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)
At this point me and Enrique have halted at the entrance with the cop in front and to the right of me. “I hate when people speak so formally to me,” I say. “Next time just call me Agent Mendez. I’m dropping the Love because I hate my father. Pass it around. And tell Houston he’s a drama queen and fuck you very much. I’ll call when I can.”
Enrique opens the door and the cop says, “If you hate him, why are you here?”
“Murder. The answer to where I’m at is always murder.” With that, I walk inside the building, ignoring the glitz and the four uniforms standing guard. After the election, it’s not all that surprising my father would have a police presence at a high-profile building. The rest of the world is obsessed with this city thus why New York City is still a terrorist wet dream.
We walk past the cops with me wearing a do not disturb sign of bitchiness as my body language. I’ve always wished I had a resting bitch face. My middle fingers get strained sometimes. Once I’m inside the car, I snap at Enrique. “Pocher? Really?”
He holds up his hands. “Kane told me to call him.”
It’s right then that the short, bald cop appears in front of us, placing his stout body inside the closing doors, which proceed to crash on his shoulders. “Houston’s on the phone. He said it’s not bullshit. He needs you now. And you need him.” He offers me his phone.
“I will throw that phone across the lobby. Tell him to call mine, which he has not done, and yet here you are, stopping me from dealing with FBI business.”
I can hear Houston shouting at him, even with his phone hanging out in the air, waiting for someone to put it to their ear. The cop meets my stare and whatever he sees in my eyes, has him backing out of the elevator. By the time the doors close, Lord, help me, Houston is trying to call me, but there’s no way I’ll connect in a steel box.
I focus on Enrique and what is before me. “What don’t I know that I need to know?”
“Kane has them in separate rooms for FBI questioning. They’re not happy but neither are about to push back, not against Kane.”
Because they’re all afraid of the kingpin, a bitter truth, considering how hard Kane’s tried to dodge that identity his entire life, and Lord knows Leonard made it clear he has not.
The elevator doors open and the instant I’m in the hallway, my brother is in front of me. “Tag. You’re it. I need a breather. I’m going to go get food and unless you tell me otherwise, I’m going home, because you know what, Lilah? Fuck him. Fuck. Him. I need my job back.”
Enrique joins me in the hallway and Andrew steps into the car. I turn to face him. “What happened?”
“He talks to me like I’m stupid. I need to think.”
Damn. I hate this, but Andrew needs out of this. I can only hope my father took care of making that happen.
The doors shut and my cell is ringing again, with Houston’s number, of course. Houston’s typically not a pain in my ass and I haven’t decided yet if today is any different, but I’m about to get that chance. I answer the line, pausing before I approach my father’s apartment. “Hello, Houston.”
“Do I ever call you just to shoot the breeze or entertain myself with your attempt at humor no one but you gets?” he demands.
“You’re very hostile for a young police chief. You should have more tolerance. Have you tried yoga? It’s very good for—”
“I know there’s a dead body at the governor’s mansion, and the rest of the state and beyond is about to be right there with me.”
And here I thought all my buried bodies made me good at hiding dead people. Apparently, I was wrong.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“And you know why I know about that dead body?” Houston demands.
“Are you saving me the trouble of investigating by confessing? I’m honored you’d bare your black soul to me and me alone.
“Because everyone but you told me,” he shouts into the phone, ignoring my excellent sense of humor that he underappreciates.
“Who is everyone?” I ask calmly, though people having a breakdown like he is right now, hate calm.
“Everyone doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “You matter.”
“Ah, thank you, Chief. That means so much coming from you.”
Again he ignores me, continuing as if I haven’t spoken at all. “And so does the mayor who wants to know what’s going on since no one is talking to him. Not to mention this is my city, and I’d appreciate a head’s up. After the Umbrella Man the city is fragile and on edge.”
“Who leaked?”
“Anonymous call to 911. I need to be involved in this.”