Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
With that need for control burning through me, I itch to text Rich, eager for the search of Murphy’s house, but that opens a sealed can of worm soup. And worm soup is pretty darn nasty. I settle for messaging Tic Tac: Did you hear from Rich? Did he search Murphy’s LA home?
Yes, he answers. I heard from him. He’s headed there now. He’s not happy about it. He’s just not a happy person. Jeez, Lilah, what did you do to that man?
Just be me, I reply. Some people can’t handle all the sunshine.
It’s true, he answers. I’d move to New York, but the Sunshine Princess and the Kingpin are just too much joy for me. It’s blinding.
It’s blinding.
Those words linger in my mind, and I shut my computer. Bullshit is meant to do just that—blind the recipient. The question is, who’s bullshitting me? Is it Ellis and the President, Calvin Adams, or is it Ghost? Or maybe it’s everyone. Maybe no one is telling the truth. People lie so much the lies become the only truth. I don’t like being lied to. In fact, it pisses me off.
Liars lie and they just might die.
Chapter Forty-One
Just before I lose the chopper’s internet connection, my messages flash with an update from Tic Tac, related to the search of Murphy’s home in LA. Rich found nothing useful. And Rich’s observation, per Tic Tac, was that Murphy’s house was so sterile, it seemed as if someone cleaned up. It’s an interesting comment. Maybe Murphy was Mr. Clean and Detached. Or maybe anyplace he’d called his own is now scrubbed. I frown. Except his pocket and that one desk drawer?
That doesn’t really align well with the scrub premise.
But the bottom line here is that I can’t say if a sterile environment is unusual for Murphy since I spent very little time with him, and the President of the United States won’t let me talk to anyone. It’s as ridiculous as all this trendy re-emergence of the bell-bottom bullshit. Do they not think a rat can crawl up your leg in New York City? Bootcut people. Boot. Cut. Or boots. Period. We land, and I’ve decided on an investigative path, which leads to Pocher. I’ve discounted how well-informed that man is at all times. He knows Murphy is dead. He knows more about my ex-boss than I will likely ever know. He probably knows who had him killed, if he wasn’t behind it himself.
I unbuckle and shoot off a text to Kit: I’m here. What is happening?
My next text goes to Tic Tac: Where are Pocher and my father right now?
I exit the chopper, and Jay falls into step with me. Once we’re inside the airport, my cellphone rings with Tic Tac’s number. “There’s a car waiting,” Jay informs me.
We start walking and I answer the call to hear, “I told them to wait on you.”
“Told who, what, Tic Tac?”
“Your brother and your cousin went to talk to your father about the murders.”
I halt. “What? Seriously?”
“I really don’t joke with you, Lilah. You’re way too intense.”
“I’m not that intense, Tic Tac. You’re just scared shitless right now, but stop worrying. You’re not a target.” I motion to Jay, and we start walking again, covering the phone to say, “We’re going to my father’s place,” before I return to Tic Tac, and ask, “When did they leave?”
“Five minutes ago. I’m not a target? Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ll call you back.” I disconnect and dial my brother.
“Don’t try to stop me,” is how he answers. “Dad has resources.”
“I met with President Arden. He forbid us to talk to anyone about the murders.”
Jay opens my door and gapes. “You did what?” he asks, at the same time as Andrew.
“That’s right. I sat right there in the Oval Office and talked to President Arden.” I climb into the back of the SUV but keep talking. “And you need to hear this. Even the room itself feels powerful, Andrew. We cannot allow Dad to ever get there. I need to prep you before we see him.”
“And what happened?”
“Later. Just wait until later.”
“I can’t do nothing. A sitting duck drowns. Dad says that.”
“Is that supposed to win me over?” I ask. “I confirmed we aren’t targets, so if you want to help, go to the diner and find out if anyone has seen Murphy there in the last few weeks. Then bring pie back. I work better that way.”
“Fine. I need to take care of things at work anyway. I’ll go and come back tomorrow afternoon but if you want pie, be nice. Otherwise, I’ll eat my slice in front of you.”
“That would be a bad decision, brother. A very, very bad decision.” I hang up on him.
Enrique is in the driver’s seat. “Why are you not with Kane?”
“He didn’t need me, but you do,” he says over his shoulder.