Page 108 of Can't Stop Watching

The secretary appears in the doorway behind us—tall, thin, with her hair pulled into a severe ponytail. Her face goes deathly pale at the sight of Brian twitching on the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

"Brian," she whispers, her voice cracking.

Dane swings his gun toward her.

Her eyes lock on Brian's, and something passes over her face—not shock or horror, but a complex pain that seems to physically age her. Slowly, she kneels beside him. Her hands hover over him, trembling, never actually touching him.

"It wasn't supposed to happen this way," she tells him.

Brian's eyes plead silently, his mouth opening and closing, blood trickling at the corners.

"How was it supposed to be, Claire?" Dane demands, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

Claire? I look between them, confusion momentarily overpowering my shock. How does Dane know the secretary?

"You know her?" My voice sounds strange in my ears, detached.

Dane's eyes never leave the woman, his gun steady. "Claire Langford. Brian's wife." His mouth twists into something that's not quite a smile. "My client."

Client?

"She hired you?" I ask, looking at Claire, whose elegant hands are now stained red from where she's finally touched her husband's arm.

"She wanted to knows if he was cheating," Dane says, "but you already knew, didn't you?

Brian makes a wet choking sound, his eyes rolling back.

"He needs an ambulance," I say, surprising myself with how calm I sound.

"Does he?" Dane asks quietly, and there's something in his tone that makes my skin crawl. A question that isn't really a question.

"Yes," I say firmly, though part of me screams otherwise. "I'm not becoming what he is."

Claire rises to her feet, blood on her suit and not a hair out of place. She looks at her dying husband with the same expression someone might use looking at a wet spot on their carpet.

"An ambulance won't get here in time." Her voice is ice-cold, matter-of-fact. Like she's discussing the weather, not watching her husband bleed out from a pen I stuck in his neck.

My stomach lurches. How is she so… detached? I've been in shock before, but this isn't shock. This is... something else entirely.

"You're a monster," Dane tells her, his gun still trained on her face. "Just like your husband. Where is Sarah Keller?" he demands.

Claire just shrugs like we're debating pizza toppings, not death. Something turns behind her eyes, probably calculating how many zeroes on the check to her legal team to make sure I go down for killing her perverted husband. My torn clothes aren't just evidence of attempted assault… they're what I'll be wearing in my mugshot if I don't get out of here.

"Where. Is. Sarah. Keller?" Dane's voice has gone flat, dangerous.

Claire says nothing.

"How many others?" Dane demands. "How many women has he killed? And how long have you been helping him?"

My stomach drops through the floor. Women. Plural. I look at Brian's blood spreading across the expensive carpet. The pen… Tessa's gift. The way Claire seems like a robot.

She's done this before.

I'm not just standing in a room with a dying predator, I'm trapped with his accomplice. And judging by how casually she's handling her husband bleeding out, she isn't the reluctant, terrified wife I'd expect. She's... experienced.

Claire's perfectly manicured nails tap against her blood-stained suit. The sight makes me want to vomit. Less than an hour ago, I was worried about journalism ethics and proper interview attire. Now I'm standing in a crime scene.

Dane's expression shifts, wheels turning behind his eyes, before he asks, "Why me? Why did you hire me?" His voice drops to that scary-quiet tone. "Lila being here isn't a coincidence. Is it?"