“The first rule of running, Sir Walter,” I told him. “Never go anyplace familiar.”
He was shaking his head and saying, “No. No. You have the wrong man.”
“No, we don’t,” I told him. “You are Walter Knight, son of Avery Knight, great-great-great grandson of Thomas Avery McKnight. Tell me, did your great-grandfather change the family name because it made it easier for an Irish boy to rise to power in the British government at the turn of the century? Or was it because of the Circle?”
“What is your point?”
“I saw your great-great-great grandfather’s name on a list once.” I put my hand in my pocket and felt the piece of paper that I kept there, while the image flashed through my mind. That list had been buried in my subconscious for years, but once I’d remembered it, I hadn’t been able to forget it. The names written there were going to haunt me until the descendants of every last one of those men was collected and accounted for. “It was a list of very angry—very powerful—men. Now their descendants are very powerful people. And, as you know, Sir Walter, somebody wants you dead.”
“Get out!” he snapped, and pointed toward the door. “Get out now. Before I—”
“Before you what?” Bex grabbed him by the collar.
“You won’t be safe here,” I said, and watched the words land, the realization sweeping him off his feet. He walked to the window and sank onto the couch, pushing aside the pillow and blanket.
“Does the CIA know you’re here?” Sir Walter asked. “Don’t tell me they’re sending little girls to do their dirty work these days.”
Sure, I should have felt insulted. After all, this man and the goons who worked for him had been trying to kill me for months. And failing. If anyone knew not to underestimate a Gallagher Girl, it should have been this guy. But in my professional opinion, guys almost always underestimate girls. And honestly, we Gallagher Girls wouldn’t have it any other way.
His gaze shifted quickly from Bex to me. He looked between us as if expecting one of us to teleport out of there and come back with reinforcements.
“Your former…associate…Catherine Goode. She killed Crane. You know that, right?” I asked, but he said nothing. “And Charlene Dubois didn’t just go for a drive and forget to come home.”
“Charlene…is she dead?”
“Maybe. Probably. But you know Catherine better than we do, so tell me—why do you think she is picking off the leaders of the Circle of Cavan?”
“She’s crazy,” the man said with a scowl, and I knew from experience he was right. “She hates us. She wants to control things, and what she can’t control she destroys.”
I thought about Catherine Goode’s son. She hadn’t been able to control him. Did that mean she was bound to someday destroy him too?
“They’re coming for you, Sir Walter.” I shook my head. “And they won’t be as nice as we are.”
“I’m not in the Circle of Cavan,” the man spat.
Bex shook her head slowly. “Wrong answer.”
“I’m not!” This time, he shouted. “I’m not a part of that anymore.”
“It’s not the Boy Scouts,” I told him. “They don’t let you walk away.”
“I’m finished. And…and…this is your fault.” He pointed in my direction. “You should have had the decency to die when we needed you to.”
“Sorry,” I admitted. “I’ve been going through a bit of a rebellious streak. I swear it’s almost over.”
“So you’re here to kidnap me?” he asked.
“You say kidnap. We say hold in a secure facility until it’s safe to turn you over to the proper authorities,” Bex replied with a grin. “But to each his own.”
“If we found you, Sir Walter, then it’s just a matter of time before Catherine does too,” I told him. “Now, come on. Let us keep you safe.”
I reached for his arm, but he jerked away.
“No place is safe. You don’t understand. Look at you. How could you understand? You’re children. If you knew what the others want to do…what the Inner Circle is planning…I never wanted this.”
“Why?” Bex asked. “What are they planning?”
Knight shook his head. His lips actually quivered when he told us, “You don’t want to know.”
He’d seemed afraid when he first saw us, when he spoke about Catherine and the people she had killed. But in that moment, his fear turned to terror. He rocked back and forth, saying, “You can’t stop it. No one can stop it. It’s—”
“What are you talking about?” Bex shouted, gripping him by the shoulders, holding him still. “Tell us what you’re talking about, and we’ll stop it—whatever it is.”
“You fools.” He laughed. “It’s already begun.”
Bex looked at me. We’d come there with one simple mission: to find Thomas McKnight’s descendant and take him into custody. We hadn’t been counting on this. If the leaders of the Circle—the Inner Circle, as Knight had called them—were planning something, then that could very well change everything.
There was a new urgency in her voice when Bex said, “Look, we’re asking nicely. When Catherine comes—she won’t ask at all. So come with us now. Please.”
The man snarled, “Or what?”
Irony is a funny thing. Maybe the room was bugged and someone heard the cocky, condescending tone of his voice. Or maybe it was just fate that made the sniper pick that moment to fire. But I guess we’ll never know.
Suddenly, glass shattered, showering the room in glistening, falling shards. Bex and I dove behind the desk just as the rifle fired again. I heard the hiss of the bullet, saw the dark spot that grew on Sir Walter’s chest, and watched him fall hard onto his knees.
He was still upright, though, as I scrambled toward him.
“Sir Walter!” I yelled. He was one of the people who had sent a hit man on my trail, wished me and the list inside my head out of existence. But I didn’t feel any peace. Whatever ghosts had followed me to that room, they wouldn’t be satisfied just to watch him die.
“Sir Walter!” I yelled again. A drop of blood ran from his lips. As the life drained out of him, he toppled over onto the floor, never to defy us—or anyone—again.