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Ella strode from the living room to the kitchen and back again. Back and forth, like a caged animal, wearing away what was left of the hardwood floor. She needed a drink. Maybe some nicotine. Something to dull the edges of the hamster wheel that was her brain. It was spinning round and round, going nowhere fast.

Because she couldn’t stop thinking about Martin Godfrey.

Mia”s boy toy. The man who”d charmed his way into their lives with his crooked smile and his silver fox swagger.

But the pieces were falling into place now, and the picture they formed was ugly as sin.

Martin was no mere charmer. Much more than just a retired FBI agent and military vet.

He was Ella and Mia’s uninvited angel of death.

Over the past month, four people close to Ella and Mia had been targeted by an unknown assailant. Logan Nash, shot between the eyes in his supposed safe house. Randall Carter, smug prick as he was, assassinated right outside his house. Trevor Garbett, Mia”s scumbag ex, dumped on the side of the road like yesterday”s trash with a bullet hole in his forehead.

And Ben. Poor, stupid Ben. Ella”s own mistake, the guy she”d let get too close. He”d survived, but only just. And she”d seen his attacker, seen that face in the flesh. The same face she”d seen on grainy CCTV footage, standing over Carter”s cooling corpse.

And yesterday morning, Ella had paid a visit to Mia’s house. There, sitting on her sofa like a king on his throne was Martin Godfrey, and in that moment, the grainy picture finally came into view.

It was like a bolt of lightning straight to her cerebral cortex. The disparate fragments of evidence, the nagging suspicions, all coalescing into one inescapable truth. Martin”s profile, the subtle shift of his shoulders, the tilt of his chin - it all matched. The man on the CCTV, the figure in Ben”s apartment room. It was him. It had always been him.

Ella”s subconscious had known, even if her waking mind had been too blind to see it. The pieces had been there, waiting for her to put them together. She and Martin had exchanged a glance then, a look that spoke volumes without a single word. Ella”s stare was wide and accusing, screaming the truth she”d uncovered.

Martin had returned the gesture. He knew that she knew.

Ella sank onto the couch, her head in her hands. It didn”t make sense. Why would Martin do this? What was his angle? Some kind of twisted white knight complex, protecting the damsels in distress?

But that was stupid. Ella and Mia were no shrinking violets. They could handle themselves, had been doing it for years. They didn”t need some trigger-happy old man watching their backs.

So what then? What was Martin”s game? Ella”s mind spun with possibilities, each one more far-fetched than the last. Was he some kind of serial killer groupie, getting off on taking out their enemies? A psycho who wanted to play hero? Maybe he craved the thrill of the hunt again, and this was his way of getting close to the action. What if it was an effort to frame her and Mia? With Mia behind bars, Martin could be in line to inherit Mia”s eight-bedroom palace she called a house.

Or was it something else entirely, something she couldn”t even begin to wrap her head around?

Ella groaned, rubbing her temples. This was getting her nowhere. She needed to talk to someone, needed to get this off her chest before it ate her alive.

But who? Mia was out of the question. How could Ella look her best friend in the eye and tell her that her boyfriend was a murderer? That the man she”d let into her bed, into her heart, was a stone-cold killer?

It would destroy her. Destroy their friendship. And then where would Ella be? Alone, that”s where. Alone with her suspicions and her guilt and her goddamn spinning hamster wheel of a brain.

She couldn”t do that to Mia. Couldn”t lay that burden on her shoulders. But she couldn”t keep this to herself either. It was too big, too heavy. It would crush her.

Could she take it to the director? Possibly, but what would she tell him? That she suspected a former agent of being a serial murderer? It was a long shot, because other than a blurry shape on some CCTV footage, Ella’s evidence for this accusation was sorely lacking. The director already thought she was crazy, so pointing fingers without proof wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

Ella paced like a rat in a maze. She was in too deep now, no doubt about it. But what the hell was she supposed to do? She needed to talk this out, get some perspective before she lost her goddamn marbles. Mia was off the table, and spilling confidential FBI dirt to her roommate was a one-way ticket to unemployment.

Then, like a bolt from the blue, it hit her. Luca. The new guy at the Bureau, fresh meat with a pretty face. They”d crossed paths a few days back, made noises about grabbing a coffee sometime. Well, some time was now.

Getting out of her apartment would do her good. Maybe she wouldn’t spill all of the details to Luca since she barely knew the man, but the primal act of being in the company of another might give her some perspective.

Ella snatched up her phone and fired off a text before she could talk herself out of it. Her thumb hovered over the send button, nerves jangling like alarm bells. But what did she have to lose? They’d briefly spoken yesterday about meeting up, but without a date and location locked in, plans had fizzled to intentions and then died a death.

She busied herself around the apartment, trying to burn off the restless energy and the reply-anxiety. The higher-ups had put her on mandatory RR after the case in Maine, but lounging around in her sweatpants wasn”t doing her any favors. She needed to move, to do something, anything to keep the gears in her head from grinding themselves to dust.

Her phone buzzed, and Ella pounced on it like a starving dog on a pork chop. Luca”s name flashed on the screen.

Free for a couple of hours. Shall we grab that drink?

Ella couldn’t type fast enough. Yes, please. How about Nico”s in 30 mins?

The seconds crawled by. Ella chewed on her lip and tasted blood.

Then, finally, a response. Deal. See you there.

Ella let out a breath she hadn”t realized she”d been holding. She glanced at the clock, calculated how long it would take her to get presentable. She couldn”t roll up to Nico”s looking like something the cat dragged in.

She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject on her mind, or whether it was a wise idea to do so at all. But one thing was for sure, she couldn’t just sit on her hands and wait for the sky to fall. It was time to take action, to do something before this whole mess blew up in her face.

And she had to remind herself of another thing.

This wasn’t a date. Definitely not.