Bloody Vows (Lilah Love 5)

“Nothing yet,” Andrew says. “That’s why I’m in a rush to eat and get back to work. Anything on your end?”

“Chef Roswell was scheduled for Emma’s wedding,” I say.

Andrew’s brows dip. “And then he ended up at your house? How?”

“A service,” Kane replies. “But I had other options. I chose him because Lilah and I knew him from another event.”

“One Pocher funded on behalf of Dad,” I insert.

Andrew grimaces and accepts his drink from the waitress. “Are we really bringing Dad into a random murder?”

“We’re following the connected dots,” I say. “I didn’t place Dad on the scoreboard. And I’m not saying he’s involved. I’m saying he’s a part of a circle.”

“And you think the chef is part of that circle, too,” he comments. “No one made Kane call him.”

“Which is true,” Kane agrees. “The circle here in the Hamptons is a small one. Once you’re in, you’re in. Obviously, the chef is in that circle.”

“And someone used him to get to us,” I say. “Thus, our visit from fake Naomi tonight.”

“Who’s fake Naomi?” Lucas asks.

“That’s the question,” I reply. “We don’t know.”

“The question is,” Andrew interjects with a lift of his fork, “was fake Naomi the one who left you that jar of blood and killed Emma?”

“A jar of blood?” Lucas demands, leaning in closer. “Lilah, what is going on?”

“My job,” I say, tuning him out and focusing on Andrew. “My gut says she’s a player in a game, not the creator of the game.”

The waitress sets the extra pot pie on the table and Kane and I order iced tea. When she departs, I continue. “I keep going back to a text Emma sent Jamie. One more time for the history books, she’d said. That sounds like a game to me, and I’m not sure it’s related to sex.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Lucas interjects. “One more time for the history books is a part of a game called ‘Banking the Billionaire.’ It was meant to teach people how to invest. It took off and went nuts. It’s crazy popular. ‘One more time for the history books’ references one last financial score before you get out of the game, at least that set of the game.”

Emma Wells was playing a game.

And someone wanted me to find out, or they would have taken Emma’s phone.

Someone wants me to play, too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I grab the pad of paper and pen next to Lucas. Quickly, eager for answers, I jot down names to include the chef, Emma herself, her deceased husband, her fiancé, and of course, the real Naomi Wells. I slide it back in front of him. “Are they part of the game?”

“Everyone uses a code name assigned by the game system,” he replies. “I’ll have to search IP addresses and phone numbers.”

“Who owns the game?” Andrew asks.

“Unknown,” he says, “and every time you try to track the servers, they show up in another part of the world. But that said, I haven’t tried to find out myself. I’ve just heard the chatter on random forums. There are rumors it’s used for nefarious communication of various types, but I can’t confirm that.”

“Try,” I say. “I’ll get you a payday from the FBI and credit. That will help you find some level of immunity for your other activities we both know you didn’t stop.”

At this point, I’m already pulling up the photos I took of Emma’s text messages. I write down her and Jamie’s numbers. “That’s the victim’s phone number,” I point to the first number. “And this,” I add, pointing to the second, “is someone named Jamie she was texting with about one more time for the history books. Jamie’s phone number is a throwaway. Show us what you can do.”

He smirks and gives a small incline of his head toward Andrew. Andrew finishes off his pot pie. “I won’t arrest you until after Christmas. And since I’m told you’re an FBI asset, maybe not until after the New Year.”

“Just do it,” I say, and Lucas doesn’t seem to need more encouragement. He tugs the paper closer. I pull Kane’s pot pie between us. We don’t touch it. Both of us are watching Lucas. It takes him all of two minutes to say, “Neither of these numbers are on the game system. But—Jamie’s phone can be partially traced.”

“Not per our tech team,” Andrew says, motioning to the waitress, and mouthing, “Cake,” before he adds, “That was one of the first things we tried.”

Lucas punches in a few more keys and says, “It was purchased at a smoke shop, aka a corner store, three months ago.”

He grabs his notepad from me again, scribbles down the address, and hands it back to me. “It’s in the city. And they don’t have security cameras. I checked. However, there are street cameras. I pulled up the nearby feed for the timestamp. All I got was this.”