“You do, too,” I say.
“Whatever, Lilah. Ask the questions you know you want to ask.”
I don’t argue. Lives are on the line, but I make a mental note to talk to Murphy and get Lucas some protection. Murphy might tell me to leave Lucas out of our business, but Murphy’s no fool. He knows I won’t listen. He knows I’m always a step away from handing over my badge. And he wants to take down Pocher. He can’t do that with Tic Tac. He has to have a rule breaker. Like me, Kane, and yes, Lucas. “What about the game?” I ask. “Does Woodard have a connection?”
“Impossible to know with how well that game is protected,” he comments.
“What about Woodard’s connection to Pocher?” I ask.
“No connection to Pocher,” he says, “He does everything through some guy in the city. I looked up Kane as well.” He dares a challenging look in Kane’s direction and adds, “And he does have a connection to Woodard.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kane has a connection to Woodard.
My first thought is that I’m not surprised by this. Kane is—well, he’s Kane Mendez, oil mogul—and other things I’ll leave unsaid.
My second thought to this accusatory announcement by Lucas is that my cousin is living dangerously.
My third is, well, there it is: a potential connection between the crimes and me and Kane. And I don’t like it.
In the meantime, Kane’s energy stabs at the room, sharp and hard. He doesn’t like Lucas, or anyone for that matter, digging around in his affairs. I glance over at him to size up just how irritated he is, and he’s looking at Lucas.
“You sure you don’t want a drink, Lucas?” he offers, lifting his glass.
The coffee pot beeps. I point Lucas to the pot and he smartly obeys and heads in that direction.
My attention turns to Kane, eager for an explanation.
“My investment guy got me into a few of his short-term ventures,” he says. “They went well and I’ve been out at least a year. As for Woodard himself, he stays out of politics, and oil.”
In other words, he stays outside of both Pocher and Kane’s realms.
Lucas returns to his seat and I turn my attention back on him. The coffee in his cup is black and I can’t even look at him while he’s drinking that dirty water. I open the fridge and hand him the creamer. “Does Woodard’s company have any connection to Banking the Billionaire?”
“I have no idea and no one is going to give you a better answer. Their servers are in Russia for a reason. They’re protecting themselves and their ownership. In other words, you can try to subpoena the records. And I’ll say good luck getting them.”
“Yeah, I figured as much, but I had to ask. Bottom line, though, somehow all of these victims connect to that game. And why, why, why do they need to play a game to learn to be rich? They’re already rich.”
“They’re obviously using it to communicate,” Kane replies. “No one logs onto a video game using throwaway phones if they aren’t using that game for some sort of communication.”
“Drugs?” Lucas asks.
Kane’s eyes land hard on Lucas. “What are you suggesting, Lucas?”
I ignore their exchange, focused on finding real answers. “Could it be a sex game disguised as something else?” I suggest. “There were naked pictures of herself on her phone taken during the time she was texting with JJ. Therefore, despite no proof of such in a message, I suspect she sent those naked pictures to JJ, then deleted them. And JJ is who I suspect to be the killer. And then another woman sent photos to the newest victim right before he died. In fact,” I murmur, grabbing my phone, “I need to know who she is.”
I text Andrew: Someone sent naked pictures to last night’s victim. I need her name and address.
“Women send naked photos,” Lucas points out, as I set my phone on the bar. “It means nothing.”
“Yes,” Kane says dryly, his eyes warm with mischief, “Lilah, women send naked photos to men.”
“You get the real thing, Kane Mendez. If that’s not enough, fuck you.”
He laughs while Lucas shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I think I need that drink.” He holds up a hand. “Not really. I haven’t even gotten to the point of why I risked my life by coming over here to see you.” That obvious reference to Kane is glossed over as he adds, “The Pro Bowl site lists its accomplishments. Of interest, considering Rip Vaughn had a medical license, are three medical start-ups, and one pharmaceutical company, which could arguably be medical as well. But the site has no direct connection to Rip.”
“Can you email me details on those companies you mentioned?” I ask.
“I already did,” he says. “I emailed you everything I have. And as for those companies on Woodard’s website, I didn’t dig deep into any of them. There wasn’t enough time.”