“Why would he lie about food? And why not just tell me he had plans?”
“Good question. Maybe he took the food with him, came to our house, saw the police cars and panicked. He is a hacker.”
“But why ignore my calls?” I walk to the trashcan and look inside. There’s no sign of takeout containers or even a paper plate that held a slice of cake. I glance at Kane. “Any sign of the laptop?”
“None, but I did find a Taylor Swift poster. How old is Lucas?”
“Considering he used to have The Backstreet Boys and Weird Al, Taylor is a step up. And now you know why you never have to be jealous over Lucas. Clearly, I’m more the Scarface or Godfather type.”
He ignores my clear reference to him and his family and says, “There’s a difference between jealousy and my general distaste for all things Lucas. His desire to fuck you is disrespectful to me and you.”
“And here we see my very own Scarface in your reply. It’s a game to him, Kane,” I say, pausing as I say the words, and remembering something Lucas had said to me recently about his inability to stop hacking. “And an addiction,” I murmur. “A high. In fact, the way it agitates you is probably part of the high. It’s dangerous. And he likes danger.”
“Why do I know we are no longer talking about Lucas?” Kane asks.
“It’s a game, a high,” I repeat, my eyes meeting his. “A dangerous one.”
“What’s more daring than showing up at our house after challenging you with that jar of blood?”
“Exactly,” I say, “but—” My brows dip. I’m back to those text messages Emma exchanged with Jamie. “Emma exchanged a text message with a person we can’t identify,” I tell Kane. “I thought they were about sex, but my mind is going elsewhere now.”
“Why sex and now no sex?”
“I keep thinking that this is a game. And her words were ‘one more for the history books.’ Maybe she was part of the game and it turned deadly.” I wave off my speculation. It’s nothing more right now. “I’m letting my mind run wild because I have no real facts yet.” I shift back to Lucas.
“Lucas goes nowhere without his laptop. That means he took it with him, or someone took it and him. I need to look at his security feed.” I hurry out of the kitchen, walk down the hallway, and check his security panel. I try a code. It doesn’t work. I try another. After ten tries, I give up.
At this point, Kane is standing behind me, his hand on the wall above my head. I turn to face him. “Be forewarned. If he’s not dead, I’m going to kill him.”
“He’s not dead, beautiful,” he promises.
“You can’t know that.”
“I’ll have my men find him tomorrow.”
And there it is. Reason number one hundred and one to marry him.
He has men who really do know how to find people.
Never mind that I’m an FBI agent, and his people that find people probably—okay, most definitely—also know how to make people disappear.
Sometimes there are people like the Umbrella Man and say Pocher, who require those skills be put to use. The problem is, at least how I see it at the moment, Kane’s not the only person who knows how to make people disappear. And Lucas appears to be missing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kane and I walk into the diner, two ants in an ant pile of hungry people.
There are no open tables. We order takeout and Kane is paying the bill when my gaze lifts and lands on Lucas. He’s at a corner table, laptop open, a slice of strawberry pie by his side, the same strawberry pie I was just told was sold out.
He scoops a big bite of that pie and must sense me staring at him because he looks up and drops that fork, perfectly good pie splattering about. Too bad he’s wearing a black sweater or he’d be looking like a strawberry pop tart right about now.
I start walking toward him and by the time he’s on his feet, I’m in front of him. “What the hell, Lucas?” I demand.
He holds up his hands. “I can explain.”
“Before I tell you to talk fast and do just that and more,” I reply, “Kane and I were in your house, searching for your dead body.”
“Oh hell.” He scrubs his jaw. “Kane was in my house?”
“Yes, and since you’re so high-tech you should know that.”
“Maybe I did,” he snaps, bristling.
“You didn’t. I see it in your face. And wait for it,” I add. “Kane saw Taylor Swift.”
“I hide code on the back of that,” he says defensively.
Like he’d ever write hacking code down anywhere. “How many lies are you going to tell me in twenty-four hours, Lucas?”
“Okay. Fine. I like Taylor Swift. Kill me, why don’t you?” He holds up his hands again. “Not literally, Lilah.”