Page 36 of Perfect Order
I need to find out.
I slip my secure laptop from my bag and go cyberhunting until the sky turns blush pink. When it’s done, I have a whole lot of nothing for it other than a crick in my neck. The shadows are hauntingly quiet, which is terrifying unto itself.
If I’ve learned nothing over the last few years working in the world of black ops, it’s that the biggest disasters occur when no one expects them. I’ve been called upon to discuss examples of everything from arms deals, to hostage rescues, to other greater threats to our nation. In all of these instances, public chatter disperses, and the individuals pulling on the reins bury themselves deep in the darkness to exploit the powerful lack of principles available, if you know how to get there.
And I’m more than an expert at it. Since I was in my early teens, I’ve helped dominate it.
As Leanne Miles, I first earned a reputation as a black hat, a ne’er-do-well available for the highest bidder when things went tits up. Eventually, I let my black turn to shades of gray as I laconically told people I could use my skills to make a few bucks legally. They all thought my founding of Castor amusing—another way to operate right under the government’s nose.
But few people on the planet know me asQ?za—the high-powered intelligence broker for the US government.
“Who is it they wanted to kill, Kylie? You, me, or her?” I refer to my alter ego in the third person as I watch the sunrise. “And why can’t I figure it out?”
Stumbling to the couch, my eyes drift shut. In my nightmares, all I see is my Lee. And nothing she’s trying to tell me makes sense.
I wish it did.
I’m woken hours later by a phone ringing. “’Lo,” I yawn when I answer.
“I am going to do everything short of murder you. You’re too talented to be dead. I told you not to go to that frigging party,” a very angry male shouts in frustration.
I yank the phone away and check the caller ID. Shit. Beckett Miller. “Uh, Becks? What’s the problem?”
“The problem, Ky, is the fucking paps got a picture of me carting you out of the hotel when you called me drunk off your ass. And do you want to hear the caption on this one?”
“Umm…”
“Rock God and the Indie Goddess? Is this a match made in heaven or someone’s idea of a sick hell. In this case, the daddy/daughter dating doesn’t do it for us.”
“Oh shit. Tell me it wasn’t…” Please, oh, please. Just not…
“Yes, little girl. Your favorite of the bunch. StellaNova.”
I let out an ear-piercing scream.
Beckett shouts, “Do you get it now, Ky? Do you? I get you’re suffering. Believe me, I understand that. But you know the rule I taught you to live by—nothing to excess.”
Suddenly, everything comes crashing down on me—especially the disappointment in myself. I’ve solved international skirmishes in this amount of time. How hard is it to find out who killed my sister? A sob wrenches from me. “It just hurts so damn bad. Nothing makes the pain go away.”
Why am I surprised when he displays no emotion other than that of his own image? God, what did Kylie see in him as a friend? He is unsympathetic when he lectures, “Take your emotions out on the music, Ky. Now, I have to go have Carys deal with this for both of us. Do you realize how pissed she’s going to be?”
“Oh, God. Becks, no. It can’t be that bad.”
“I suggest you haul your ass up out of bed and check your phone. You aren’t in school, and this isn’t playtime anymore, little girl. Your whole life is a damn business. And next time, figure out some other way to deal with the pain. Just like I told you after the Grammys when I had to hold you up when we got out of the limo and we dealt with these rumors then.”
I pull the phone away, and the lick of anger begins to fire in my blood at the disrespectful way he’s talking to my sister. “I swear if it’s the last thing I do, I’m—”
I hear the beep signaling he’s hung up on me. So, I let out the primal scream I’ve been holding inside. I immediately dial Carys and begin pacing.
“LLF LLC. Hold on, Erzulie. She’s waiting for your call.”
I hear the line connect, and before I can say a word, Carys says, “Tell me two things.”
“Okay.”
“Was it as bad as Beckett says?”
I’ll give him this. “Worse.” Quickly, I inform Carys about my suspicions I was drugged. “I swear, I didn’t have anything to drink.”
