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If this was a normal conversation, at this point I’d probably ask the next question in the logical progression. Then what do you think killed him? Followed by the inevitable, who? But I’m not leading this horse to water. He might just drink.

Bathing suit is on. Pants are on.

‘I’m going to have to take a rain check on the pho,’ I say, unwinding the towel from my hair and rubbing it through my wet locks before tossing it on the bed next to Daniel.

My voice sounds calm, I think. I shake my hair out and run my fingers through it.

‘I just remembered I need to go return the supplies I left downstairs…’ The ones I foolishly dropped in the hall to go have sex with a man who is suddenly way too interested in talking about the obscure details of a death I was definitely behind.

But he doesn’t know it’s me.

He can’t know it’s me.

I never talked to Michael Johnson in my life– not even during his albeit shortened stay at the Riovan.

I didn’t know him at all, and I certainly didn’t benefit from his death.

As far as Daniel’s concerned, what motive could I possibly have?

And how the hell did Daniel know about the Bluetooth speaker?

I still remember the moment I tipped it into the water.

Plop it went, interrupting Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing’ as the device shorted out and bobbed in the bathwater like a dead fish next to its dead owner.

Daniel’s words ring in my head. If someone wanted to murder Michael Johnson…

That is how everyone would see it, isn’t it?

As murder. But that’s not how I think about it.

I chose to end Michael’s life, but ‘murder’ is such an unsavoury word.

It brings to mind red meat and bloody knives and the smell of sweat.

It sounds… unhinged. Like a wild animal thoughtlessly ripping into its victim, responding to the urges of the moment, with no forethought or compass, just hunger and opportunity.

That’s not how it is with me. Yes, I kill, but never thoughtlessly.

I play by the book.

I make my choices carefully.

Carefully? some part of me is screaming. If you were careful, there wouldn’t be a journalist asking you questions about Michael’s death a full year later!

Calm down , I try to coach myself, but it’s a bit too late for calm. Need to go. Need to go now.

‘I can call down for the pho while you return the—’ Daniel says, and I can tell he’s trying to read my mood.

‘No,’ I interrupt, and yes, I am aware that I sound a little manic right now, which is all the more reason to leave. ‘I really have to go, Daniel.’

‘Oh, OK. You sure?’ he says, and his expression is innocent enough. Even a little disappointed. ‘Did I… upset you? I didn’t mean to.’

I look at him, sitting there on the bed, still leaning on those beautiful arms with the sculpted muscles, his fingers splayed out. The fingers that were just inside me about a million realities ago.

‘Sorry, I just—’ I shake my head like I’m trying to shake off an insect. ‘Is this for your article? Because I thought it was about wellness tourism.’

‘No, you’re right,’ he says. ‘I guess it’s just idle curiosity.’

‘Yeah?’ Because it didn’t sound very idle. Finding out the real cause of death that the press didn’t even get hold of? Accurately estimating the voltage of a Bluetooth speaker? Idle, my ass.

Then again… maybe this is what journalists do for fun? Research and analyse and pick at things until they unravel? Pick at Lily until she unravels?

‘I’m sorry if I was insensitive,’ Daniel says, standing, rubbing the wet back of his head. ‘You know. Bringing up a violent death when you’ve…’

My mind can’t help but fill in what he might say.

Killed so many people.

Taken a murder vacation every year.

‘… had so much loss.’

Yes. Loss. He’s not wrong.

‘It’s fine,’ I say, but I’m already heading towards the door. I pull it open; Daniel catches it. Wraps his fingers around the edge of the door and leans towards me.

‘Hey. Lily. I had a good time.’

Mechanically I say, ‘Me too.’ The hall is long, and even though I’m facing Daniel, I can feel it yawning behind me, begging me to sprint down it as fast as I can.

‘Did I ruin it?’ he says softly.

‘I said it’s fine.’ I force a smile and finally meet Daniel’s eyes. Ruthless. My read is instantaneous. There’s a new, hard-edged ruthlessness in Daniel’s gaze.

Or maybe it was always there. Maybe I’ve just never noticed it because of the haze of desire I’ve been looking at him through…

Then I blink and it’s gone, and in his eyes is actually just the same probing intensity as always. Am I just being paranoid?

‘I’ll take you up on that rain check, you know,’ he says with a parting grin.

‘OK,’ I say.

Then, Click. The door closes, severing us.

I breathe out in a long stream, then force myself to walk. My whole body feels strange, sick and dizzy. The buzz of pleasure in my blood has turned sharp and lurching.

What the hell was I thinking? Cool? Analytical? I just fell on Daniel like a hungry predator… thoughtless, starving, opportunistic. How close is your room? Seriously?

I knew better.

And that’s what scares me.