CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KATE
I bury my face in my hands and I rub hard at my eyes, trying to figure out where to go from here. The cop is laying on the ground, his face shot to pieces, and now we have two corpses and a mystery on our hands, and all you can say is how this is all my fault. It takes two to tango, you know, but you’ll never hear it. As we prepare the bodies for burial, I mentally run down the list of all the people we know who could have sent those notes. The bad part is, whoever it is, it means they know about us. It means they’re on to who and what we are. It means they’ve been watching us—they could be watching us now.
“Something has to change, Kate,” you say, catching me off guard. I look up and watch you piling rocks into the body bag.
“And by something, you mean me…”
You
