The man stares at me for a moment that stretches too long before he walks away. I tap the table, curious about him when Andrew says. “How did you know I didn’t want a burger?”
“I didn’t care,” I reply, and jump into my case.
His lips curve. “I love you too, sis. There’s a rally Friday night, a final push for votes. Dad wants us to be there, both of us. He tasked me with getting you there.”
“Isn’t he worried Kane will muddy up his reputation?”
“To most of the world, Kane is an oil mogul, a man with deep pockets, power, and the love of the future governor’s daughter. “
“And a father who ran a drug cartel.”
“He’s not his father.”
I tilt my head and study him. “What change of heart is this?”
“He pulled the fucker off of you, Lilah. No one in law enforcement has caught him doing anything wrong. He’s with you. I’m with him. And I can tell you that Dad is going to promise him protection.”
“Kane won’t be bribed.”
“I told Dad that, but you coming to the event makes me look good. I need you to come.”
I sigh. “I’ll talk to Kane.”
“You make your own decisions. You’re blowing me off. You’re a hero, Lilah. You caught the Umbrella Man.”
“Oh Lord, help me. I hope like fuck he’s not trying to paint me as a hero because that shit’s going to blow up in his face.”
“I told him that.”
“Thank you, Andrew.”
He chuckles. “What’s a brother for if not to cover his sister’s back?”
And my role is to cover his, and I’m not sure how I do that when he’s in the belly of the beast. “When do you start with Dad?”
“I haven’t accepted the job.”
“When do you start with Dad?” I repeat.
“Shortly after the special election.”
“Who takes over for you?”
“Dad will appoint whoever I tell him to appoint. I’ll pick Ethan Thompson. He’s a good man who won’t let me down. He’ll help our cause. But Dad has to get elected. The rally, Lilah.”
“I’ll talk to Kane.” I’m back to repeating myself.
“You’re coming. And on election night, you need to be at the headquarters.”
I press two fingers to the bridge of my nose and that’s when our fries, ketchup, and drinks arrive. “I assume you want the mochas after the food?” the waiter asks.
“Yes,” I say, “and with lots of that house whipped cream.”
His lips curve, amusement lashing about his rather gaunt features. “Of course. Lots of whipped cream.” He walks away.
I frown. “I’m not sure why that entertained him.”
“He’s an odd bird,” Andrew replies, “but patient as hell, I tell you. This place is a college kids’ haven and I sat here and watched him just ride that road to hell without so much as a blink.”
“In other words, he’s the guy who knows which one of them is a serial killer.”
Andrew blanches. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Dad’s welcome to the governorship. A new serial killer in town.”
“What the hell is happening to this city?”
The same thing that’s always been happening to this city, I think. Murder. What’s so sad is the entire state believes our father is the answer. They don’t know he’s one of them. The question is, will Andrew fight the beast that is the Society and win, or will he become one of them, too?
I want to believe he fights the beast and wins, but the fact that I’m not sure scares me when not much else does.
Chapter Twelve
Andrew leaves me at Curly Joe’s before the joe arrives. “You still want those coffees?” the waiter asks.
“Just one,” I say, with every plan for Jay to stay where he’s at and allow me to appear to be on my own for a bit. He’ll have ordered his own coffee anyway, which I confirm to be the truth when I move to Andrew’s side of the table, the one which allows me a view of the entire coffee shop.
Jay’s at a table near the counter, a spot where he can see me and the door. I watch the waitress with dark hair and pale skin flirt with a college-aged boy. Based on his watch and the brand name of his clothing, he has money, family money. My mind starts to form a profile of our killer. He has money, I think. He’s amusing himself with games, bored with life, without a challenge until he traveled the path of no return and began killing people. The money makes him feel he’s above everyone else, he’s better than them. I’ve known a million of his type and so did my mother.
My father is his type.
Me and Andrew could have been his type.
At a pricey college, that type is a dime a dozen.
I pull my phone from my pocket and text Tic Tac: I need a photo of the victim at my crime scene right away. Nathan Allen Jr. I also need everything you can get me on him. I forward him the address.