Page 21 of The Vigilante's Lover

I’m not sure what game Mia is playing, but I’m done going along.

I grab her by the neck and squeeze a spot that I know creates a screaming pain through her skull.

Her eyes go bright with pain, but she can’t easily speak while I’m doing this.

My voice is like ice. “Who killed Klaus? Was it you? Or Jovana? Or one of her people?”

I let go. She slumps forward so fast that her forehead bangs the dash.

I wait until I know she is recovered enough to hear me. “Who killed Klaus?” I ask again.

Her back shakes a little, and that annoying protective urge in me is pricked again. I ignore it. “Answer me,” I insist, “or I’ll do that again.”

She sucks in a long shuddering breath. “I—I thought I was special,” she manages to get out.

I grab her shoulder and drag her back against her seat. “I am aware that you have somehow managed to compromise the Vigilante information network. That is no small feat.” I pull my hand away. “That doesn’t tell me who killed Klaus.”

She turns her face to me, eyes wet with pain and fear. “Klaus is dead?”

If her training is this good, I need to know who did it, because her confusion, fear, and innocence are so convincing that I let go of her and sit back.

“He was killed at your safe house, six months ago. Both his record and the notification of his death were deleted.”

She shakes her head. “No. I was there with my aunt. That’s right when I arrived. Almost to the day.” Her eyes plead with me. “We were alone. Nobody was killed there. I never heard of the Vigilantes until you told me.”

I want to tear out my hair, a feeling I’m not used to. Interrogating difficult prisoners was something I used to do all the time. Why is this pathetic sniveling girl getting to me?

I reach to tap my watch, realize it was confiscated at the silo, and manually bring up the dash screen. “Encrypted message,” I say.

The display flashes red, then green. “Encryption initiated,” it says.

“Message to Sam and Colette. Klaus dead. Records deleted. Rendezvous in—” I glance at the countdown to when I have to give up the ID of the car. I can’t push it. “Thirty-six hours.” I give a set of coordinates that will put us near the safe house.

Mia sniffs. “They were going to send me home.” She rubs her neck. “But I didn’t want to go.”

I cut off the communication screen so that it won’t add her ramblings to my message. Her voice sounds so forlorn, so lost.

“All right, I’ll play,” I say. “Why didn’t you want to go home?”

Her green eyes search mine. She looks me over, my hair, the white shirt, now wet and sticking to me, my suit jacket still at the silo. They rest on my hand, which just caused her no small amount of pain.

“Because I want to be with you,” she says. “All the way. With you.”