I dial Tic Tac. “I know,” he says. “You need stuff.”
“Yes, I do. Did the New York crew get you the Clementine hotel guest logs?”
“They did, but I already had them thanks to Lucas. Now I can just admit I have them.”
“Kind of nice to get a jumpstart on things, right?”
I can almost feel his prickliness before he ever speaks. “I’m not talking about this right now,” he says tightly. “But we need to talk about this. Later. When I’m composed.”
“Composed? Oh my. So prickly, Tic Tac. Someone needs chocolate.”
“So demanding is what you are, Lilah.”
“I feel like we’re in grade school right now.”
“No,” he says. “Because grade school students follow the rules. We no longer do.”
“Well, as much as it breaks my heart not to talk right now, let’s not. Somewhere on one of those guest lists is the killer’s accomplice.” I grimace. “Unless the person was never a guest in the hotel. Do we have anything that shows who attended the events?”
“Nothing.”
“Have we gone through all of Rip’s electronic records at least twice to make sure we didn’t miss anything?”
“Yes, and there’s nothing there. My guess is he kept it online on that Banking the Billionaire app somehow. The private rooms I’ve now been able to access have private file storage. And I doubt he knew the servers were in another country. Most people don’t check their file storage for the country of origin. My thought is the game is an extension of the dark web, but I can’t prove that right now. And we aren’t going to get any information he documented there. We just aren’t. Not with a server in Russia.”
We start dissecting what everyone has done on the case, including Andrew’s and Houston’s teams. And we do it without fighting. Surprise. An hour later we disconnect and Kane appears in the doorway. Despite it being Sunday, he’s in a gray suit with a burgundy tie, his power uniform that is part of the image he maintains with almost everyone but me, Jay, and Kit.
“You find a dress?”
I stand up and meet him on the opposite side of the desk. “I did and it’s perfect. It reminds me of my mother’s. It’s luxurious and delicate. Did I mention it’s perfect? Cost a small fortune, but it’s worth it.”
His hands settle on my waist. “I can’t wait to see it. Another question: what name are you using tomorrow on the marriage license?”
“Lilah Love-Mendez,” I say without hesitation. “That way when they’re looking for the bitch who gets the job done, they have Lilah Love. When things get a little gangster, they get Lilah Mendez.”
He laughs. “All right then. Lilah Love-Mendez it is. What about the guest list? We need to firmly pin that down.”
“I invited Jay so far. We still need to invite Kit, Andrew, and Tic Tac, if you’re fine with him being there?”
Amusement lights his eyes. “If he’s not too scared to come.”
“He’ll be terrified, but he’ll come.” I cringe and say, “What about Lucas?”
His lips press together but he says, “Fine. Lucas. Who else?”
“I told Murphy he wasn’t invited, but I thought he might be dirty then. In light of the new developments, should we invite him?”
“I checked out his story today, just to be safe. He’s telling the truth, Lilah.”
“I knew that the minute I saw the documents he sent. Should we invite him? I think he did love my mother.”
“It’s your call, beautiful.”
“I think we invite him. Strange, isn’t it? Our blood family isn’t always who we end up considering family.” I pause with a thought. “Our blood family isn’t always who we end up considering family,” I murmur again, this time to myself. “I have to—”
“I know,” he says. “Get to work.”
I’m already walking to my desk and once I’m sitting down, I start reading the notes I’ve already read ten times again and find what I’m looking for. I dial Tic Tac. “Marilyn’s parents were married for twenty-nine years. She’s thirty-two. Pull her birth certificate and find out if the man we think is her father really is her father.”
“Hold on,” he says. “I can get to that information.” His fingers click on the keys and I wait impatiently until he says. “We have the right father.”
“Something is off. There’s time missing.” My mind ticks. “I don’t think she’d take a father figure to one of those sex-for-money events Rip put on. Maybe a step-brother.”
“Or step-cousin, like Lucas to you.”
“Exactly.”
“I need a number to reach Ann’s parents. Text it to me.”
I disconnect and wait. He sends me the number. At this point, Kane reappears, now in sweats and a T-shirt, with MacBook in hand. He sits down to get comfortable, but I’m pacing. The number comes through. I dial and a woman, pain radiating in her voice, answers. “Hello.”
“Mrs. Casey?”