Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“Yeah, and I made sure he was scared shitless.”
“Good,” I say. “Now do it again.”
“What?”
“Go back to Lucas’ house and hold a fucking gun to his head until he does his job. He still hasn’t called Tic Tac. He’s supposed to be finding Elsa. Or Ghost. I don’t give two fucks. Find one. Find the other. And feel free to play cartel gangbanger. Shoot him in the foot or cut his damn finger off.”
“Does this mean I’m back on your good side?”
“No,” I say, meeting Kane’s stare. “It does not mean you’re back on my good side. It just means I’m not going to kill you tonight. I might tomorrow.” I disconnect and set my phone on the table between me and Kane. “He’s not off my shit list.”
“I’m aware,” he assures me.
I sigh and press my lips together. “There’s more going on that I don’t understand.”
“You mean with Ghost?”
“I mean with everyone and everything. Ghost is a part of this. Maybe more than we know. Maybe he is the distraction. Maybe that’s what he’s being paid to do.”
“If that were the case, why would he kill Elsa’s brother?”
“Because someone on the hit list wants Mark and Elsa dead, is what I’m thinking. Ghost is just using the number one assassin thing as a cover story.”
“That computes to me. The question is, who’s pulling the strings?”
I push to my feet and turn to face him. “The president called me, which is not a big thing. I asked him to call to ensure the VP is protected. It’s the fact I told him Adams wasn’t communicating, and I’d barely hung up with him, and Adams called me.”
“That feels funny to you?” he asks. “Maybe it’s simply that his boss just got mad and he responded to that anger and contacted you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Adams is just an arrogant power play dick, and nothing more, but Adams also told me Ellis called him and told him if he didn’t contact him by a certain time to come for him. Why didn’t Ellis say that to me? He was with me when he left.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Whoever is in charge really wants me out of the way and in Maryland, which is why I’m not going to Maryland.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sketch artist is about twelve—okay, maybe twenty—and sitting at our kitchen island eating pie, with milk in his glass.
“Have you lost your mind?” I murmur softly to Kane, both of us still standing in the archway.
“Why don’t you find out?” Amusement lights his otherwise dark eyes, telling me he’s oh so proud of himself right now. My husband is ridiculously arrogant. I should hate that about him, but I really don’t. Sometimes it even makes me hot, but I’ll keep that to myself.
As for the kid, we will see.
A few minutes later, I’m eating Cheetos, with orange fingers that prove they were a bad choice for a Purgatory snack, and answering the questions “Joey” asks me about Ghost.
Joey is Joey Ramirez, and he’s well-spoken, bilingual, and wearing head-to-foot Gucci that screams of money. I’d ask him his story, but he’s too darn focused on his work, and his work helps my work, which is going pretty shitty right now. Like if I were the actual trashman, shit would be in the can. Shit is most definitely in the can.
I wipe off my hands and then offer Kane some Cheetos to go along with the ridiculously expensive whiskey he’s been sipping. I assume he’s silently celebrating besting his father, though I think it’s premature to assume success. We’re not on a winning streak right now, and it sucks.
Kane lifts a hand to decline, the look on his face pure disapproval. Crazy man. Cheetos and whiskey sound pretty good to me, and a great way to make it through this process. I grab his glass and sip, the bite of smoke that follows burning me all the way down.
I choke with the punishment, and Kane laughs, low and taunting. “That’s what you get for not asking first.”
There’s a definitive sexual innuendo to his words that has little ol’ Joey glancing up, and then he clears his throat. “How’s this?”
He flips his drawing around, and I’m stunned by the likeness to Ghost—chiseled cheeks, a full mouth, close-set eyes, and a sharp nose. “That’s incredible,” I say, pulling it closer. “I can’t get over this. How did you learn to do this?”
“My mom was a profiler in Texas. The FBI recruited me out of college, but the pay was shit. I decided to start contracting out my services, and now I get paid.”
“Out of college? How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“You look—”
“Yeah, it’s not the best with the ladies, but once I draw them,” he wiggles his eyebrows, “they’re all mine.” He taps the drawing. “Any changes?”
I glance over at Kane, only to find he isn’t here anymore. Frowning, I push off the barstool and motion to the drawing. “There’s a slight dimple in his right cheek. I’ll be right back.” I grab the whiskey glass Kane has left behind and head into the living room. He’s not there, but the patio door is open, and bitter cold air lifts the curtains and washes over me, sending a shiver down my spine.