Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
The nightstand is empty, but I start digging around the bed and bingo, I locate what appears to be a journal in between the mattress and box spring. I’m not sure how forensics missed this, but they were clearly rushed, and I’m glad they did, because now it’s mine. I thumb through what appears to be notes related to official business by date, but random pages are torn out.
I find it hard to believe the killer hunted down this journal, found the pages to remove that incriminated him or her, and then shoved it back in between the mattresses. Whoever killed Director Rodriguez did it and got out. I don’t know if those pages matter but considering it seems as if she detailed each day’s activities, maybe as a way to protect herself or testify in court if needed, those pages become more interesting. I bag the journal and once again defy the rules by stuffing it into my field bag.
My cellphone rings with Tic Tac’s normal number. I answer with, “Feeling brave, I see.”
“It’s Rich.”
I curse under my breath. “Why are you calling me?”
“I did some digging on Adams. No one really witnessed him do anything that fits the stories. I can’t get a real read on the story at all.”
“Did you get a read on Kane? Because that bullshit you pulled was not smart.”
“Because you married a killer?”
“You’re such a child, Rich.”
“So, I guess it was just sex, right? I fucked you like a champion, right? Did you tell him that?”
“You are getting creepy, Rich. How did I not see what a crazy stalker you are?”
“Are you serious, Lilah? He’s a kingpin and you’re calling me creepy? You’re such a bitch.”
“And yet, here you are, talking to me. I’m going to arrange a private flight for Tic Tac to come to me.” I hang up on him and call Kit.
“Lilah. Is there a problem?”
“Rich is the fucking problem. I need him to go away and no, not literally. I’m texting you Tic Tac’s number. I need you to get someone to pick him up and get him to New York City, to us to protect.”
“You fucked up calling him.”
“Yes, Kit. Thank you for driving that point home. Now just fix my fuck-up for me without bloodshed.” Ellis appears in the doorway. “I have to go.” I hang up.
“If you’re done here, I’ll take you by the Pentagon to get your new staff in order. Murphy and Rodriguez have offices there as well.” His cellphone rings and he snakes it from his pocket. His eyes widen and he answers, “Sir. Yes, sir. Absolutely. Right away.” He disconnects. “We have a detour.”
“Where?"
“The White House. The President would like to speak to us both.”
I laugh. “That’s not a good idea.”
“It’s not a question, Agent. What the President wants, the President gets.”
I grit my teeth. Holy fuck. I don’t like people. I like politicians less.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I’ve never been to the White House for a reason.
I’ve never been invited, and I liked it that way.
If I have to listen to political bullshit in person, I might kill someone. I listen to enough of it with my father, and it’s nauseating. Smooth as fucking butter on bread, my ass, but nevertheless, I’m in an SUV, pulling through the gates to the White “fucking” House. Interestingly enough, Ellis didn’t try to kill me at the crime scene and instead took me here. I think this might be worse. Not that I hate President Arden, I just don’t know much about him. I didn’t vote for him. I didn’t vote at all. The Society burned me on the idea that I’m voting for anyone but them. But if I had voted, I would have voted for him over his opponent, whose name I forget with good reason.
He reminded me of my father. Either way, I trust none of them. I’ve seen too much to unsee the wolves in sheep’s clothing.
The driver parks the vehicle, and Secret Service greets us en masse.
We’re escorted into a holding room where I’m stripped of my weapons, which is what some might call excessive. Director Ellis actually laughs after we pass weapon number four. I had eight total. I personally find it impressive. The Secret Service team does not. One of them actually suggests I be strip searched.
“No one will live through that,” I say. “I’d suggest you ask the President if you want to proceed.”
They actually do and he does not.
When the search is over, we still have fifteen agents all around us. “How many Secret Service Agents does it take to unscrew a light bulb?” I don’t wait for an answer. “Apparently all of them.”
There are various stick-up-the-ass expressions around the room.
Whatever.
“Or as an alternate answer,” I say. “I don’t know how many of them it takes to unscrew a lightbulb if it takes roughly fifteen agents to greet two people with badges just like yours.”