Make Me Up (Killer Style 3)

She clamped her jaw tight, sucked in a deep breath, pushed the panic to the background.

Fergus’s too-cheery voice slithered in under the door.

It was the detective who’d questioned her. The one Cam knew. The one who wanted to arrest her.

What the hell was he doing here with Fergus?

“I’d like a moment of your time,” the detective said.

How could they escape? The front closet was a no. Too obvious. Her gaze bounced from one potential hiding spot to another as her heart banged against her ribs like a runaway freight train.

“Of course,” Fergus said. “Here, let me put down these bags and get my keys. I always tell myself I’m going to only get what I need at the farmer’s market, but who can turn down jalapeño jelly?”

Cam grabbed Drea’s hand and yanked her down the short hallway.

Even as she sprinted in reverse, she couldn’t look away from the front door. The deadbolt turned counterclockwise. Fear squeezed her lungs tight.

Cam pulled open the linen closet door and pushed her inside. Half a second later, he shut the door and the world turned to blackness so thick she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

She closed her eyes more out of habit than necessity, then took in a deep breath and rolled her shoulders before the urge to hyperventilate took over.

Muffled voices made their way into the closet. Fergus and the detective. She held her hand out in front of her and took a cautious step toward the door, determined not to miss a word.

She made it a step and a half before running into a wall of hard muscle. Cam. She rested her palm against his soft cotton T-shirt and inched forward until they stood squished together, side-by-side in front of the closed door.

“Mr. Fergus, sorry for barging in on you like this,” the detective said.

“Not at all,” Fergus responded.

“I’m not sure if you’ve seen the news yet today but we’ve issued a warrant for Drea Sanford’s arrest.”

The words sent her pulse into overdrive again and jump started the urge to burst out of the closet and make a run for it—as stupid as it sounded to the logical part of her brain.

“Terrible news.” Fergus made some sort of sad tsk-tsk noise. “I still find it hard to believe. She didn’t seem the type.”

“How did she seem to you?” The detective made his request in a neutral tone, but she had no doubt about what he thought. He wouldn’t be trying to arrest her if he didn’t think so.

“Overworked. Tired of her clients’ shitty attitudes—at least that’s what she always talked to me about—but I figured it was just grousing. I didn’t think she’d actually do anything.”

Cam pressed a button on his phone, and its soft glow ate away at the darkness.

“I understand Mr. Orton had quite the fish collection.”

She pulled up on her tiptoes to better see what he was typing: ‘LOS! HIT THE SYSTEM NOW.

“Yes,” Fergus agreed. “He did.”

“Do you know what happened to it?” the detective asked.

Cam’s phone vibrated in his large hand as a text came in: ANY SECOND NOW.

“Mrs. Orton ordered all the fish removed. That was…” Fergus paused, “three weeks ago.”

“Do you know where the fish went?” the detective asked.

The apartment building’s fire alarm blared to life and drowned out whatever Fergus said next. In between pulses, she heard the front door shut.

They waited a few minutes as the wailing of fire trucks grew closer, then Cam cautiously opened the door and peeked through the small crack. A second later, he opened the door.