Page 18 of Tourist Season

I falter under the weight of those two words. And Nolan sees it. That one heartbeat where my finger separates from the trigger. When I lower the gun just enough to leave an opening.

And he takes it.

The weapon flies from my grasp and lands on the grass.

I have just enough time to hit the flat side of his blade with the bottle of Piss-Off!

spray to knock it to the ground. But even as it’s falling, Nolan’s other hand is already gripped tight around my throat.

He leaves me just enough air to breathe.

His palm tightens beneath my jaw, his fingers firm and unforgiving in my flesh.

My pulse hammers into his warm skin as he draws me closer, staring down into my eyes as though he’ll consume my fucking soul. “Where. Is. My. Book?”

Mint and rage flood my face with every breath he takes.

Fury radiates from him, charging the air between us.

That wedge of brown in his left eye seems to darken, as though the demon in him is rising to the surface.

And I stare right back at it, daring the devil to come out.

My words might be choked, but they still hold venom when I say, “Go fuck yourself.”

His grip hardens and I struggle not to cough. “I could torture you until you tell me.”

“I’ve been tortured before. Go ahead,” I hiss, the pressure building in my head with every heartbeat, my vision throbbing.

Nolan’s brows knit tighter, just for a flicker of time, his scowl dropping to my lips before rising once more.

“Except you should probably know …” My gloved hand grips his wrist and I haul myself closer, until there’s only an inch or two of space between us.

“Your precious book will go straight to the FBI along with every scrap of information I’ve collected on you so far.

The license plate of your rental vehicle.

The medication you take. The pharmacy that fills your prescription.

Your fucking phone number. Hurt me or kill me.

Go right ahead and watch your life unravel.

I’m sure your parents and sister will be so proud to find out who Nolan Rhodes truly is, especially after everything they’ve already lost.”

At the mention of his family, I see the first true moment of unease burrow beneath Nolan’s ruthless scowl. A muscle feathers along his jaw as though he’s trying to clamp down on his fear. His grip loosens just enough on my throat that I can take a full breath in.

“There’s only one way you’re getting that book,” I say. A shadow of rage passes across Nolan’s face, his lips set in a tense line. “Help me protect Arthur. Get Sam out of here.”

“If you want me to kill him, I’m not going to do that.”

“ Fuck no.” I glare at him, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “If you do that, the fucking Sleuthseekers will descend on this place. We’ll be overrun by those fucking tin hat conspiracy weirdos. Just make him leave.”

Nolan lets out a bark of a laugh. There’s no joy or warmth in the smile he gives me. “So you want me to help you protect your serial killer benefactor from the guy who seems to be legitimately on his trail? That’s rich.”

“That’s the offer. Take it or get fucked.”

“Why don’t you just lead Sam off course by yourself?

Judging by your little setup here,” he says with a jerk of his head in the direction of the woodchipper, “I’m sure you can manufacture a reason for him to take his focus off your friend and put it elsewhere.

Maybe try being magnanimous for once in your life and take the heat for Arthur yourself. ”

I swallow down the vows I’ve made. The promises I’ll do anything to keep.

“If I could take the heat for him, I would,” I say.

Though I’m sure Nolan won’t believe me, that’s the truth.

I know enough about Porter to know that he’s not just here to solve a mystery.

He’s here for fame. And no one could give him a better story than me.

If I let Sam Porter get too close to me, he’ll thrust me back into the spotlight, and who knows what that bright light could uncover.

Every promise I’ve ever made—to Arthur, to myself, to the ghosts I left in my past—will crumble like dust in my hands.

If only it were that simple.

I can’t do this on my own. Nolan Rhodes might have come here to kill me, but he’s suddenly the only person who can save me. “Help me or your book is going to the authorities.”

He scoffs, his eyes scouring my face as though he could flay the flesh from my bones with nothing more than a look. “Let’s say I do help you. Then what? You’re just going to give me my book back and let me go on my merry way?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know I won’t turn around and kill you the second it’s in my hands?”

“I guess you could.” I shrug. “But I suppose the rest of the evidence could still be a problem for you.”

Silence descends between us. His hand tightens once more around my throat and I capture a breath to hold it.

Stalemate , I hear again as the edges of my vision start to darken.

My eyes press closed only long enough to will the memory away, and as soon as they do, Nolan’s grip relaxes just enough that the hum in my head subsides.

“I will help you with Arthur. And then you’ll give me the book and anything else you have stored away,” he finally says.

“I’ll give you the book and your weapons. You’ll leave town. Anything else stays with me, since I’m sure you’ll be gathering evidence against me during our super fun time together that I’m so looking forward to. Take it or leave it.”

I can see how desperately he wants that book. It’s a war behind his eyes. But just because I have leverage and need his help, doesn’t mean I can trust him. No matter what I keep after our deal runs its course, he’ll kill me the moment that book is in his hands. I know it.

The only way I’ll survive is to kill him first.

“Pretty murder bird,” Morpheus says in the mist, his voice a flawless imitation of my own.

I swallow, unfolding my hand from Nolan’s wrist to hold it up between us for him to shake. “Do we have a deal?”

Nolan looks down at my offered truce. He gives so little away in his expression, his eyes fixed on my bloodstained glove.

It takes a long moment before his focus finally meets mine once more and he uncurls his grip from my throat, one finger at a time.

Morpheus caws in the shadows. Maybe it’s a harbinger of doom.

Or fate, sealed in an ominous song. His cry falls into the background as Nolan tugs the gardening glove from my hand and tosses it to the grass, then slips his palm against mine, his stare unblinking.

“Make no mistake,” he says. “If I go down, I’m taking you with me. ”

“I’m sure.” I can’t help the wicked smile that creeps onto my lips as I pump his hand twice. “Starting tomorrow.”

With my other hand, I raise the bottle of Piss-Off! and spray him in the face.

Nolan drops my hand and backs away, raising his arm in defense. “What the fuck? What are you doing?”

“Getting you to Piss-Off ! I’ve had enough of your shit for one day.”

“It burns .”

“Good,” I snarl. Three more sprays land on his hand. “Get the fuck off my property. Take your fucking head with you. I’m not interested in cleaning up your mess.”

I toss Jake’s head at Nolan and it hits his chest with a dull thud. He’s wiping the spray from his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie when I open the valve on the garden hose lying next to the tarp and toss it in his direction.

“Come back tomorrow afternoon and we’ll figure this shit out,” I say, picking up the knife and the gun as he fumbles for the hose, a string of curses tumbling from his lips.

He points the end toward his face and blinks into the trickle of cold water.

“And if I see you before then, I’ll be putting you through my woodchipper before our deal even begins. ”

With a final glance, I turn my back on the man who has come here to kill me and walk away.