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)
Good.
He’ll deliver the message, just as intended.
“Who found the body?” I ask.
“There was an anonymous tip called in. Apparently, the killer thought we were taking too long to find him. When the paramedics saw his badge, the chain of command quickly escalated.”
“Where is his badge now?”
“Bagged and protected.”
“What else was bagged and protected? Because if we can’t protect a director of the FBI, I have a hard time thinking we can protect his badge.”
“Nothing that I know of. Why?”
“That you know of. Those are the words of a fucked-up investigation. Where’s his service weapon?”
His lips press together. “We couldn’t locate it. Reports have been filed.”
“Huh,” I say, though this news doesn’t surprise me. Any killer worth his weight in bullets would claim a weapon he could use later, in all kinds of useful ways. I wave him on. “Go get my men.”
He gives a nod and heads down the hallway.
Once I’m alone, I do what I never do when Kane’s handling cartel business. I punch in his number. Of course, he won’t answer. I know he won’t answer because drug cartels aren’t exactly all about happy wife, happy life, though maybe if they were, they wouldn’t get in so much fucking trouble. After a few rings, sure enough, I’m in voicemail. I don’t leave a message. I text him: Murphy is dead. It’s a professional hit. Watch your back.
I stare at the screen, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come.
He went to Mexico to kill his uncle, who was in bed with Pocher.
I’d say Miguel was behind Murphy’s assassination, but as proven by his hit on my father, Miguel does nothing this tidy.
Chapter Four
Murphy may or may not have been the only intended target of his killer.
That reality is about as easy to swallow as a squishy, brown banana, but it’s nevertheless the food for thought I have to offer right now.
I don’t care who I scare or freak out, I’m going balls to the wall and preparing everyone for the worst.
The next call I make is to Tic Tac, who reported to Murphy, and who’s done a whole lot of digging around on the Society.
“Lilah,” he greets, sounding all chipper about the call when I don’t do chipper. It’s like he doesn’t even know me. “Let me guess,” he adds. “You need stuff. I thought you’d at least take twenty-four hours after catching the last killer.”
Okay, he knows me a little. I do always need stuff. “Where are you right now?”
“Home. Why?”
“Do you have a burner phone?” I ask, needing him off radar so he can’t be tracked down and killed.
“Yes. Oh, shit, I do, because one day I knew you’d ask me that question.”
He knows me after all. Maybe he’s crazy enough to enjoy the bullshit I bring him. I’m about to fix that for sure. “Okay, good. Get it. Then call me back. Now. Move.”
My next phone call is to my cousin, who I foolishly allowed to join the hunt for the Society in an official capacity. Lucas is now a part of Murphy’s team, or was, when Murphy had a team, which means he could be considered a liability. He could be on a kill list. He’s hacked about everyone we suspect to be a Society member.
“Lilah fucking Love,” he greets. “I mean Mendez. FUCKKKK.”
“I need you to find Andrew and get him to a safe place, even if you have to drug that idiot and drag him there,” I say of my brother. “Take a burner phone. Text me the number. I’ll call you as soon as I can talk.”
“Holy mother,” he murmurs. “Got it.” He hangs up.
One thing that can be said about my cousin is he knows trouble and trouble knows him.
When you know your enemy, you know how to evade and dodge.
The problem we all have right now is we don’t know our enemy, but we know he or she is a master of murder. But then, I think, so am I. That’s a truth I might not love about myself, but I’ve never denied it either. I’m not going to start now.
My phone buzzes with a number I don’t know but assume to be Tic Tac. Assuming makes me stupid and I hate stupid, so I answer with, “Who is this?”
“Me, Lilah,” Tic Tac says. “What is this?”
“Murphy’s dead.”
“What?” he gasps. “No,” he adds, obviously in more shock than rejection. “How?”
“It was a professional hit job and while some might assume the target was him and just him, I don’t. It’s bigger than that. I feel it in my bones.”
“Like ‘those people’ big?”
“Yes. That big,” I say, because we never say “Society” on the phone.
“What do I do?”
“I need you to get in your car and drive until I get you help. I’ll call you back. Understand?”
“Yes. I’m scared, Lilah.”
“Good. You’ll be smart then. Don’t trust anyone, and I mean anyone, Tic Tac. Homeland Security came and got me. They don’t seem to want the Feds involved.”