He sighed. “Why?”
“Tied hands mean murder and this is supposed to be a suicide.”
He hated to admit it, but she was right. Damn her. She was always right. She could be annoying that way. Always so sure in what needed to be done. And so judgmental when he didn’t listen.
“Do it!” she ordered.
He stiffened, not sparing her a glance. He couldn’t bear to look at her smug, smiling face. One day he’d be rid of her. One day he’d be free.
He pulled the switchblade from his back pocket. He kept his voice steady, choosing to keep the peace for now. “You’re always good with the details.”
“Which is exactly why you will always need me.”