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Traffic is at a standstill. Horns honk with no purpose. “Do the idiots think if they make noise, the cars in front of us will miraculously move?”

“They’re cranky, I guess,” Jay replies.

I grunt.

People say us New Yorkers are cranky all the fucking time. We aren’t cranky. The vast majority of us have either had time wasted in traffic and have no time left for bullshit, or we’ve been forced into the subway, where we try to make eye contact with no one and still end up with a person in a garbage bag harassing us.

“Dumb shit with no purpose is just dumb shit, and it will get you killed, Jay.”

“Aren’t we talking about traffic?”

“Your point?”

He thrums his fingers on the steering wheel and, after a long stretch of silence, says, “Birthdays are a big thing in my family.” He is apparently of the mindset that he must fill the wait time with mindless words. “I had no idea yours was next week.” He glances over at me with no concern for traffic, as it’s not moving. “I’ll bring you a strawberry pie.”

“Stop talking,” I say, pointing at him.

His expression is pure exasperation. “Okay, what the hell, Lilah? You love strawberry pie. What could I have possibly said wrong?”

I twist around to face him. “This, this right here, is why being trapped in a car with you doesn’t work for me. You get me a pie and expect me to let you get killed? I talked to Kane. We’re in agreement. You’re going to the police academy. If you graduate, you keep your job.”

“This is ridiculous, Lilah. I’m on the job, doing the job. And if you want me to do a better job, have someone who thinks like your enemies train me. Have Ghost train me, not the police academy.”

I snort laugh. “Ghost would eat you alive.”

“Or not. Maybe you underestimate me.”

I don’t , I think, but he might be onto something. Maybe he does need a killer to train him. I settle back into my seat and think about Enrique. He’s a killer. So is Kit. So am I, for that matter, but we’re the bust your balls and kick your ass style of trainers that might send Jay to a corner to cry. And the fact that I think he might cry tells me training won’t change him. Death will, and why would I wish that on him?

“And for the record,” Jay says, “you just admitted you like me, Lilah.” He grins.

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

“I thought you were trying to keep me safe.”

“From everyone but me. If you piss me off, I will shoot you, Jay.”

Fortunately for him, traffic begins to move and my cellphone buzzes with a text, which includes the address I’ll be visiting once in the Hamptons. I use Google Maps and check the location to that of my favorite diner, the one Murphy seems to have named as important.

One mile.

Isn’t Murphy clever , I reluctantly concede. Not clever enough to stay alive, but clever. He just let me know I’m headed the right direction, but was he telling me Mark was his killer? I’m not sure he had a chance to pass along that information, and I don’t believe in coincidences. At the very least, Murphy was following a lead that led him to Mark.

My brows furrow. I think. This doesn’t feel right or certain.

I might not believe in coincidences, but the reality here is that we live the same distance from the diner as does Mark. My father and Pocher, not much further.

My bingo moment might not be bingo at all. Damn it to hell and fuck you, Murphy, for dying in the first place without telling me the truth about my mother. I text Tic Tac. I need pictures of Mark and Elsa. How long has Mark had a house one mile from me? And does Elsa have a place here too or where does she live?

Hold please , he replies, and a minute later adds, Elsa lives at the Maryland property her father used for his training facility after she exited the military a year after Clyde’s death.

Is she running it now?

No. She converted it to a firing range. And I’ve already checked. None of the employees are anything but kids. No assassins in the mix. Mark bought it while you were in LA, and you haven’t exactly been social. And don’t get pissed, but considering he’s in weapons manufacturing, won’t Kane know him? Photos should ping any moment along with basic bios.

I’d snap back at him just to enjoy the squirm that would follow, but he’s right. Kane will know Mark. And Mark will know Kane, which means he knows who he’s married to. The odds that Mark expects me to come after him are next to certain.

I consider texting Kane, but he won’t answer, and I don’t need him getting his men in between me and Ghost, not when Ghost knows things I need to find out. Besides, he’s up to his own no good, or he wouldn’t be on silent mode.

My brother might know Mark, but if he dives into this too deeply, he’ll end up dead. The other option is Lucas, who’s apparently drunk as fuck but might know Mark. He was also hacking for very bad people about the time Mark moved in, which might mean Mark. I try to call him and land in his voicemail, which tells me he’s likely passed out. Damn it, Lucas , I think, needing to know what he knows before I confront Mark, but I’m not going to have that luxury. Not when I’m racing to get to Mark before Ghost.

The photos ping and I focus on the living; Elsa, who’s redheaded, pretty, and thirty-two. She is well decorated from her ten years in the army and had twenty kills overseas. Translation, she is immune to the idea of killing. I wonder who has more kills? Her or Ghost?

***

Fifteen minutes later, Lucas hasn’t called me back or replied to several texts I’ve sent him, and Jay has pulled us into the airport. “He obviously took the subway,” Jay says, motioning to Enrique where he stands by the door.

“I’d say serves him right, but I’m not sure we had the better trip.”

“He needs Kane to trust him, Lilah.”

Irritation tics in my jaw. “If he’s dead, it won’t matter, now, will it?” I reach for the door.

“Lilah,” he says firmly.

Jay and firm are not words that go together. Poor DD. But the earnest quality of his voice has me looking back at him. “What, Jay?”

“Kane isn’t stupid, and he loves the fuck out of you. He won’t die when you’re alive. He’ll be strategic. You might not like how he approaches solving this problem, but he wouldn’t do it if he didn’t think it was necessary, either.”

There’s an unfamiliar emotional twist in my gut, and I find myself softening in a way I prefer not to experience. With a frog in my throat, I can do nothing but offer a choppy nod and exit the vehicle. I believe Kane will fight to live, to protect me, but no one wants to die.

My cellphone rings, and I glance down to where I hold it to find my father calling, the last fucking person I want to talk to right now. I decline the call. I trudge forward to greet Enrique. “Mark Walker. What do you know about him?”

“Tell me more.”

“Weapons manufacturer who moved into the Hamptons when I was in California.”

“Right. I remember Kane having him checked out way back when. He keeps to himself and has never been a problem. Why?”

“He might have killed Murphy. I need to know what Kane’s guy knows.”

“I really don’t think there was much of a reason for us to dig, but I’ll find out.”

“Dig now, before we take off. Ghost is hunting this guy and I don’t want him dead until I kill him. Make sure he stays alive.” With that, I step around him and head inside the airport, hoping like hell that Ghost fears Kane enough to let his men live.

Fifteen minutes later, I’ve belted up, ready for the peace and quiet of a roaring engine that makes everyone shut their mouths, when my phone pings with a text from an unknown number.

You’re late, Lilah. I keep overestimating you.

A chill runs down my spine. I have no question over the identity of my texter. This is Ghost. While I was in traffic, he was on his way to Mark Walker, who I can only assume is dead. That’s what Ghost does. He makes people dead.