Page 41 of How to Kill Your Rival

Confusion roots me to the spot.

Then I catch a glimpse of the most glorious red hair.

Eliza Hamilton is at the foot of the stairwell in dark clothes with her kitbag over her shoulder.

She hasn’t heard me.

‘Eliza,’ I whisper.

She turns around with her knife poised to throw right at my face.

‘James?’

The expression that crosses her face moves through several stages in about two seconds. Surprise and annoyance. Maybe anger, even.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ she asks as I close the space between us. Up close, I see another expression in her eyes. Suspicion.

‘I could ask you the same thing.’

‘I’m on a contract,’ she says.

‘So am I.’

‘Am I your contract? Are you here to fuck with me?’

I run a hand over my face in exasperation.

‘No, of course not. I’m here to kill the fuckwit up there.’

‘Someone sent us both here,’ she says.

‘I guess.’

We look at each other for a long moment.

‘He’s still mine,’ she says.

I grin. ‘Wanna bet?’

There’s my girl. Eliza’s face breaks into a smile as she shoves me back and takes off up the first few steps. I lunge for her hoodie and tug her back. My reward is an elbow to the ribs, which expels the air from my lungs.

‘Ouch,’ I groan.

‘Don’t be a baby, James,’ she whispers, sounding utterly delighted with herself.

We continue up the stairs in a good-natured rivalry. I pull her hair, which makes her moan. She takes my stunned silence and nearly topples me back down the stairs.

I don’t care about killing the guy. But I love to see Eliza grinning.

We reach the top and catch our breath until Eliza takes the doorknob and twists it slowly.

I step back.

Ladies first…

We take a minute to make sense of the scene before us. The man is in his office chair and very much alive, but he has a little black device taped around his waist and another taped to his mouth. He’s duct-taped to the chair and writhes furiously when he sees us.

A sound that might well be help comes from his makeshift gag.