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If she was guilty of killing her mother, the law would have stepped in and removed her themselves. She would be in a mental hospital wearing a straight jacket or in prison wearing orange.

“I have one more question,” I said. Gerard looked at me and rolled his hand for me to go on and ask. “Why isn't she locked up for killing her mother?”

“Because she's good at what she does. Maybe even better than you. Why aren't you locked up?”

I didn't answer. Could she be that smooth? Could someone who looked so vulnerable be that deceptive? I was going to have to find out.

“So,” he said as he stood up and walked to the door. “Do we have a deal?” he asked. The man had one hand out for me to shake, and the other was passing an envelope.

“I'll get it done.” I shook his hand, took the envelope with the cash, and slipped it into my pocket.

“Do you know when?”

“When the time is right.”

“What does that mean?” he asked. “I can't wait too long.”

“You want it done right, and that's what I'll give you. That's why you called me and not someone else because you trusted my father in the past. Give me that same trust, and you won't be disappointed.”

He nodded, placed his hat on his head, and walked out. I turned around to see he had left the folder on my desk. I picked it up and took out the picture. I didn't know her age. I didn't know her favorite coffee shop or where she went on a Friday night. My fingertips traced the outline of her face as I looked into the still eyes of a girl who couldn't see her future.

I took a lighter out of my pocket and lit the end. The corner of the picture ignited with a small flame. It curled and blackened as the fire devoured her face. Ashes and embers fell to the floor. I stomped them out and got to work.

I spent as much time as needed to learn about Poppy Aneska. For over a month, I followed her, watched her, and became infatuated with her. Her smile was infectious, spreading like a disease to those around her. When she spoke to someone, she looked them in the eyes. She paid attention. She listened. Poppy was, from what I gathered, perfect.

Perfect teeth. Perfect skin. Perfect hair. Perfect body.

Her curves turned heads. Her laugh made men tremble at the knees. Her aura made women seethe with jealousy. But most people loved her. I couldn't see the evil that man spoke of. But evil comes in different forms. I knew that all too well. Every time I looked in the mirror, evil stared back.

I put on a black suit, splashed some cologne on my cheeks, and fixed my hair. The gala was tonight. It was time to fulfill my obligations. I was a man of my word. Poppy would be gone, erased from this earth. It would look like a suicide. For all appearances, she would follow in the steps of her mother.

People would grieve her. They would shed tears and share memories. They would hang pictures and place small memorials. Her memory would live on with foundations and grants in her name. I could already see it. The Poppy Aneska foundation for suicide awareness. A grant for young scholars who want to study pharmaceuticals. A bench with her name on it in the park she loved.

I stood in the back of the ballroom, watching the parade of fools pass around golden cups filled with silver. These people were horrible. If it was up to me, I'd kill each and every one of them.

I had never seen more evil in one place than the gala. I recognized some of the faces. Governors, senators, and corporate executives all huddled together under one roof. You could smell the deception as they shook hands and grinned. These were the people that ran our country.

I snagged a glass of champagne off the tray of a waiter as he walked by. My eyes never stopped moving. I was on the hunt for Poppy. The man who hired me had no idea when or where it would happen, and he didn't need to know.

All communication was usually cut off with the client the second we parted ways. It was essential to keep my plans quiet.My clients never had the details. They told me the name, gave me their pathetic reason, and paid.

Normally, there was no regret on my end. This was a job. There was nothing pretty about what I did. It was dark and twisted, but I'd be a liar if I said I didn't get some enjoyment from it. The adrenaline was a drug. Anyone who has ever taken a life will tell you what a fucking high it is. But for this job, I did something out of the ordinary. I called Gerard back one time and one time only.

“You sure about this?” I asked him.I had to make sure. I just needed to double check.

“I'm sure. Why? Are you getting cold feet?” he asked.

“I don't get cold feet. But this isn't a typical situation. She's your stepdaughter.”

The man let out a slow breath and growled, “I paid you to do a fucking job. Do the fucking job, or I will find someone else to do it. You have one week.”

“We went over this. I don't take orders. I'll do it when the time is right.”

“One week,” he repeated and then hung up.

Well, it had been two weeks since that call. You can't rush this shit. Rushing equaled leaving evidence and getting sloppy. I was not sloppy. But if I was going to kill Poppy for him, the timing had to be perfect. This wasn't a wife with a vendetta; this was a stepfather with a thorn in his side.

A shimmer of red light caught my attention like a beacon at sea. It was Poppy. The dress clung to her body like paint. Her curves danced with the fabric. My eyes traced the outline of her plump ass and sleek back.