“Aside from the fact that eating both out of the jar just doesn’t fit your prima donna personality, you can’t talk when you eat it, at least not in a language humans understand. The fact that you try also doesn’t fit your prima donna personality. Just make sure your ‘tech’ doesn’t miss anything and knows how to speak the language of the snobby rich.” My cellphone beeps. “Text me if you need me. Email on the way.” I hang up.
My incoming shows Andrew, and I answer with, “Morning, brother.”
“It’s three o’clock, Lilah.”
How do these men not know it’s my version of morning? “And?” I query.
“I assume Kane is Kane and he’s just fine?”
“Yes,” I say, sticky sweet. “Thank you for asking. You’re always so thoughtful.”
He grunts. “We should meet and talk about the case. That is if you can tear yourself away from Kane.”
“I’m on my way to talk to Neal Woodard, who had frequent contact with Rip Vaughn for a month before his death, and in fact, was at the charity event. After that, we can meet at the diner. But you’re buying the strawberry pie and coffee.”
“You think Neal Woodard is involved?”
“I think Neal Woodard might have something to offer,” I say. “At this point, that’s all I think about Neal Woodard but I’ve got irons in the fire, as Mom would say. Things are happening behind the scenes.”
“We need to compare notes and coordinate interviews. And we should meet here. I need Officer North in on this and Chief Houston wants him and his man on speakerphone during the meeting.”
“You can update them,” I say as Jay pulls us to the gates of one of the many vast estates in the Hamptons. “Gotta run. I’ll text you when I head to the diner.” I hang up and I can almost hear my brother bitching me out. He loves me.
Jay rolls down his window and punches the call button. “Can I help you?” a female voice primly asks.
“Special Agent Lilah Love to see Mr. Woodard,” he states.
Obviously, Kane texted him the details of my meeting. I’m not sure if I’m irritated or not. I guess not. He almost died last night. We’re getting married in barely over a month.
“You don’t sound like a Lilah to me,” the female states.
“Holy mother of God,” I snap, leaning over Jay, who groans when I elbow him. “Special Agent Lilah Love. Tell Mr. Woodard I’m here investigating several murders here in the Hamptons. I’d like to either add him to the suspect list or wipe him off.” I flash my badge at the camera.
I slide back into my seat and Jay is checking his eye in the mirror. “Got a lash?” I ask.
He scowls as the gates slide open.
He really should have let me drive. Then I would have been on that side of the car to handle our entry.
Our path is long and paved, lined by sleepy winter trees which are no doubt green and beautiful in the summer. One thing about the Hamptons—it’s beautiful on the outside but filled with dirty little secrets on the inside. I wonder if that description applies to Mr. Woodard.
The house is a massive white brick number with a circle drive where Jay parks the BMW south of the front steps.
Ready to do this and get on to the next interview, I’m already reaching for the car door. That’s when Jay grabs my arm. “I’m going with you.”
“This is official business. You are not going with me.”
“Kane says I’m going with you.”
Kane says, is not a statement anyone says to me and that means he has my attention. Kane’s worried. Which I can only assume means that Kane thinks he was the first target and I’m the next.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jay doesn’t act on his own. Therefore, I don’t ask Jay for an explanation.
What is between me and Kane is between me and Kane.
And at the root of Jay’s actions is the directive of Kane, and Kane’s intense need to protect me, and while I get it right now, and he’s reeling from last night, keeping me in the dark is not okay. Or safe, for that matter. I mean, holy hell, doesn’t he know I need to know who I’m shooting at?
I dial Kane, and he answers on the first ring. “How’d the meeting go?”
There’s something in his voice, something dark and edgy, but not quite comfortable. “It hasn’t happened,” I say, softening my voice because right now, I’m not in confrontation mode with Kane. This is survival mode for us both. “What don’t I know, Kane?”
Jay leans his head back on the seat and squeezes his eyes shut, dread etched on his face. “He didn’t tell me to go in with you.”
“What?” I demand, easing the phone from my ear. “What the hell are you talking about, Jay?”