“What’s your timeline on this?”
“Today. I want to know where we’re headed by tomorrow.”
“I need a full two days to try to talk sense into everyone,” I say, aware that this day is going to be about Kane and that man tied to a chair. “Make that three. I have to travel between East Hampton and New York City to do this right.”
“You’ll have it after I set the stage for you by asking for evidence that I trust they don’t have, as I trust you. And that phone call I took was from Rich. He’s staying with you.”
“What? No. Rich is a tech guy.”
“Rich is a damn good agent.”
“Who I’ve fucked,” I say, forgetting decorum and not mincing words.
“Well now, since we’re pulling down the curtains and speaking frankly, I’m pretty damn sure you’ve fucked Kane Mendez as well.”
“Which is why Rich can’t handle this. He’s too personally involved. That’s dangerous.”
“You’re personally involved, which gives you advantages and disadvantages,” he says. “And like it or not, you’re human. If you claim jurisdiction, the wrath of your family will affect you, no matter how you try to pretend it won’t. You need someone who knows you there. And aside from that, it’s logical. He’s there. You need extra eyes. He stays.”
“Director Murphy—”
“End of conversation,” he snaps. “We’ll talk tonight.”
He hangs up.
CHAPTER FOUR
My first thought in the seconds after Murphy hangs up is that I have to get to Kane before Rich does and Rich ends up tied to a chair. I dial Rich. His line rings. And rings. And then goes to voice mail. I dial Rich again. He still doesn’t answer, when he always answers. I leave him a voice mail. “Call me, asshole,” I say, and then I text him the same. I then immediately punch in the number to Kane’s office that I unfortunately know by heart, refusing to analyze why I still remember it. I just fucking do, and since I don’t want to talk to him just yet, I fact-gather. The line rings and I run a hand through my tangled hair, pacing a few steps before I hear, “Mendez Enterprises.”
“Is Kane Mendez in the building?” I demand.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Is he in the fucking building or not?” I snap.
“Lilah,” the woman says, and I can almost hear her self-satisfied grin, as if she’s just figured out a puzzle and she’s anticipating the cookie she’ll be awarded. “Mr. Mendez said you’d be calling,” she adds as my stomach growls and I wish I had a damn cookie or ten.
“Is he in the building?” I ask.
“Yes, but—”
I hang up and grab my boots, pulling them on before walking to the bathroom, where I look in the mirror and cringe. “Holy mother of Jesus.”
Raccoon circles have settled under my eyes, which is appropriate, since my mousy, tangled brown hair looks like something crawled around in it and created a nest. I desperately need a shower before I face off with Kane, and this damn taste in my mouth has to go.
No sooner than I set my phone on the sink, it rings with Rich’s number on the display. I put my toothbrush down and answer the call, with one strategy in mind: controlling where he is at all times, especially this morning. “Asshole?” he demands.
He hates when I call him an asshole, since he prides himself on being a gentleman. “Yes. Asshole. We need to meet.”
“Yes. We do. I’ll come to you. Are you at your place?”
Me letting him come here, knowing Kane would find out, would be about as smart as the guy last year in Santa Monica who put a firecracker on his head and set it on fire. A bunch of the agency guys had then challenged me to profile his behavior. I had a one-word answer: stupid. And I’m not stupid. “Meet me for lunch,” I say, because if I have to fight with him, my brother, and Kane in the same day, I deserve another strawberry pie. I give him the location of the diner that I’ve already frequented twice this trip before adding, “At noon.”
“Noon,” he confirms. “Look, Lilah. I know you called me an asshole because you’re pissed, but—”
I hang up, and not because I’m trying to be the same asshole he’s being by acting like a jealous shit with Kane. I simply can’t risk getting into a conversation with him that sets him off and makes him do something stupid like the firecracker guy.
I set the phone down again and sway with a head rush, forced to grab the counter. Damn it to hell. I didn’t eat last night but I was drugged, which translates to weak, and, with a glance back in the mirror, I add, just plain gross. I need that shower and some form of food in my stomach, or I am going to pass out or punch someone who isn’t Kane. And Kane is the only one I know who can take the punch and not start crying, my damn brother included. Ironically, Kane is the only one of the three I want to make cry.
Thirty minutes later, I’ve showered, and with a robe around me, I walk into the kitchen, make a cup of coffee, and since I did go to the grocery store, I survey the cabinets and fridge for food. Apparently I suck at shopping, since within arm’s reach I seem to have only strawberries and more strawberries. So strawberries it is. I grab a plastic container and my cup and trek back to the bedroom. Another fifteen minutes later, my coffee cup is empty, and my hair is not only dry but flat ironed. Makeup is next, as is my unskilled attempt to correct the vampirishly pale look I’m sporting today. I’m nearly done with the whole beautify-myself routine, and halfway done with my strawberries, when I feel human enough to answer one of three calls in ten minutes from Tic Tac.
“Dead or bleeding?” I say when I answer, referencing his voice mail.
“Holy hell, Lilah. I didn’t really mean that.”
“That really was coldhearted. Make it up to me. I need stuff.”
“And here I thought a knock on your head would slow down the demands. I called you, remember?”
“And it was excellent timing. I need everything you can get me on Old Man Romano,” I say. “Apparently he’s the patriarch, not the other guy we’ve been chasing for years.”
“How do you know that?”
I flash back to the old man tied to a chair in Kane’s garage and decide Kane as a source doesn’t work. I settle on, “Call it a theory I need you to prove.” I switch gears then to my father’s main campaign backer, Mr. Moneybags and the patriarch, aka CEO, of Pocher Enterprises. “Every instinct I own says Pocher has a Romano connection,” I say.
“I’ve looked—”
“Look harder. He’s one of the richest men on the planet. It’s buried deep, but it’s there.”
“Aren’t we trying to find a killer?”
“Yes,” I say. “We are. And there are three powerful players in this territory: Kane Mendez. The Romano family. And Pocher. And since I’m convinced someone is trying to make Kane the fall guy, that leaves two.” And because I don’t want to answer questions, I throw him a bone he’ll choke on. “Moving on.” And because I know he’s on his cell phone, not the agency phone, I say, “I need you to do something for me from home, away from the office. I’ll owe you another big favor.”
“I don’t like how that sounds. No. The answer is no. So just don’t—”
“I need everything you can find on Murphy.”
“What?” he hisses, his voice lowering. “What are you doing, Lilah?”
“Just do it, Tic Tac. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I said I’ll owe you,” I say, my voice low, terse. “This is a big deal. I need you to do this and keep it between us.”
“Holy hell, Lilah. You’re going to be the death of me. You owe me big on this one.”
“Let’s hope that’s all t
hat comes out of this,” I say before we disconnect.
I grab the sink and think of Murphy’s words: We both know that you understand double lives and good actors. Everyone isn’t what they seem.
He’s right. They aren’t. I’m not. But until today, I never read him as anything beyond appearance. And missing a snake in the grass at my feet is dangerous, not just to me but potentially to the other agents who work beneath him. Which, remarkably, brings me back to Kane and the one good thing I can say about the man at the moment: I know who and what he is. I’m not sure there’s one other person in my life I can say that about right now.
That’s not true.
Rich.
He’s a nice guy who really is a nice guy, who is going to get eaten by the big bad wolf, which is Kane. And as pissed as I am at Rich right now, that’s why I’m angry. He’s not only going to get himself into trouble he’s not equipped to handle, he’s creating leverage for Kane against me. I have to get him out of here.
With that thought, I don’t linger at the sink. I walk into the closet, and keeping with the New Yorker theme I’ve gravitated to since arriving here, I dress in black jeans and a black V-neck sweater, along with my Chanel boots. It’s a generic look that my old boss in New York loved. It doesn’t stand out because it’s not me who needs to stand out, it’s the criminals.
Once dressed, I realize that my shoulder holster is still on the chair in the bedroom where Kane apparently left it. I opt for my hip holster and attach it to my belt for easier reach. Once it’s in place, I grab my wallet-sized purse—Chanel, because this town is all about brands—and slip it across my chest and settle it at my opposite hip. I then pull on a black Chanel jacket and call it done.
Exiting the closet, I hurry forward and enter the bedroom, pausing by the chair to remove my firearm resting there and holster it at my hip. That’s when I rotate and take a step, only to stop dead in my tracks and stare at Cujo where it rests on the bed. Now that I’m clearheaded, that’s not as insignificant as it was an hour ago. Cujo was in my office, along with the notes from Junior and all my case notes. Kane was in my office. I launch myself across the room, and I’m in the hallway and up the stairs in seconds. I stop in the doorway to find the pizza box I’d left on the top of the desk missing. My computer is open, my note cards stacked to the left of it.