Page 142 of Wicked Promises

Claire grins. “Amelie was more than happy to assist.”

“I doubt that,” I say.

“You’re right,” she answers. “She was more than happy to assistafterI blackmailed her.”

“With what?” I glance from Claire to Caleb, hoping to unspin the mysteries. My head is starting to hurt with all the new information, but… adrenaline keeps my focus on the present.

Claire shrugs. “I can’t give awayallmy secrets. What’s to stop them from bursting in here?” She rubs at her eyes. “You’re the one with the gun in your hand. Are you going to shoot me, Margo?”

“I might,” I whisper. “You’d deserve it.”

“I’ll go away for whatever crimes they can pin on me, but I didn’t do anything bad.”

“Youkidnappedme!” Left me for dead in an abandoned barn.

I could do it.

I could shoot her.

All I would have to do is pull the trigger.

My vision tunnels onto Claire. She appears innocent, but she’s not. She’s going to walk out of the interrogation room and hurt someone.

“You don’t feel anything, do you?” I ask her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She pinches at her skin of her arm, twisting it. “Do you think I feel pain? You could find out. Watch me scream. Come on, Margo, it’s easy. I know you’re thinking about it.”

I readjust my grip on the gun. I’ve never hurt anyone, but she’s under my skin. Dragging me down with her.

It’s easy to let her manipulate the situation. To get drunk on control.I’mthe one with the power.

“Am I still in a cage, Claire?”

Caleb touches my arm. He’s such a presence at my side, my body hums with awareness.

“Come back to me,” he whispers.

I shudder. My eyes are fastened on Claire, but she’s slowly backing away. Her face is pale, and she… she looks young.

So much younger than she did a moment ago, when our lives were in her hands.

He slides between us, taking the gun out of my hands and setting it on the counter. I let him. It slips out of my fingers easily, and I exhale once I’m free of it.

He tips my chin up, inspecting my face.

Claire isn’t a threat anymore. Somehow the tide shifted when we fought, and she’s retreating.

I stare up into Caleb’s light-blue eyes, wondering when I’ll come back to myself.

The back door flies open. It crashes into the wall.

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me down.

Someone screams, and the police flood in. We stay crouched together as they sweep the area.

They’re a river of dark-blue jackets and weapons.

“Mr. Asher and Ms. Wolfe,” a familiar voice says.