My cellphone buzzes with a text and I groan. “My wish for a honeymoon is that everyone leaves us alone.” I back away from him and grab my phone from my pocket to find a group text that includes Lucas and Tic Tac. The two of them are comparing notes and bringing me along for the irritating ride, which includes about a hundred messages. None of which are helpful.
Thank fuck, the doorbell rings.
Maybe there’s something in the data Kit’s bringing me that will help.
Turns out Kit not only has the folder he found in the lockbox, but enough tacos to feed an army. The three of us settle in around the kitchen island with the intent of eating. For me, though, I’m more into the data drive in the folder than the tacos. I did have two donuts.
“Any problems getting to the lockbox?” I ask, powering up my MacBook.
“The mail center won’t even know they had a break-in,” Kit assures me. “How are you going to handle already having whatever that is in the folder?”
“I have a plan,” I say. “And if she backs out of handing over the info, I’ll say it was dropped off for me anonymously.”
“Who gives two fucks about the badge, right?” he jokes, referencing what I said to Miguel.
I scowl at him and Kane laughs, but I’m already dismissing them, sticking the data drive inside my Mac. I do a quick scan of the data, but something about it all looks a little too perfect. There is literally a list of people labeled “fake investors.” Would Rip be that stupid?
“Why are you frowning?” Kane asks. “Not what you expected?”
“It feels like it was created, not copied.” My eyes catch on a name and I groan. “Damn it. Pocher is on the list.” I eye Kane. “If I give this to the police, they’ll warn him to watch his back.”
“You warn him first,” he says. “It makes you look good. Like you’re protecting him.”
“He’ll know better.”
“Which is just another reason we need to go to your father’s fundraiser. Keeping the peace between us and the Society is advised. And Pocher isn’t a fool. He knows it as well.”
“You really don’t think he tried to kill you, do you?”
Kit snorts. “That wasn’t Pocher.”
In other words, it was the cartel. That’s what they’re telling me. And my questions about those details will be directed to Kane and Kane alone.
“When is the fundraiser, exactly?” Kane asks, clearly steering the conversation in another direction as well.
“I think mid-month. I’ll ask Andrew, but that doesn’t mean I’m going.” I pick up my phone from where it rests on the island and find the text message stream between Lucas and Tic Tac continues. Now, instead of the case, they are talking about banana pudding. I don’t want to know why. I reply to them and say: My version of hell is now banana pudding and you two. Take me off this hellish thread of messages. I just want the bottom line. Tic Tac, I’m about to send you both some data provided by a witness, who might actually be our killer. Share with Lucas as you see fit. See what you can both do with it. And I need more on Marilyn Lennox. Get me everything from the day she was born until now. If she sucked her ugly thumb, I want to know. Do the same for Ann Casey. Call Andrew. He’ll explain who she is and why she matters.
After which, I text Andrew: Tic Tac needs an update on Ann Casey to do free research for you. He’s calling you. And when is the fundraiser from hell happening?
I glance over at Kane. “Some news I should tell you before I forget. Lucas is now employed by the FBI.”
Kane’s head does almost a robot turn toward me. “Really, Lilah?”
“I told him it’s not an invitation to piss you off and end up dead. Tic Tac will control him. Oh shit. That reminds me. I need to call Murphy and get Tic Tac a raise.”
I slide off the seat and walk to the living room, dialing Murphy. He doesn’t answer, which is fine by me. I leave a message. “I told Tic Tac he could have a raise for supervising Lucas. If you can’t give it to him, take it out of my pay. If you refuse to do that, or just can’t authorize it, I’ll just pay him out of pocket.” I hang up and walk back into the kitchen.
Kit is now gone. I claim my seat next to Kane. He doesn’t look at me. “You’re pissed about Lucas.”
“I’m not happy about Lucas. There’s a difference. What’s on the drive?”
“I’ve barely looked at the files. I’m about to send them to Tic Tac. I’ll send you a copy as well.” I key my Mac back to life and shoot off the files. Kane powers up his Mac and my phone buzzes with a text, this one from Andrew: Next weekend. And you’re going. On another note. Confirmed. Danica will have the evidence collected from Ann Casey’s car, including the brownie, since it’s potentially weaponized, tomorrow. Ann’s parents are devastated. They say she was a fine young woman. They didn’t know she was coming home to see them. She’d been busy with random acting jobs and work.
I have two thoughts.
One, I know Andrew told me that damn fundraiser was mid-month. Next weekend is not mid-month. And two, Ann’s parents didn’t know Ann was headed to Boston. This at least lends merit to the idea that she was meeting someone else, perhaps Marilyn, who is eager to point us in that direction. I grab a taco and place it on my plate. “The fundraiser is sooner than I thought,” I say. “Next weekend.”
“Maybe you can look for a dress for it at the same time you look for your wedding dress,” Kane suggests.
“I have a formal party dress and I’m not combining our wedding with anything Pocher. Ever. Or my father, for that matter. No, he is not invited to the wedding.” I pick up my taco. “I’ll find a dress. You find the location.”
“New Year’s Eve,” he repeats. “That’s a sure thing?”
“Yes.”
“How many guests?”
“My brother. Kit. Jay. We can talk about it. What matters is us, Kane.” I abandon my taco and face him. “I don’t want the rest of the world there, people with agendas that aren’t ours.”
“Are you sure you don’t want the big church wedding, Lilah?”
“I am. I don’t. It would turn into a circus. Famous movie star’s daughter turned FBI agent marries the Kane Mendez, rumored to be just like his father.”
“It would probably become that, but we can handle it.”
“Why do we want to handle it? My mother lived for everyone else, always in the spotlight. And so does my father. That’s not who I am. That’s not who you are.”
“Agreed. Now, where? In the US or someplace romantic like Italy or France, or even Belize?”
“Let’s stay here.” An idea hits me and I perk up. “What about Boston? I know this case has it on my mind, but it’s on the water. And maybe we don’t move away from here. But what if we had a place in Boston, a little further away, that we could escape to now and then? Our place.”