Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Our waitress steps to my side. “We got him a chair, but there’s no place for him to eat.”
“We aren’t staying anyway. Close out our tab with the card my brother gave you,” I say and when she would walk away, I add, “Did you see anyone in the hallway outside the bathroom?” I lift my badge.
“No. Should I ask the staff?”
“Yes.” I reach in the pouch behind my badge and offer her my card. “Ask them now.”
“Of course.” She glances at the card. “Agent Love-Mendez.”
My brother is now on his feet and walking my direction. “What’s going on?”
“Altercation by the bathroom. Why is Jack here?”
“No idea. I thought you invited him to torture me with an even smaller space.”
“There is no space large enough for Jack’s mouth.”
“No kidding,” he mutters, as I pull ahead of him and walk toward the table. The minute I step to the rear of what was Andrew’s chair, Jack pushes to his feet. He points to a seat in the corner which would place him right beside me. “I can fit right there and I don’t need to eat.” He moves and claims his new spot.
Jack is tall and lanky with glasses, his dark hair perpetually slicked back but today there’s a tight half-moon slice laying across his forehead, that is as weird as I suspect intentional. And I swear the man was born in khaki and a collared shirt. He’s a pain in my ass but inquisitive and book smart in ways that prove useful, when he’s not fucking things up. Or showing up where he’s not inviting at odd times that make me question if he’s crazy like the killers in the horror movies he obsesses over. “Why are you here, Jack?”
“I dream of working for you.”
“‘Dream City’ is closed right now.” The waitress appears by my side. “No one’s seen anything strange. We do have cameras. I can pull that footage.”
“Yes. I’ll take it. Send it to the email on my card, sooner than later.”
“As soon as we get past the rush hour, we’ll get it over.”
“Thank you. And if you have any street footage, I need that, too.”
“I’ll tell the manager. She’s dealing with a kitchen crisis, or she’d have come out, but she told me to give you her card.” She lowers her voice and whispers, “The chef can be a bear when stressed so she’s trying to keep the staff from quitting.”
“Tell her not to let me stress her out.” I accept the offering and stick it in the pouch with my own cards. “And on that note, a little chocolate comfort is in order. Can I get hot chocolate with extra whip for everyone at the table in to-go cups, please? Then we’ll get out of your hair.”
She grins. “You’re so nice for an FBI agent. Coming up. Do you want them added to your tab?”
I’m so nice. I almost snort. I can’t wait to tell Andrew how nice I am. “Of course. What’s a good sister if she doesn’t run up her brother’s credit card bill?”
She laughs and says, “A very bad sister indeed.” And then she’s gone.
“What’s going on?” Andrew asks, and we’re in such a tiny space we have no choice but to sit. I claim my seat, which is way too up close and personal with Jack, and Andrew does the same beside me.
“What’s going on is Andrew bought us all hot chocolate for the road.” I eye Jack. “Even you.”
Everyone is staring at me. “What’s going on, Lilah?” Andrew bites out.
My cellphone rings and I retrieve it from my pocket to find Adams on my caller ID, a ping in my belly, as I realize never again will Murphy be the one bugging the shit out of me. It’s Adams. And Ellis. I show my caller ID to the table and answer. “Mr. FBI himself.”
“You need to go to the governor’s mansion. Now.”
My gaze lifts to Andrew’s as I say, “Why do I need to go to the governor’s mansion?”
Andrew’s phone rings and he picks it up from the table and shows me the caller ID. It’s our father. He motions to the door and pushes to his feet, walking that direction.
“Your profiling and investigative skills are needed,” he replies. “Your father is asking for you personally. I get why your father called me, considering the high-profile situation, but I don’t get why he didn’t call you direct.”
He’s not but I am. No way would my father call me for help. “What is the situation? Let me guess. You can’t say on the phone.”
“You’re smarter than the average cat, agent.”
“That was a horrible, horrible old joke.”
“I am old. Or I feel old. I’m aging in dog years with this job already.”
I don’t care how old he feels. I don’t want to bond with him. And some part of me knows that’s because I might have liked Murphy as much as I hated him. I don’t want him to be the guy who killed my mother, but that’s a whole Pandora’s Box I don’t need to touch. “I’ll head that direction,” I say. “I have an unintentional entourage. Jack—”