Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
I don’t know what the plan with his uncle is, but I haven’t missed the reminder that he took one of Pocher’s brother’s fingers. Then he acted as if he was the one who saved him when we all knew that wasn’t true. Kane knows how to control people. Kane will handle his uncle. It’s time for me to take care of business my way, too. I won’t take a finger. I’ll leave Kane with that legacy to his name. I prefer to keep things original.
But I’ll find a way to get what I want.
And what I want is the bad people dead, and the good people alive.
That means I have to start by doing my job and catching a serial killer, despite the fact that I will make my father, the future governor of our state, look good in the process.
Chapter Seventeen
I don’t change out of the white sweater before the meeting with my father.
I decide I might need a reason to show restraint. Plus, I kind of look like a bum in leggings and boots, and I’m quite certain this will irritate the fuck out of him, which really is almost better than killing him. With this pleasant thought, I head for the door.
As for my destination, my father now spends most of his days in a high-rise building near Central Park, not far from our place, and rarely visits the Hamptons. I actually have less of a chance of running into him in the city, despite our close proximity where a few blocks become miles than I do in the small-town cozy of the Hamptons, where everyone goes to the same places at the same time and knows everyone’s business. I’ve never tried to erase the distance between myself and my father here in the city, and if not for this demand for my presence, motivated by a serial killer, I’d be fine with keeping it that way forever.
But thanks to Jack Cox calling the press, I’m about to step into the territory of the rich, arrogant future governor, Grant Love.
Thank you, Jack.
I think I’ll call him Jack the Ripper, considering he’s at the very least obsessed with brutal murders, if not a murderer himself. Whatever he is, or is not, he’s given my father yet another campaign reason to need me. Of course, I couldn’t give two fucks what my father needs, but I care about the victims, past and future, of this killer, and I care about my brother’s involvement with my father and Pocher.
Exiting the apartment building, I step outside to find Jay leaning on the door of an SUV, obviously alerted by Kane to expect me. It’s a few blocks walk and I’m not sitting in a traffic jam for hours. Ignoring Jay, I cut right and start walking. He’s by my side in half a block, but he smartly doesn’t say a word, a sign he’s beginning to learn how to read my moods. I have a murder to solve, maybe four murders, if this all comes together as I think it will, and I’ve barely had time to consider the case. I need to be in my own head right now and the place that takes me to is Jack the Ripper.
He called me.
He called the media.
Then, my father called me.
It’s an interesting series of events.
All of this has the potential to help my father’s campaign, and with Pocher involved, I can’t help but let that take me to a dirty, gritty place, where things happen, and people die to serve the will of the Society.
Kane doesn’t think Jack’s my killer, but maybe he’s just a piece of a bigger puzzle, though I can’t rule him out as a suspect. His craving for attention and fame fits a profile that I can’t ignore. Of course, he’s my only suspect at this point, and that has to be remedied immediately.
With all of this in mind, and my father’s building approaching, I text Tic Tac: What do you have for me?
I stop walking and motion for Jay to hang back. “Wait out here.”
“Kane would want me to go inside.”
“You don’t want to be known by these people, Jay. Hang back.”
“Isn’t this your father’s place?”
“Exactly. Hang back.”
I leave him standing there, finish the walk to the door, and approach the doorman, a short, stocky dude with a goatee. “I’m here to see Grant Love.”
“So is everyone and their uncle. He’s not seeing reporters.”
“Good thing I hate fucking reporters almost as much as I do doormen with attitudes.” I grab my badge out of my pocket. “Agent Love.”
His eyes go wide. “Agent. Sorry. I was actually expecting you. I just thought—I was—”
“You thought his daughter would dress in Chanel and have a stick up her ass?”
“I just—I thought—” He straightens. “I’m sorry, Agent Love. I didn’t mean to offend you.”