Page 183 of Dead Man's List

No way. No freaking way.

Sam’s head whipped around and he glared at the door, willing whoever it was to go away, but the kiss ruiner knocked again, even harder.

Kit sighed. “You’d better get that.”

Sam was halfway to the door, grumbling under his breath, when his caller knocked a third time. “I’m coming, dammit! Keep your pants on.”

He heard Kit give a little snort-giggle as he opened the door and frowned. “Navarro?”

Lieutenant Navarro stood there, his fist poised to knock a fourth time. He looked around Sam and blew out a relieved breath when he saw Kit. “Can I come in? It’s important.”

Sam stepped aside, his mind going a mile a minute. Had the police changed their minds? Would he be held accountable for the shot he’d taken at Peter Shoemaker?

Sam closed the door and walked over to where Kit stood. She too was eyeing Navarro nervously.

“What’s going on, sir?” she asked.

Navarro gestured to the sofa. “You should sit down.”

She shook her head. “What’s going on? Tell me. Is it my father? My mother? Rita?”

“No, no.” Navarro lifted his hands in a placating way. “They’re fine. I’m surprised they’re not here yet. I figured they’d rush over when they finally told me that you were here with Sam.” He glanced at the table, at the pretty china and the bottle of champagne. “I’m really sorry.”

“Why?” Kit asked, the single word coming out sharp and almost deadly.

Navarro squared his shoulders. “I’ve spent all day going through Munro’s dead-man’s-switch list. The three-ring binder.”

“I know what it is,” Kit said, without a note of inflection in her voice.

“There was…is a blackmail ‘victim’ on the list.” He used air quotes. “His crime was murder.”

Kit never moved a muscle. Her face seemed frozen in a neutral expression. Sam moved behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Just spit it out, Navarro,” he said. “You’re scaring her.”

“He’s pissing me off,” Kit snarled.

Navarro briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were filled with sorrow and trepidation. “This murderer threw his victim—a fifteen-year-old girl—into a dumpster.”

Like Wren had been, more than sixteen years ago.

Kit stiffened. “What?” she whispered.

Sam led her back to one of the dining room table chairs and gently pushed her to sit. That she followed without complaint was testament to how shocked she really was. “Who?” Sam asked. “And when?”

“It’s a fake name. A few of the names are fake. I don’t know why, not yet. He’s listed as John Smith. He’s been paying Munro for five years. Ten thousand a month. He might have nothing to do with Wren. He might be another sick bastard who treats hisvictims like garbage. But I didn’t want you to come in tomorrow and see this. Not with everyone around.”

Kit was staring off into space, her eyes unseeing. Sam ran his hand over her hair, resting his palm on the side of her neck. She didn’t move. Didn’t react at all.

“Kit?” Navarro asked, coming to crouch in front of her. “Say something. Please.”

She swallowed. “Thank you for telling me.”

That was all? Sam thought she’d be furious with the man who’d killed a girl and thrown her body in a dumpster. With Munro for knowing it was happening and not telling the authorities.

With Navarro for being the bearer of bad news.

But she didn’t get mad. She was just…numb.

Sam bent to kiss the top of her head. “Come on, Kit. I’ll take you home. To McKittrick House. Your parents will need you and you need them.”