Page 5 of Chalk Outline

“Don’t.” The pen clinks against the other as I release it into the penholder. “I want the full experience.”

Her eyes follow my movements with increasing impatience, attempting to mask her disapproval. She rolls her jaw slightly, purses her lips, and taps her knuckles against the wooden surface.

“They will drug you,” she adds.

“Whatever it takes,” I reply with a stolid expression.

“I trained you to use all your senses to find clues, and your husband did too. I know you’re highly skilled, so don’t underestimate me—or yourself.”

“I won’t.”

She adjusts her cat-eye glasses, perched sharply on her Roman nose, and clears her throat. “Do you recall that you asked me to dismiss every bodyguard you’ve ever had?”

“Remember, I married one? So… that wasn’t so bad.” It never gets easier to breathe without him by my side. Those overwhelming feelings, primarily sadness, leave me bankrupt of all emotions. I try to stay afloat instead of drowning in them. Isuppose that’s the price of living with a broken heart. And it was broken by the best man I’ve ever known.

I know she sympathizes because she lost her husband, my grandpa, long before I was born, and then she built her empire. She rose from the sharp claws of her grief and loss, so why can’t I?

“There is someone inside the prison. I believe he is the one responsible for your husband’s death. I spent almost two decades trying to catch these Halloween Killers, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that they get orders from someone powerful.”

“Like you?”

“Maybe.” She blinks slowly, as if it doesn’t bother her at all, and it truly doesn’t. Even if this person has enough connections, she always has the upper hand.

I pull my brows together. “Why are you telling me this?” The prison job isn’t an actual job; it’s a test. And if I navigate my way through her games, I might find something solid to hold onto for once.

Or maybe a way out of my head.

“If someone should kill him, it should be you. But make sure you get your answers first.”

“So, now it’s a mission based on a hunch?”

“Pfft, don’t patronize me, dear.” She leans back. Her voice sharpens. “It’s part of your initiation. First, you spend a year in that tower and learn what it’s like to be away and alone somewhere unknown. Then you get to feed your little demon when you twirl a knife against a perpetrator who slaughtered women for fun. To be part of this life, you must learn to adapt. You need to become a machine. Otherwise, this life will eat you alive, strip everything away until you are nothing but broken bones.”

That harshness in her tone used to terrify me. I know it’s just for theatrics. It’s not aimed at me, but is present to deliver a message.

She places a deck of cards on the desk, facing downward.

“Let’s play a game I like to call tricks and punishments. Pick one,” she prompts.

My finger hovers over the cards until one feels right, then I pull it out.

A joker.

“If I flip all these cards around, you will see that each one is a joker,” she smiles, facing them up one by one. “The thing with jokers is that they’re unreliable. Unpredictable. Some individuals aspire to become one because it makes them look… entertaining. Crazy. Tricky. Out of reach. Homicidal sociopaths. But in reality, we all need a brilliant disguise—a recognizable one that will deliver the message.”

True.

Jokers carry the element of chance and surprise.

“So, what kind of a joker are you?” I ask playfully, my eyes locked on hers. Romina Bishop can be all of them without batting an eyelash.

“Which one areyou?”

My eyes widen as I search for mischief in her eyes. “So what is the punishment?”

She sighs. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

In her cruel “Romina Bishop style,” she knows how to build anticipation only to leave me hanging.