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)
“Okay, then. I guess Murphy was just making the connection to Mark. Maybe for his own purposes, not mine, but at least we know.”
I sigh. “So not much of a lead, just soap opera material.”
“Afraid so,” Tic Tac replies.
And when we hang up, Jack is waiting, fork in hand. “Can I try your cake?”
“I haven’t even tried my cake, so no you cannot try my cake.”
Someone sets a pie on the table in between us, one of the other waitresses. “Someone called and asked us to give this to you. Said to tell you it’s from a secret admirer. It’s a lot of pie. We can box what you don’t eat.”
Ghost.
He’s telling me he’s not only here, he knows I didn’t order the pie. He must have cameras in here.
“This is amazing,” Jack declares. “I’ve always wanted to try the famous pie.” He grabs his steak knife. “May I?”
“Don’t use your steak knife, Jack. Use a regular knife.”
“Right. Right.” He grabs one and when he would cut the pie, he suddenly starts screaming, and I mean screaming like a little kid who’s sibling just hit him.
I have a moment of thinking he’s a fool, but he’s pointing to my left and my gaze jerks to the woman wearing an ill fitted uniform standing next to me holding a gun.
Elsa.
Instinct kicks in and I reach for the knife at the same time Jack grabs the pie and shoves it in Elsa’s face. In that moment, she stumbles and the gun cracks against the ground as it hits hard but thankfully does not go off. I’m on foot, prepared to engage, and she reaches for my weapon. Somehow that steak knife is in my hand and I drive it as hard as I can at her. We both slip on the damn pie and it lands in her arm which isn’t going to do the right kind of damage to stop her attack.
But Elsa whales in pain, and right when I would go in for another attack, Jack slams into me and the next thing I know I’m on the ground, with him on top of me. “Are you crazy?! Get up. Get off. What are you doing?”
“I was trying to tackle her but I slipped.”
I shove him off or me or he half rolls, I don’t know, but I’m furious. By the time I’m on my feet again. Elsa is gone and people are screaming, “Back door! Back door, Agent Love!”
I race into the hallway, and open the exit door to find Elsa lying on the ground. She’s dead and I don’t have to ask by what method. I know a broken neck when I see one. It’s Ghost. He did this.
My phone buzzes with a text message and I already know it’s from him before I pull my phone out and read: I’m number one again. You know what that means. And don’t forget the pie.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Hours later, after way too much Chief Taylor for my sanity, and ten thousand apologies from Jack, I’m done for the night. Kane picks me up in one of his fancy sports cars and we end up at the kitchen island, eating pizza again, because there’s nothing else this time of night.
But Kane can’t stop laughing long enough to eat. “Elsa smashed ice cream in your face. Then Jack shoved a pie in her face and tackled you.”
“How many times are you going to repeat that?” I shove pizza in my mouth.
“There’s not many things that make me laugh like this, bella, but it sounds like a bad comedy.”
“Yeah, well, Jack and his pie probably saved my life yet again.”
“Hire him, Lilah. He deserves it.”
“He spit meat in his napkin.”
His brows inch up. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”
“Exactly. But okay, yes. I’ll hire him. You think Ghost is going to go after my father?”
“Do you?”
“I think he will. I think it’s going to be at the party.”
“Me too, bella. And we’ll be ready.”
“I question the validity of that statement so I’m just going to point out a positive about tonight.”
“You lived?”
“And I didn’t stab her to death. I didn’t arrest her, but I wasn’t the one who killed Elsa.”
“That’s a good thing, but feel free to stab Ghost as many times and ways as you wish. Do not hesitate, Lilah, or you will be dead.”
Chapter Forty
The few days leading up to election night are a rush of paperwork and activity that lands us in New York City a day early. Andrew is at the airport when we arrive, eager to talk in person and he doesn’t even care that Kane is with me. We’re still in the airport when he breaches the obvious topic, “Are we going to let him kill Dad?”
“Do you still have the elevated security for tomorrow night?”