Page 87 of Three

eleven

RAMIEL

We enter my place. “Serena we’re home.” Thewejust escapes my lips, and I see Hunter glance at me before moving his attention around my open home. His face is blank, like the first time I met him. He’s wary around me again.

It’s cute how he thinks that will work, and also fucking infuriating.

“Loretta and D-I,” I ponder out loud, referring to the letters Malcom wrote on the floor. “Loretta died? Divulged? Divided? Disappointed… Could be the beginning of a name? A surname? A place? Serena, please look into it.” She replies with a “yes.” I take off my coat and leave it on the back of the sofa. “An acronym perhaps?”

“I don’t think Malcom was that smart.” He sounds so fucking cold.

His phone vibrates, and he sighs when he sees the screen.

“Opal?” His voice turns gentle. She’s his cousin, so affection is expected when he talks to her. But at this moment, it rubs me the wrong way, a very irrational way.

“I’m fine,” Hunter says. “Why wouldn’t I be? No. There’s no need. About what? Okay. Alright. See you soon.”

“Gotta meet her?” I ask him, checking on my girls to distract myself. Khloe is in the house by herself, while Kim and Kourtney are out in the garden.

“Yeah. You didn’t lie about those.” He points at Khloe’s yellowish-cream face.

“I’ve never lied to you.” I hope my eyes are truthful enough for him. “I’m going to come with you to see your cousin.”

His silent reply feels like something is slowly slicing me from the inside. But if he thinks I’ll let him walk away from me, he’s damn wrong. He has no idea what I’m really capable of.

Determination and coldness suddenly fall over me. I check the thermostat, but it seems to be working just fine.

“What’s in there?” he asks, pointing at the only room, except the toilet, in my house.

“Serena. Her…brain.”

“It needs a room?”

“It needs a cooling system. So, yeah.” I sound snappy, but fuck, I’m so damn annoyed at him, me, this whole uncontrollable situation. But I mainly want to kickhisballs.

“Who’s the Vulture?” Another question.

“A hitman. One of the best.”

“How do you know him?”

“There’re contract killing websites on the dark web. People can hire a specific assassin, or like in your case, put out a hit, and whoever executesit gets the money. And no, I’ve never hired a hitman. I like to do the dirty work myself,” I taunt him. I know I’m working against myself, but that damn void expression and rigid pose are provoking me into poking him until he fights back. “Seven hundred K is kind of a high payment for this kind of contract killing. Someone really wants you dead.”

“I have the information you asked for,” Serena suddenly says. I asked her to check into Loretta’s father’s death on the way back here. I tap my bracelet to turn the speaker on.

“Norman Jefferson died at Saint Lucas Hospital. He was hospitalized March fourth with acute chest pains and died of a veinous embolism the same day.”

“Which can be easily caused by injecting air in the veinous system,” I add, hearing Hunter’s cussing. “Why now? After all these years? We are missing something. Serena, run a wider analysis on anybody who might be connected to the murder of Cal Penn or Loretta Jefferson’s death.”

“On it, Daddy.” I grimace.

Hunter leans back against the kitchen counter and just stares at me with his hands tucked in his jeans pockets. Waiting, like a panther ready to strike.

“Something to drink?” I know I’m stalling, but his false tranquility is irritating me to no end.

He shakes his head.

“Malcom said something about a letter.” Every muscle in his body stiffens. “Do you know what he was talking about?”