Chapter 4
Lillian
Shivering in the cool breeze, I pace the sidewalk outside the emergency room with my phone to my ear. “Sean claims he never saw her before, and I believe him.”
Hoping my boss has finally finished his questioning, I plop onto a bench.
The tiny speaker distorts when Dante, who must be exhausted, whooshes out his breath. “I'll see what Daedalus can dig up.”
What is it with these guys and their nicknames?
My eyes roll into my forehead. “Wasn't he the man who flew too close to the sun?”
Not missing a beat, the annoying man replies, “No, that was his son, Icarus. Daedalus designed the wings.”
“Wow, for five in the morning, you sure are full of random facts.” I’m tired and cranky, and dried mud itches everywhere. What I wouldn't give for a shower.
Despite my sarcasm, or because of it, Dante chuckles. “He's our best data analyst. White hat. Hacker. Ex-government.”
“Don’t suppose he has a real name?”
“Yeah, Daed.” Lucky for him, the squeal of brakes drowns out my smart-ass retort.
A second later, a dark sedan pulls into the NO STANDING zone where a lone driver exits and slams the door.
“Shit.” I hurry back inside through the automatic sliding glass. “Think we've earned ourselves a detective. Gotta go.”
“Copy. I'll send a car and text you. Try not to blow this one up.”
Like it’s my fault? “Talk to Sean. It’s his disaster, not mine.”
“Remains to be seen.” Dante's ominous tone sends a shiver down my spine.
No time to dwell, I call my sister. “Hey, Becks. Sorry about the time.”
She groans. “What the fuck, Lil? It’s the ass crack of dawn. Are you alright? What's wrong?”
“Nothing. Traffic jam. Stayed the night. Feed Buddy? Thanks a mil’. Bye.”
Ignoring her immediate callback, I nod to security, then jog to the open curtain where my fiancé sits on the edge of the bed, lacing his shoes. In front of him, a middle-aged lawman flashes his badge.
After introducing himself as Detective Lawler, he fishes out his phone, then begins scrolling. “Mind if I ask you two a few questions?”
When he looks up, Sean stands. “Can it wait until later? Neither of us has slept.” Hand at my lower back, he steers me toward the exit.
“It won't take long.” The cop’s smile doesn't reach his eyes. “I want to clear up a couple of issues. Sit. Or we could discuss this at the station house. Their coffee's worse than here.”
Worse? God, no.
Having no other choice, we sit in the waiting area’s uncomfortable orange plastic chairs while Sean tells his abridged version of events—no lies, per se—but not the whole truth, either.
“So, you have no idea why this person attempted to run you off the road?” The detective clearly doesn’t believe him.
“No, sir. None.” When Sean pitches his voice higher, I picture him clutching pearls and hold back a snicker.
Not amused, the cop fires back, “Why did you turn around after he… they tried to kill you?”
It’s a reasonable question. We'd be home in bed by now if we'd called 911 and waited in the Ferrari.
Sean shrugs, maintaining his poker face. “As I said, I thought the driver might need first aid, so I grabbed the car jack and went to help.”
Lawler counters, “With your weapon.”
“Which I'm licensed to carry,” Sean volleys back.
Not missing a beat, his opponent returns the ball. “What exactly do you do for a living, Mr. Clark?”
“Forensic accountant.”
“A profession that doesn't normally require a firearm.”
“Former Marine. I feel naked without it.”
The detective lets the silence hang for a beat before turning to me. “What about you? Did you recognize the victim?”
He thinks I’m stupid? “How would I know? Neither of us saw him or her. Do you have a picture?”
Clearly disappointed, he grunts. “We’re still trying to identify the body.”
After a few minutes, he rises and hands my partner a card. “Contact me if you think of anything else.”
“Thank you, sir. We will.”
Pursing his lips, the officer drums his fingertips on his notepad. “Do you need help getting home?”
I shake my head. “Thank you. No. The rental company said our car should arrive shortly.”
At the door, he pauses, changes his mind, and turns back. “Who did you say you worked for?”
The scar in Sean’s brow dances. “Dante and Associates.”
“Hmmm.” Frown deeper, the officer narrows his gaze. “Never heard of ’em.”