Murder Notes (Lilah Love Book 1) by Jones Lisa Renee

Author:Jones, Lisa Renee [Jones, Lisa Renee]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781503900318
Publisher: Montlake Romance
Published: 2018-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It’s time to find out how close my father is to drowning in trouble, and maybe my brother right along with him. I enter the house, stepping into the half-moon-shaped foyer. The stairwell directly in front of me is made of the same gray wood that is beneath my feet and leads upstairs to a cluster of rooms, one of which is the bedroom I’d once called my own. The glistening teardrop lights of a chandelier dangle from the ceiling high above me, another of my mother’s personal touches to the house, proving she still dwells within these walls. But there is more than my mother here right now. Pocher is gone, but not absent.

Shutting the door firmly behind me, I slip off my coat and hang it on the steel coatrack designed to look like the Eiffel Tower. To my left is an archway revealing the library. To the right, sealed white double doors leading to my father’s office, where I am certain he would have met with Pocher, and I resist the urge to charge in there and make demands. As much as I like demands and often find that they shock people into reactions that tell more than their words, they have to be properly timed. In other words, bitch that it is when I’m feeling as impatient for answers as I am tonight, I’ll start the night out with observation and restraint. Not quite as exciting as the alternative, but in this case, necessary.

I head toward my father’s office, the doors opening as I approach. He joins me in the foyer, his black slacks and white shirt fitted, expensive, and endearingly rumpled. And as most fathers would, be they good or bad at parenting, he reacts to my presence, his blue eyes alight as they fall on me. “Lilah,” he greets me, closing the small space between us and pulling me close, his big arms wrapping around me.

This, I think, as he hugs me tight and I hug him as well, is a good-parenting moment, and I find myself transported back, at least momentarily, to a gentler place and time, to my youth when I’d thought him able of saving me from the monsters in the closet. But now I know those monsters are not dragons and trolls but serial killers and rapists. And no one can save me but me.

Done with fairy tales, pretty much now and forever, I pull back, but my father doesn’t let me escape, his hands settling on my upper arms the way my brother’s had last night, while he, as Andrew had, gives me a fast once-over. “You look good, baby girl,” he declares.

The thing about my father is that he’s charming, a perfect politician, even before he held office. Everyone looks beautiful to him, even if they aren’t. Even when they look too thin, as everyone has told me that I do. “Thank you, Dad,” I say, despite the certainty he doesn’t mean the compliment, and moving past that, I stroke the hair at my temple to indicate his hairline.

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