Page 97 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

The intention to put me on the back foot was obvious, so all I did was stare back at him. Yes, it was discomfiting to know he knew so much about me, but I wasn’t about to show weakness and let him see that.

He turned his attention to Baxter. “Brave of you to bring a friend. I hear some of your friends aren’t doing so well.”

“Is that a threat?” Baxter asked.

“More of an observation. How is Jamie?”

“A lot less dead than you intended him to be,” I said. “That must have pissed you off. I assume you were hoping to stay incognito a little longer.”

Owen shrugged. “Now. Later. It’s all the same to me.”

He came forward a few more steps. Every fiber of my being wanted to step back and keep that same distance between us, but I refused to give in to it and held my ground. Baxter did the same.

“Are you recording me?” Owen asked when he was only a couple of meters away.

Baxter shook his head. “This isn’t about the law. It’s about you and me. About why you did what you did, and why, even years later, you can’t let this hatred for me go.”

“Hatred,” Owen said, as though it were an amusing concept.

“You said you hated me,” Baxter pointed out. “That day when I was shopping, and you followed me. I heard it as clear as day, and you wanted me to hear it.”

Owen said nothing, but a muscle ticked in his cheek. He walked over to a spot on the concrete and stared down at it. I knew from our previous visit that it was where Baxter had lain after Owen had stabbed him. “You’d think,” Owen said with zero emotion, “that there would be something to show for it, wouldn’t you? A stain. Something.”

Baxter swallowed. His composure held, but it clearly took effort. “I don’t think the council is big on commemorative bloodstains.”

Owen continued to stare at the patch of concrete.

Seconds passed. Long, drawn-out ones where no one moved a muscle. “I don’t understand how you’re here,” he finally said. “How did you come back?”

“I’m not answering your questions until you answer mine,” Baxter said.

Owen’s slow nod said that made sense. “Not here.”

“Where?” I demanded, frowning.

He jerked his head toward the stairwell. “On the roof. The fresh air gives me a clearer head. Helps me think better.”

“No,” I said before Baxter could speak. “Here is fine. Tell us why you did it. Why you thought the solution to finding out you had a twin brother was to take him out of the equation without ever having a single conversation with him? None of this was his fault. He was a baby, just like you were. He couldn’t have stopped you from being taken from the hospital. If you were going to go after anyone, it should have been your parents—and even that is tenuous, unless you expected them to keep a constant vigil over you. What happened to you was shit. No one’s denying that, but it’s not, nor has it ever been Baxter’s fault. If anything, he suffered as well. He should have had a twin brother to grow up with.”

“Lake…” The note of warning in Baxter’s voice told me to rein in my frustration.

“He talks a lot, your man, doesn’t he? Would you like me to put a pillow over his head?”

“Not funny,” Baxter ground out.

“The roof,” Owen said again.

“The roof,” Baxter agreed.

I swore under my breath, but neither man was listening.

Owen swept an arm out in front of him, his gaze laser-focused on his brother. “After you.”

Apparently, that courtesy didn’t extend to me. Owen fell into step behind Baxter as soon as he headed for the stairwell.

I didn’t mind. In fact, I welcomed it.

Someone needed to keep an eye on him, and I couldn’t do that if we were both in front of him. He’d already stabbed his brother in the back once. There was no reason to believe he wouldn’t do it again. With that in mind, I watched his hands, ready to react if one even looked like it might delve into his pocket or slide beneath his jacket. I breathed easier when they didn’t, remaining loose at his sides.