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)
He’s at least smart enough to hold up his hands and stand down. I weave through the crowd and claim a spot out of the range of the crush, next to a chicken restaurant. How appropriate considering Enrique is acting like a true chickenshit, and because why wouldn’t I want to have this conversation next to a chicken restaurant?
I shove the phone to my ear again and say, “The only reason I’m doing this is because Enrique is wetting his pants right now, afraid to hold this back from you.”
“Tell me.”
“Your father tried to corner me in the lobby of our building. I didn’t have time for his bullshit, and I handled it.”
“More, Lilah,” he bites out rather predictively, and I stop fighting him and the inevitable spilling of details.
“He suggested we have some long overdue time together, or some shit like that.” I wave my hand in the air. “I told him if I had one-on-one time with him, I’d kill him, and I unfortunately didn’t have time for how messy that would get.”
“And he said?”
“He said an FBI agent wouldn’t kill anyone. You know how this went, Kane. It was short, and I was my normal sweet self. The end.”
“More, Lilah,” he repeats. “What did you say when he said you wouldn’t kill him?”
I sigh heavily. “I told him he doesn’t know me well or he wouldn’t ask that question.”
“And he replied with what?”
“Was I sure it would be me that killed him, not the other way, which we both know was a stupid question. This is me we’re talking about.”
He’s silent again—a thick, dangerous silence that has me saying, “Kane? What are you going to do?”
“He’s handled, Lilah.”
“How?”
“I’ll see you at the house.”
“When?”
“I’ll let you know.” He hangs up.
Holy fuck. He hangs up, and Enrique must know as he marches my direction. I meet him halfway and point at him. “If he ends up dead or in jail over this, you’re just dead. Do not even think about joining me for the rest of this trip. I can’t tiptoe around what you’ll yap about.” I step around him just in time to find Jay halting at the stoplight. I rush that way, climb inside, and order, “Drive.”
“Enrique?”
“Can go suck a giant banana for all I care. Drive.”
He doesn’t drive, and horns honk behind us. “Lilah, he means well.”
“He just put Kane in danger.”
“He didn’t intend—”
“He put Kane in danger,” I repeat, “and if you aren’t smart enough to read between the lines, let me dumb it down for you. He’ll catch up, Jay, and with a little time and space, I might let him live. Drive.”
Jay accelerates and places us in motion, potentially saving Enrique’s life in the process.
Chapter Two
Traffic is at a standstill. Horns honk with no purpose. “Do the idiots think if they make noise, the cars in front of us will miraculously move?”
“They’re cranky, I guess,” Jay replies.
I grunt.
People say us New Yorkers are cranky all the fucking time. We aren’t cranky. The vast majority of us have either had time wasted in traffic and have no time left for bullshit, or we’ve been forced into the subway, where we try to make eye contact with no one and still end up with a person in a garbage bag harassing us.
“Dumb shit with no purpose is just dumb shit, and it will get you killed, Jay.”
“Aren’t we talking about traffic?”
“Your point?”
He thrums his fingers on the steering wheel and, after a long stretch of silence, says, “Birthdays are a big thing in my family.” He is apparently of the mindset that he must fill the wait time with mindless words. “I had no idea yours was next week.” He glances over at me with no concern for traffic, as it’s not moving. “I’ll bring you a strawberry pie.”
“Stop talking,” I say, pointing at him.
His expression is pure exasperation. “Okay, what the hell, Lilah? You love strawberry pie. What could I have possibly said wrong?”
I twist around to face him. “This, this right here, is why being trapped in a car with you doesn’t work for me. You get me a pie and expect me to let you get killed? I talked to Kane. We’re in agreement. You’re going to the police academy. If you graduate, you keep your job.”
“This is ridiculous, Lilah. I’m on the job, doing the job. And if you want me to do a better job, have someone who thinks like your enemies train me. Have Ghost train me, not the police academy.”
I snort laugh. “Ghost would eat you alive.”
“Or not. Maybe you underestimate me.”
I don’t, I think, but he might be onto something. Maybe he does need a killer to train him. I settle back into my seat and think about Enrique. He’s a killer. So is Kit. So am I, for that matter, but we’re the bust your balls and kick your ass style of trainers that might send Jay to a corner to cry. And the fact that I think he might cry tells me training won’t change him. Death will, and why would I wish that on him?