Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
I pause but I don’t turn. He needs to know my level of respect for him is at a one.
“Watch yourself. I am not Murphy. Tread with caution.”
The warning is comical and I face him with a curve to my lips. “Or what? Will you ask my father’s permission to fire me? Or maybe Pocher? They’d kill me before they’d fire me. They’d kill you before they’d kill me. You’re the one who needs to tread with caution.”
“Is that a threat, agent?”
“I don’t talk in circles or code. If I’m going to kill you, I’ll tell you straight up. You’re in bed with the devil. That means you’re either like them or dumb. We’ll know that answer soon enough.” I rotate and walk away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
My two J’s are at the door right where I left them like good boys. At least someone is being good since I’m fairly certain that I’ve been bad from the day I was born, and about to get worse.
“Can I see the body?” Jack asks, pushing off the door where he’s leaning, his eyes ripe with excitement. “I know there’s a body.”
“You’re a sick fuck, Jack.”
“Coming from you I’m not sure if that requires a reply of ‘thank you’ or ‘ouch,’ but either way, it works for me. It can work for you. I’m good at my job. Can I see the body?” he repeats.
He’s like a kid asking to go to the swimming pool only in his case, I’m the parent who wants to drown him. “I am forensics.”
“The FBI has jurisdiction.”
“I get that. I do. But if I can just take a look—” His brows deep dive. “And why aren’t they here already?”
“That’s just one of the questions of the day,” I say, not sure what to do with the idea that right now I trust Jack more than anyone else who might work this case. Adams wants a consultant in me, fine. He’s getting me and Jack. “When they get here,” I say, “prove your weirdness works, Jack. Prove it really fucking hard. You’re officially consulting, while working with me and my badge. Nothing happens you don’t see or know. Tell them I said so. If anyone gives you trouble, find me.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” he says, and the look on his face is pure orgasm, his fingers curled into the fist pumps he’s now initiated. “I’m going to make-up for what happened at the diner. I’m going to prove myself.”
I shake my head in disbelief at how empty-headed a smart guy can be. “Do you really think bringing up the pie you used as a weapon that I then slipped on while I tried to kill a killer is smart?”
Jack holds up his hands. “Forget I said that. I got this. I promise.”
“I don’t want to see the body in case you think I’m on Team Dead Body,” Jay interjects, making his presence known again. “Actually, I don’t even need to hear the details.”
“And for that, Jay,” I say, “you get two hands, but not mine. Go find the two hands.”
His face goes slack. “Wait. What?”
“The body has no hands,” Jack supplies, figuring it out on his own, or trying to, at least. “Mob?” he queries but he doesn’t wait for an answer. “No. No. That makes no sense. The mob wouldn’t go to the trouble of cutting off the hands, only to leave a body we might otherwise identify. Does the victim have teeth we can use to identify him or her?”
“That’s up to you to find out when the team gets here. “
He’s moved on or rather circled back. “Why cut off the hands if you don’t ditch the body?” His brow knits. “Michael from Halloween—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Jack,” I warn. “Every time I try to take you seriously, you go down that rabbit hole. This isn’t fiction, but it is a horror story. Focus on this story. This victim who may well have had his hands chopped off while he was still alive.”
“I do not want to hear this,” Jay grinds out.
He’s not acting like he works for Kane Mendez, let alone, Lilah Love-Mendez. Is he traumatized, too? And if so, what the fuck is going on? Whatever it is, this isn’t the time or place for me to figure that out. I ignore him and his wussy behavior and charge onward, “If the hands aren’t here,” I say, “they could have been taken as trophies. If they are here, they may well be posed somewhere, a part of a killer’s game he’s playing with law enforcement. Find the hands.” I start walking toward the stairs and as I reach the bottom step, I turn and add, “And bootie up.” I reach in my bag and pull a pair out. “Do either of you need these?”
“I have booties,” Jack offers, reaching for his bag, only to have an action figure fall out.