“I interviewed him when you couldn’t get here for it,” Andrew says. “And I did a lot of checking on him. I don’t think he’s involved. I’ll share all my data with both of you. Now back to Ann.”
“She’s not the killer.”
“Why did she have the weapons?”
“She got paid to help. She was involved. But think about it. She didn’t kill me and Kane and she had the chance. I don’t think she even knew what she had in her car. Who knows what they told her. She was a patsy. They wanted us to think this is over. Don’t fall for it.” And because I know he’ll keep pushing, I end the call.
There’s a knock on the door and I open it to find an officer there. “This just came for the Chief from the DA’s office via fax.”
He motions the officer forward and accepts the paper. The officer leaves and Houston glances at the document and then sets it on the desk. “Your agreement,” he says, grabbing a pen and signing it, sliding it in my direction when he’s done, and then glancing at his watch. “It’s almost nine. You won’t get into that lockbox tonight. I take it you have a way of keeping our witness safe in the meantime?”
“Kane’s offered her protection. She wouldn’t accept it from the police. She doesn’t want to be connected to the case. Once she hands over the data, her assigned bodyguard will escort her to her family cabin in New Hampshire.” A realization hits me and I add, “Or so she thinks.”
His brows dip. “What does that mean?”
“A majority of New Hampshire is an hour from downtown Boston. And our little fake sous chef waitress Ann was just inside the Boston city limits when she was found dead.”
“Or maybe she was headed to New Hampshire to find Marilyn by way of Boston,” he supplies. “Which could mean Marilyn is our killer.”
“Or she was meeting up with Marilyn. Maybe they’re a team. The games this circle of friends were playing were group activities. I’m not ready to rule anything out. Either way, let’s see what Marilyn produces in that lockbox.” I pick up the immunity agreement, fold it, and slide it into my field bag. “And then I’ll decide if she gets this, and any level of protection, that doesn’t include bars.”
I leave it at that, exiting his office. It’s time to go home and have a little chat with my future husband.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Once I’m in the precinct stairwell, I hole up there for a moment and dial Jay. “I have the agreement.”
“I’ll tell Marilyn,” he says. “But the business with the lockbox is closed. Opens at ten tomorrow morning.”
“Good. We can sleep late. I’ll meet you there at opening time. Oh, and don’t eat or drink anything she gives you. Order in. She might not be as innocent as she seems.”
“What the fuck, Lilah?”
“We’ll figure out what to do with her in the morning. Stay alive. We’ll find you.”
He starts cursing in Spanish and I hang up. I’m starting to like him. I really hope he doesn’t die.
I head on down the stairs and grab another donut on my way out the door. There is more screaming in response, but this particular creamy pastry has chocolate and it’s worth the yelling.
I slide back into the vehicle with Kit. “Where’s Kane?”
“At the moment, I’m not privy to that information. He wanted me wholly focused on you.”
He wanted.
And Kane always gets what he wants.
Sometimes I like that about him. Right now, it just pisses me off.
“Take me home,” I say, as I shoot Houston a message: I’d slow the donut consumption around there right about now. Just one delicious bite and someone is dead.
He replies back with: Fuck.
Sometimes he speaks my language.
Ten minutes later, Kit valets the car. He has business at the building, as he runs security for our building, however that happened. It’s all part of Kane’s empire and his need for high security. And yet he’s ruled out any chance that the cartel is a part of the attempt on his life. That’s bullshit. And I’ve been so swayed by his dismissal of the cartel that I didn’t even go there mentally when his chopper went down.
I leave Kit outside and ride the elevator up to the seventeenth floor. With every ding of the next level, I grow angrier. Kane was in control tonight. Not his uncle. I go back to the fact that no self-respecting kingpin would allow his men to take orders from another, no matter who his dead father was.
By the time I reach our door, I’m fuming and the ten thousand security steps I have to follow to get inside only hypes me up all the more.
Once I’m finally in the empty apartment, I walk to the fridge, grab a container of strawberries, and a Diet Sprite, because of course, why add more calories? Then I head upstairs to Purgatory, where I need to spend the next few hours profiling our killer. I set the strawberries and drink on the table between the two chairs where Kane and I usually sit. And then I lean on the desk and just process. Something about this room always gets my mind working again. This time is no different.