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)
“Nope. Let’s see how he rolls.”
“Should we check on Kane?”
“Kane doesn’t need a babysitter, but the new guy might. Let’s get this over with. The sooner we get the word out, the sooner we get our bait set, and I’m too tired to stab a bitch tonight. I will, but I’d enjoy it more later. I need sleep.”
“Yes to all of the above. Sleep won’t make you have a winning personality, but it makes you less of a bitch, so I’m all for it.” He motions me forward, and as we walk, we pass several of his deputies who wave at me. They like me or they fear me. Either way works for me.
We’re almost to the edge of the building, about to step into the heat of the press’s attention, when a tall, good-looking man with wavy brown hair steps in front of us. He’s in uniform, but not the local gear, and when his blue eyes land on mine, I know he’s not only the new chief; he’s not my friend.
“You’re the new acting chief in town,” I say, making sure that “acting” is emphasized.
“I could have sworn that was you,” he retorts dryly, with a distinct southern accent, “since you’re always taking over. I’m not your brother. That shit won’t fly with me.”
“You’re out of line,” Andrew snaps.
“You’re also not in charge if I claim jurisdiction,” I say, “which I’m about to do for all the world to see.”
“Who and what gives you that right?”
“My purdy badge,” I say all sugar sweet, in my best southern accent, which is pretty good if I might say so myself. “You ever heard the one about the southern boy who rushed into a bar all pissed off? ‘Who painted my horse’s balls red?’ he declared.” I act it out. I’m enjoying this. “A big ol’ biker dude, who might as well have been a basketball player, he was so tall, declared, ‘I did. What about it?’ The cowboy knew he was beat, and he cut his eyes to his boots as he said, ‘He’s ready for the second coat.’ My purdy badge is the big ol’ biker dude. And you’re the cowboy.”
“Typical FBI agent, always trying to intimidate someone.”
“Oh, I am not your typical FBI agent. I’m much worse. Now, how about that press conference?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As I step up to the podium, cameras flash and film rolls. Time for the show, but not a script. I just wing it, dig in deep, and wade through the same bullshit I’m about to spew. “Good evening, everyone,” I start. “Many of you know me before I ever introduce myself. I am FBI Agent Lilah Love-Mendez. I grew up here. I went to school here. And yes, my mother graced many small and big screens, right here in our small community and beyond. My father, of course, is the future governor of our great state.” There are cheers from the fools who believe him a good man with aspirations to help them and their state prosper. I’d call them fools, but my father wears the disguise of an angel while playing with the devil. I go on. “My brother is your beloved chief.” More cheers. So many cheers, and as a sister, I am filled with pride. I leave out the part where he’s leaving, but there are shouts of, “Don’t go! We need you!” There you go, Taylor, and fuck you, too.
“And most importantly,” I continue with a dramatic pause, “I am a citizen of this town, where my memories run deep, my devotion deeper, and my addiction to Micki’s Diner’s strawberry pie has brought me great joy.” There are a number of agreements from the audience before I add, “I begin this press conference with my history simply so you know my commitment to this town, to our people, our community. And so, let’s get to it.
“Mark Walker has been found dead in his home. There is no threat to you or your loved ones. This was a calculated attack, and the victim was known to the attacker. We are clear on the motivation, which I will not talk about today, as we’re dealing with an ongoing investigation. But our knowledge of motivation for the crime allows us to offer assurance that you should not be afraid. To be clear, I am officially declaring jurisdiction over this case. And the answer to why? There’s a political component that crosses state lines. I will not be talking about that component in any further detail, either.
“I want to assure you that we are hunting this killer. I want to assure Elsa, Mark’s sister, that we, that I, will find this brutal monster. Elsa is not present, nor is she communicating, but I know she must be hurting. She’s a member of the military, trained to honor and serve, to protect, and she didn’t protect her own brother. That has to cut. I can assure you she blames herself, but I do not. I am sure you do not, either. She’s not a suspect, and when self-blame is involved, it’s often hard to face the public. But she’ll grow stronger again, and when she does, she’ll come and say her goodbyes.”