pocket. “You don’t need this while you’re here?—”

Something catches his attention, and he cuts off abruptly, focusing on my shoulder. Nervous, I lift my hand, about to touch the strap of my crossbody purse. But I catch myself before covering the tiny lens and rub my neck instead.

“What’s that?” he demands.

I look down. “What’s what?”

“That bead on your purse strap?”

Before I can answer, Jameson lunges for me. I scream as we crash into a wardrobe, fighting him as he yanks the strap over my head. As soon as the purse is in his possession, he rips the tiny lens free and gapes at the wires that pull out with it.

He lifts his gaze to mine, his face turning deep red.

We’ve caught the murderous vampire villain, and now he’smad.

27

Jameson grabsmy arm and yanks me forward. “Where is the recording going?”

“W-what?”

“Is it saving to a device on your person, or is it sending the signal elsewhere?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He shakes the purse in my face. “Don’tlieto me. You were wearing a camera. Either it’s a Bluetooth device that’s sending the data to your phone or another device you have hidden on your body, or it’s connected to the internet.” His grasp tightens painfully on my arm. “Which is it?”

“M-my phone,” I stammer, not having to fake the terrified tears that begin to build in my eyes, desperate for him to believe the lie. “It was sending it to an app on my phone.”

He releases me with a shove and then yanks the phone from his pocket. He only fumbles with it for a few seconds before he removes the SIM card and crushes it under the heel of his shoe. Then he sets the phone on the table, picks up a massive candlestick, and starts pummeling it.

My eyes cut to the door, my exit. Can I reach it while he’s distracted? I could use a hair pin on him, but I’d have to getclose, and right now, I’m worried he’ll use that candlestick on me before I can stab him.

Noah should be here—hesaidhe’d be here. Thanks to the tracking app on my GPS, he knows where I’m at. Or at least he did a few seconds ago. My avatar is probably grayed out now, the connection lost.