A family that fights crime together, stays together and alive. It’s a bonding experience. Some might say it’s special. Forget that we also committed a crime together. We’re fighting the bad guys. That’s what matters. Unless one of us ends up dead. That’s what I’m worried about with Lucas, that I pulled him into the wrong story, that he searched for the wrong person.
I’m eager to find him and wring his neck.
Kane and I make it as far as the foyer when Andrew corners us. “No word on the fake Naomi yet, but my team needs to come in and take fingerprints that we can try to match to the database.” He eyes Kane. “We’ll need to look at your security cameras.”
Bonding is over, I think, even before Kane says, “You can fingerprint. We’ll handle the cameras.”
I can predict the rabbit hole of accusation that is flooding my brother’s brain even before he replies with a disdainful, “Of course you will. I’m sure you have plenty of things on the feed you don’t want me to see.”
“Such as us naked in the very kitchen your dinner was being made in?” I challenge.
His lashes lower and he scowls. “Lilah.”
Beside me, Kane doesn’t so much as bristle. I suspect he’s enjoying Andrew’s discomfort. This might bother another sister, but to me, embracing your brother’s discomfort is a mandatory part of sibling love.
“I’m just keeping it real, Andrew,” I continue. “Kane and I like to mix things up, keep things from getting boring. I’m sure you know what I mean. In other words, the East Hampton police department doesn’t get to make us your Saturday night high.” I change the topic. “How long will your team be here to take prints?”
“At least half an hour,” Andrew replies, sliding into the change of topic with what I read as relief.
Kane replies to a text message on his phone and then says, “One of my men, Jay, is coming to supervise. He’ll lock up when you’re done.”
“You trust him but you don’t trust me,” Andrew says dryly.
“And?” Kane challenges with good reason. It wasn’t that long ago that Andrew vowed to destroy Kane, to get him away from me.
Of course, that was before the dead body, but Kane doesn’t trust easily, even with ammunition on someone. A well-known fact that I suspect keeps the Society on their toes and hating him.
“Don’t hassle Jay,” I add. “He’s the guy who stepped between me and the Umbrella Man and took a bullet for it.” I leave out the part where that was a stupid move, considering the Umbrella Man didn’t want me dead, but Jay, as my bodyguard at the time, was another story. The asshole could have gotten himself killed. He almost did. Bottom line, Jay was brave. He’s a man’s man, one who wouldn’t be throwing up in a trashcan because he heard about a murder.
“All right,” Andrew agrees, softening some now. “Jay gets the rest of that bottle of whiskey, but why do I need him? Where are you two going?”
“To find Lucas,” I explain. “I need him to hack now more than ever.”
“He’s a stockbroker,” Andrew says. “What is all this talk about him hacking?”
“He’s an investment banker,” I correct. “And I’d tell you, Captain America, but then I’d have to kill you. Consider him an FBI asset and leave it at that.” I glance at my watch. It’s now five o’clock. “Isn’t Micki’s diner open until like ten?”
“Midnight,” he says. “They’ve become a late-night Thanksgiving tradition around here.”
“Perfect. We’ll meet you there when you’re done here. We can eat and debrief. Or we can come to your house. You don’t have company, right?”
He scowls because we both know I’m talking about Samantha. A moment later, he escapes that topic when his cellphone rings. He glances at the number and the pink of his cheeks tells me, it’s the Wicked Witch herself. “Micki’s,” he says, then answers the call with, “Police Chief Love.”
“I wonder if she calls him that when they’re alone,” I say, glancing up at Kane.
“Probably,” he says. “Meanwhile, the only thing you call me when we’re alone is asshole.”
“With love,” I assure him as we grab our coats and get the hell out of there.
By the time we’re inside Kane’s Mercedes and on the road, our exchange has sent me back to the text message Emma had sent to Jamie: One more time for the history books.
I’d read it and believed they were talking about sex. But Emma was getting married in a few weeks, supposedly in love with her fiancé. So much so that him missing a holiday clearly upset her. I’m not naïve enough to believe that means she wasn’t sleeping with only one man. Or that she might have been seeking refuge with an old lover. But what if that text message with Jamie wasn’t a booty call? What if it was something else?