“Dead fathers seem to be another connection,” I comment, writing up a card that reads, “deceased fathers.”
“Except Grayson Kellerman’s father is not dead. His mother is. She was the heiress to the Tallon empire.”
My brow furrows. “The makers of laundry detergent?”
“Yes. That’s them.”
“And the husband inherited her money?”
“I assume, but before you say it, yes, I know. Assuming makes an ass out of you. I’ll find out. I’m sending you the contact info for Kellerman Senior. His real estate company is worth a small fortune. He’s the one who will be pressuring the mayor for answers.”
Real estate to the rich and famous. That means the Hamptons. “Does he have a location in the Hamptons?”
“Hold please,” he says, fingers tapping away again before he says, “No, but his website indicates he covers that territory. And he himself owns property in West Hampton. Do you think you know him?”
“I don’t, but someone I know knows him. Most likely my father and brother do, which means he’ll be calling them, sooner than later.”
“Ah yes. Your father, the future governor of New York.”
“Don’t even get me started.”
There’s a female voice in the background and my eyebrows shoot up. The last I heard, Tic Tac was gay. “Something you need to tell me Tic Tac?”
“She’s my sister, Lilah,” he indicates, “though I might have better luck changing teams.” He grunts. “Don’t comment. I’m not changing teams. I’m just bitter.”
“We should talk about this.”
“My love life is not something I want navigated by Lilah Love-Mendez. Sorry, Lilah. You might be married now, but you are no poster child for romance.”
I bristle. “I’ll have you know that Kane and I just had a romantic as hell two weeks.”
“In spite of you pushing him away at every turn, so don’t even get me started. I’m going back to work and then to bed. You should do the same. Goodnight.” He hangs up.
Because no one says goodbye to me.
I’m reminded of Jack Cox. Oh and Ms. Love-Mendez, he’d said. Cox is one of the twenty-five most wealthy family names in the world.
I realize now I didn’t push Tic Tac on all things Jack, at least not hard enough to ensure he makes checking on him a priority. I text him now: I really need to know about Jack Cox in more detail than his financial status. Has he ever been in any trouble? What about his personal life? Everything and anything you can tell me.
I drop back on to the floor and stare at the ceiling, waiting on his reply, thinking about the case. Everyone lives close to campus and interacts with students and faculty of the school. That leaves a broad pool of prospective suspects that has to be narrowed down. I glance at my watch and eye the eleven o’clock hour. Kane is still not home and I’m about to break protocol and text him when I hear the buzzer on the door go off. He’s home. At least, I hope it’s him.
I grab Cujo, scoot to sit against the desk and rest her across my lap.
And I wait for who comes through the door.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kane appears in the doorway, arching a brow at the sight I make, sitting there against the desk, holding my old, or rather newly-minted, replacement best friend.
“Cujo?” he asks, standing there all broad and tall, looking like that Latin Stallone he was so proud to be called, with not a lock of his thick, dark hair ruffled.
I scowl. “This is your fault. You’re making me paranoid.”
He closes the space between me and him, and squats in front of me, lifting the shotgun out of my arms and setting it aside. “I can’t not worry about you, Lilah. I was too late once. I won’t be too late again.”
He means when I was raped, and he can just not go there ever again and I’d be happy, but clearly, this weighs on him and his decision-making when it should not. “You weren’t too late. I’d be dead if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”
“One does not make the other acceptable, Lilah.”
“I know—”
“How to protect yourself,” he supplies, indicating I’m a broken record. “You were drugged. I was in the sky, unable to stop the metal machine holding me up there from crashing into the water. We have both been warned that we are human. I don’t like it any more than you.”
He’s not wrong. “It sucks,” I say.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
For a good minute, we both stare at each other. “I almost called you just now,” I confess. “I was worried. When have I ever done that?”
He reaches out and catches a strand of my hair. “It’s okay to worry, Lilah.”
“That’s not who I am. That’s not who we are.”
“I worry the hell about you, bella. I’ve never pretended otherwise. And we’re married. It’s a different level of commitment.”