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“Understood,” he said, and nodded at Alexei, who took out his screen, slipped out of the room.
“If that doesn’t pan out,” Lulu said, “you could go the bargaining chip route. The stalker killed Blake, right?”
“Right,” I said.
“So you find the stalker—and Blake’s killer—first, and we offer him up to the Compliance Bureau. A trade.”
“That’s not bad,” I said, sitting up. “Except that we aren’t any further in figuring out who that is. And we don’t have any leads independent of the OMB.”
“So make him come to you. Lure him out. And when he shows up, kick his ass and deliver him to the AAM for a price—your freedom. And Bob’s your uncle,” Lulu said and mimicked wiping dirt from her hands. “All is well in the kingdom again.”
“My uncles are Ben and Christopher and Derek and Eli,” Connor said with an admirably straight face.
She just rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have a squeak toy to gnaw on somewhere?”
“Ah,” Connor said, stretching out his legs. “Just like being fifteen again.” He slid his glance to me. “Except you aren’t tattling nearly so much this time.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” I said primly, since he was well aware I’d gotten him in trouble often enough as a teenager. “And because this meeting has degraded into childishness or the reminiscence thereof, let’s wrap it up. Alexei is going to check with the Consolidated Atlantic for information we can use on Clive. My parents are trying to reach Nicole. Connor and I are working on the stalker.” I glanced at the wall clock. Two hours until dawn. When I woke up again, we’d be down to thirty-six. “Let’s find something.”
Connor rose, stretched, glanced at me. “Let’s go sit on the patio.”
I looked at him. “What?”
“The patio outside.” He cleared his throat. “Past the conservatory.”
“With the pipe, Ms. Scarlett?” Lulu asked.
Connor’s brows lifted. “You likeClue?”
“The movie? Of course. It’s genius, and I’m a woman of obvious taste and discernment. I’d say I’m surprised you do, but then, you also like comic books.”
“We all have our pop culture weaknesses,” Connor said and held out a hand to me, as if the warmth in his eyes wasn’t enough of an invitation.
I glanced back at Lulu, who stared out the windows, the sadness in her eyes obvious, and worried that Mateo had compounded her sadness.
“Give me a minute, will you?” I asked quietly and looked back at Connor.
“Of course,” he said, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be outside.”
FIFTEEN
I waited until he was gone, looked over at her. “You want to go past the conservatory, too?”
“I want to not regret having eaten my way through half of China Palace’s menu.”
“Same.” I waited a moment, trying to figure out my strategy, decided to stick with the truth. “Out with it.”
She looked back at me, brows lifted. “What?”
“Out with it. Tell me what’s bothering you—has been bothering you, since Minnesota.”
“Nothing is bothering me.” But she rose, gathered up containers and carried them into the kitchen, began to consolidate rice boxes and toss the empties.
“Yes, I can tell by your relaxed tone and chill manner.”
She looked up, misery in her eyes, and it broke my heart a little. I went to her—taking boxes on the way—and put them on the counter.
“Lulu. Talk to me.”
