Conflict of Interest

Chapter Fifty Two

"Maybe she does."

I made a face like I'd been stabbed. "Grace," I said unnecessarily. "What are you..." I trailed off, then went silent. Dumb questions, Carrie. No time for them.

"I asked her to come here," Lindsay answered anyway. "She had no objection."

"How did you even get in?"

"Caroline, so intelligent yet so lacking in sense. Did you really think you left your key at the bar that night? Caroline Everett doesn't make mistakes."

"You insufferable bitch," I couldn't help castigating, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Name-calling won't save your life, I'm afraid. In fact, now no one will."

"Why is she here?" I questioned, talking about Grace instead of directly to her because I was that lacking in the respect department.

"Well, someone has to pull the trigger, Caroline," she tried explaining. "And I've had my fun with you, even if I didn't quite get to finish the job the last time, so I figured I'd let someone else whose life you ruined have a chance."

"I didn't ruin her life."

"Grace, care to respond?"

"How can you say that?" she wondered out loud.

"Say what?"

"How can you say you haven't ruined everything?"

Grace, as always, couldn't keep the flood gates closed, and was already watering at the eyes. It was almost laughable as Lindsay McVale, the licensed assassin, assuredly passed her professional-grade firearm off to Princess Grace, who could try like hell to kill a fly, but would probably end up missing.

Part of me had to wonder, though, what makes an assassin an assassin and a crying princess just that. Something biological, maybe, a few wires loose in the head, or maybe it was just the result of a poor upbringing. Or maybe, in my worst case scenario, the only thing that separated an assassin from the rest of us was a heavy dose of anger and a sentiment of having nothing to lose. Grace, I knew, had both, and so I had to ask myself: what is more dangerous than a jealous ex-girlfriend?

I laughed at the prospect anyway.

"I'm sorry," I finally said. "You're going to trust her with a firearm?"

"Like it's hard?"

"She'll probably end up shooting herself in the foot," I warned. "Quite literally."

"Carrie, shut up," Margaret implored from the corner of the room. "Please, just humble yourself for once and say you're sorry!"

"Margaret," I said quietly. "Perhaps you don't quite know what's transpired between the three of us in the past weeks, but if you think sorry is going to fix it, I wish both your GPA and your bar exam good luck."

"The most intelligent thing you've said all day, Caroline," Lindsay agreed. "Now, I'm going to let the three of you work it out together how this is going to play out, kind of like a social experiment of sorts. I'm going out to the hallway to make a phone call, and when I come back, I'm expecting a decision."

"A decision on what?"

"Well, for example, Caroline, if you'd like to have the first shot, I'd be willing to let you do that. Of course it'd be easier to watch someone else put a bullet through your own protégé than to do it yourself, but there's no guarantee, of course, that I'll kill on contact. You may decide that you'd like to put her out of her misery quickly, rather than draw it out like I very well may, or you may decide - as I'd wager that you will - that you can't bring yourself to do it. I estimate that you're too weak and too selfish to pull the trigger, and that you'd rather let her suffer than live with being the cause of her death."