Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
The truth.
The truth, however, is a bigger bitch to get to than a restaurant in Times Square on Saturday night.
It could have been a bad shot, a wrong moment, a reaction to something spoken in his earpiece. Do I think any of those things are true? No. I do not.
I exit the building, and Jay steps to my side. “Everything okay, boss?”
I glance over at him. “I’m not your boss.”
“Then what are you?” he asks.
“I’m your friend, Jay. Why the hell do you think I keep trying to fire you?”
“Why the hell do you think I won’t let you? Where to?”
Before I can answer him, my cell rings, my brows furrowing with the sight of Kit’s number. Kit never calls me, at least not willingly. “Why are you calling me?”
“Kane put Gabriel at the desk at your apartment building. There’s a guy there demanding to see you.”
“Who the hell is that?”
“Someone named Kellerman.”
“He’s one of the victim’s fathers.”
“How the fuck did he find you?”
“He’s the ‘it’ guy for real estate for the rich and the famous.”
“He’s pacing the lobby, on edge, about to come out of his own skin. What do you want me to do with him?”
“I’m on my way.”
“You need to stay away.”
“I’m on my way,” I repeat.
He mumbles under his breath in Spanish and then says, “You need to know that you are not meeting him without one of us pointing a gun at his damn head.”
“I can point a gun at his head myself if he requires intervention. I did it to you, and I was ready to shoot you. Don’t make me do it again. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” I hang up on him. Kellerman coming to me doesn’t surprise me. He’s a father who lost his son and an employee who was seeing his son. Grief makes you do crazy things. For instance, it might even make you hold a gun to your boss’s head.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Stop signs are optional for me.
Apparently, Kit has worked too much with Kane and too little with me, because he doesn’t know this. An assessment I make based on the fact that not only is he at the building door waiting for me, he throws his hands up like he’s a damn stop sign. I step around him, push my way through the slow-as-grandma rotating door and he meets me inside the lobby.
“Lilah.”
I lift my badge. “Perhaps you haven’t met me. Special Agent Lilah Love-Mendez. Where’s Kellerman?”
He presses his lips together. “Are you really pulling your badge on me?”
“It’s that or my gun, and since I haven’t eaten and I’m in a bitch fest kind of mood, choose wisely.”
“He’s not okay,” he murmurs softly. “He’s losing his mind with grief.”
Confirmation I fucked up by not calling him earlier in the day. I hate when I fuck up. I’m mad at myself and at Kit for standing in the way of me making this right. “Put him in the conference room where we can offer him privacy.”
He draws a breath, turns on his heels, and marches away. Jay steps into the lobby. “He really doesn’t understand you.”
“And you do?”
“Better than him.” He hands me a Snickers bar. “You should eat this before you talk to him.”
Okay, he does. I rip open the package and take a bite. I manage another two before Kit reappears and motions me forward. I hand the half-eaten bar to Jay and start walking. Of course, once I catch up to Kit, he falls into step beside me, a damn grizzly bear ready to tackle his opponent, which I appreciate more for what it is now than I did before the Snickers bar. What can I say? A girl needs to eat.
I pause outside the conference room door and turn to him. “Your intentions are good, Kit. I know you’re trying to do your job, but I promise you, this is mine. I got this, and if I don’t, I’ll make sure you know I need help.”
“I’m going in with you.”
“This interview is part of an investigation. I can’t allow that.”
His jaw flexes. “Don’t agitate him.”
“Oh come on. When do I ever agitate anyone?”
I don’t wait for him to say something that will make me want to agitate him. I slide out of my jacket and hand it to him before I open the conference room door and walk inside. Kellerman is pacing the length of the conference table. He halts with the realization he now has company, rotating to face me. David Kellerman is fifty-one, which I know from the documents Tic Tac sent me, estimated to be worth twenty million. He has dark, movie star good looks and is rumored to be a ladies’ man, which is acceptable since he’s single, but not necessarily likable.
Today, as on most days I suspect, he’s dressed in an expensive grayish-blue suit. I know it’s a pricey number simply because I’m exposed to that level of quality regularly through Kane. There are telltale signs though one can watch for. The quality of the material. The custom fit of the suit to the body. The way the suit flows with the body. The thick, heavy press of the shirt beneath the jacket. And of course, the cuff links. These are gold, and shinier than most wedding rings. The final touch is always a watch. In this case, he’s gone with a silver, mechanic-faced Cartier, similar to one Kane owns, therefore I’d value it around thirty thousand.