Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
I squeeze his arm. “It’s in between your ribs, Jack. We need to let the medical professionals take it out. We can’t risk hitting your lung. But you dumbass, you saved my life. You even took his weapon.”
“Yeah?” he asks, calming down a level, a white line above his top lip. “I’m your—Dewey. I’m Dewey.”
“Who the fuck is Dewey?”
“Agent!”
I rotate to find Rollins at the door, motioning the EMS team to hurry inside the room. I try to back away and give them room, but somehow Jack finds the strength to grab onto my arm. “Dewey saved the girl in Scream. I’m Dewey.”
I really don’t care who Dewey is or if I ever see a Scream movie in my lifetime but I’m going to have to hire him after this. Lord, help me. How am I going to solve any cases while babysitting Jay and Jack? Oh, God, isn’t that just too cute?
Jay and Jack sitting in a tree, or more like, sitting too close to me and irritating the fuck out of me.
Chapter Forty
Unfortunately, the only death penalty the state of New York has is me.
I read Ted—killer and whipped cream maker—his rights while two officers frame him, his hands not cuffed behind his back. He smirks as if he has a secret no one else knows as if he is not cuffed and about to go to jail for the rest of his life.
Once Ted’s wounds are treated and he’s deemed safe for questioning—boy, I really showed restraint—he’s loaded in a car and taken to the police station. Rollins offers me a ride but I opt to stick with Jay and Kit. Kit opens my door and says, “You did the right thing. There’s no way we could have made that go away.”
“Why doesn’t it feel like the right thing?”
“Because he’s a monster, Lilah, and despite what you think of yourself, you are not.”
I’m not sure how Kit knows what I think of myself or even what I really believe of myself in general. I just know I didn’t kill him. How I feel about that will be determined by what happens to him next.
Two hours later, I’m standing at a glass window as Rollins talks to Ted. Chief Houston, who is tall, good-looking, and ex-linebacker big, is standing with me. A lot has come out in the past hour alone. Ted is not Ted. He’s Walter Sandpoint, the owner of both the diner and theater, who was born and raised in Boston. He bought it with the money he inherited from a father he most likely killed. Mary and Larry Sandpoint, who owned a booming real estate portfolio, died in a house fire when Walter Sandpoint was eighteen.
They left him a considerable sum of money.
Walter was a problem child, who was in counseling. He tortured a cat. Cut a neighbor, and most who knew him believed he set that fire.
Walter has gone on to detail all the things these people he killed did to him. Rudeness and disrespect were what it all amounted to. “They thought I was less than them. That’s why I was incognito. I wanted to see who treated me right or wrong when they thought I was below them.”
“You did good, Lilah,” the chief says. “I swear you take on the worst of cases and win, but I don’t know how you sleep at night.”
With Kane next to me, I think, worried about him.
“I didn’t actually solve this case,” I say. “He didn’t give me a chance. He came after me.”
“Because you got close. And isn’t that what we always want? To get close enough that they come out of the shadows and come at us instead of someone else?”
Walter abruptly motions to the window where I’m standing, almost as if he can see me here. “Why don’t you come in here and talk to me, Lilah? Don’t you want to know why I wanted her dead?” He stands up and looks straight at me as if he knows I’m here, and says, “Because you thought you were better than me. You thought because you have a badge, you had the right to judge me but I didn’t have the right to judge you. I did! I did!” He yanks at his chains.
I sigh. “I really wish I would have killed him.”
The chief sighs. “Don’t I know that feeling.”
A police officer approaches and motions to the chief. The chief follows him and listens to whatever he has to say before returning to me with a puzzled look on his face. “They need you at a crime scene.”
I hold up my bandaged knuckles and motion to the mess I am. “Do I look ready for another case?”
“They said it’s an urgent request from Homeland Security. They need you now.” He punches in something on his phone. “I just sent you the address. The message is this is not optional. They will hunt you down and get you if you don’t show up.”