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“I told you—”
“How did you get into the party?” Kane repeats, making it more than a little obvious he doesn’t believe Jack’s explanation thus far.
“I, well—” Jack fidgets, and twists his fingers together, “Imighthave told them I was with Agent Love, and you needed to know about this case.”
Kane glances down at me and while he’s not a man of many words, his looks can fill the pages of a book. And my mind. His message now is clear, at least to me. My father obviously needs a better security team. Considering he’d be dead if not for Kane, and Jack is standing here right now, Kane isn’t wrong.
“I had to do it,” Jack adds quickly, as if reading all kinds of scary things in the silent exchange between me and Kane. We are kind of scary. Well, at least, Kane is. I’m perfectly lovely and approachable… unless you’re stupid. And I’m not sure I’d call Jack stupid either. More like clever and conniving, as proven by his ongoing rambling.
“This doesn’t fit the timeline the killer established,” he says. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that. Each time gets closer by a certain proportion of days but if the formula remained, there should have been five days between killings. There haven’t been five days. I didn’t tell him that, and Rollins would never go to the forensics tech he barely tolerates and share this information. So either he figured it out on his own, and he’s a better investigator than I give him credit for, or he’s the killer, and this is all part of his game.
“Serial killers escalate as their obsession grows in intensity. A little like yours with me, Jack.”
“I’m not obsessed with you,” he bristles defensively. “I’m obsessed with catching this killer. And I’m equipped to help. What you call similar in me to the killer is simply an interest in horror that makes me uniquely able to help. Much like your profiling skills.”
“How do we even know this is the same killer?”
“The crime scene is a mess,” he adds. “Or that’s what I heard. And I was told they’ll need to start cleaning up quickly. That can’t happen without you seeing it if we don’t hurry and that would be a loss, Agent Love. You need to see the raw crime scene. We both know how important that is.”
Messy.
Translation: bloody.
Fabulous. Just what I need to finish this night. But I also haven’t missed the way he claimed to know the crime scene condition when he’s supposedly not been there yet. Nor how he avoided the question of how he knows there’s a connection between this murder and the others. “Who told you the crime scene was messy?”
“Gwen,” he replies and does so a bit too quickly. “She’s one of the techs on my team.”
“Of course, she did,” I say. “Right after you called her and asked her about it.”
His eyes go wide. “Are you suggesting I knew the condition of the crime scene before I called her?”
I study him a long, few beats, allowing my lack of an answer to be an answer before I say, “Text me the address.”
“I already did,” he replies. “Like I said, you weren’t responding.”
I snatch my phone from my purse, and glance at my messages. Sure enough, both he and Rollins have been texting me. Not just texting me but doing so with such excess it’s like they’re teenagers with a bad crush, and not enough social skills to pick up the phone and actually talk. “I got it,” I confirm, and when I would climb inside the SUV, he calls out, “Can I ride with you?”
I glance at Kane and then at Jack. “That doesn’t end well for you.” I half turn again and then eye him. “And either you had the tuxedo on because you knew this crime scene would be discovered tonight or you took the time to put it on when you should have been on your way to do your job. Neither looks good for you, Jack.” With that, I climb inside the SUV and Kane follows, shutting Jack Cox outside.
And not for the first time, I decide that Jack’s a creepy little dude who might just have a little Jack the Ripper in him. Charming and handsome, but potentially a trickster, with a deadly side. On the other hand, there is Andrew, who is fighting his own inner demons, which might be a connection to me. I don’t believe he has “killer” in him. And isn’t that the definition of the most dangerous man alive, the one who doesn’t seem dangerous at all?
He’s notthiskiller.
But I wonder if he’sakiller.
Not that I think I’m a killer but contrary to that thought, I also don’t think I’mnota killer, either.
Chapter Six
Our SUV pulls down the alley with Kit behind the wheel and Jay in the passenger seat, while me and Kane complete the backseat. In an attempt to shift my mind to the crime scene waiting on me, I call out the address I’ve been sent by Rollins and Jack. Ironically, considering how much my father and I have avoided each other as of late, I’m certain he will not approve of our departure. Of course, his approval is about as important to me as a pit in a cherry. We’re like diamond rings on his fingers—showy and bought and paid for with what he thinks is oil money in Kane’s pocket. In truth, to us, it’s all about our control over the Society, not his. We’re also the only reason he’s alive, which is generous on our part, considering he was willing to let the Society rape and kill me.
I could leave him to die and while the idea is not wholly unappealing, I curse and call out, “Wait!” to Kit.
He glances in the mirror at Kane, who holds up his hand. Only then does Kit brake. “Why didn’t you just hand him your balls when you were looking at him? I could put on some romantic music. “
Kit scowls and I ignore him, while Kane smirks. I amuse him. Sometimes that’s okay. Sometimes, not so much. “We just saw how sucky my father’s security team is and you seem to think there’s more at play tonight,” I explain. “If that’s true, he’ll end up dead and the only acceptable person who gets to kill him is me.”
“I can’t fix his security holes tonight,” Kane replies, “but aside from Andrew remaining behind with him, I left him several of my men, including Enrique and Gabriel. Gabriel has taken a shooter’s position on the wall above where your father will exit.”
