Cold Dead Night (Brand of Justice Book 1) by Lisa Phillips

Author:Lisa Phillips [Phillips, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798885521352
Publisher: Two Dogs Publishing, LLC
Published: 2022-08-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

Wednesday, 8:42pm.

Kenna lifted the glass and took a sip through the straw.

“Is that cherry cola?”

“Real cherries.” She set the glass on the bar and stared at the ice cubes rather than the bartender, or the guy settling onto the stool beside her. Certainly not the bowling alley full of people behind her. “It’s the only way to drink it.”

Jax lifted a finger and ordered a soda water. “Took me a while to track you down.”

“I’d prefer to finish my drink before you arrest me.”

He took a sip of his own. “Part of me figured you’d be long gone, out of town, by the time I caught up.”

“I’m not in the mood for a manhunt.” Especially not if she was the one being hunted.

“Or, this is where you go when you run.”

“A bowling alley.” She snorted. “As if.”

“Mmm.”

Maybe he knew more than she’d realized. If he’d put that together then he’d been doing his homework on her. Hoping for an arrest? “I’m still going to finish my drink.”

“I’m not here to arrest you.” He shifted toward her. “I just want to talk.”

“Said the spider to the fly.”

Friend or foe? She wasn’t sure which Jax would turn out to be. Either way, leaving town—especially right now—would only cause more problems for her. A warrant out for her arrest in connection with murder charges would go viral. The daughter of a famous investigator turned killer.

She could see the headlines now.

“Kenna—”

“You seriously think Eric Wilson had anything to do with this?”

“He gave us valuable intel.”

“You mean the FBI. He gave the FBI valuable intel.” She glanced over. “Because I know you don’t mean ‘us.’” She waved a finger between them.

“Why not?”

She stared at him.

“Isn’t this the best way to prove you had nothing to do with this? Clear your name. Restore your reputation. Give a few exclusive interviews, and then write a book about how you were wrongly accused.”

She shifted on the stool, uncomfortable with mere thought of talking to a reporter. They generally had all kinds of ulterior motives she couldn’t anticipate. Surely, there’d be questions about Bradley. About her father.

“Why are you still here?”

She stared at the empty bottom of her soda glass instead of answering. “My dad used to buy me a cherry cola at the end of every case he worked. No matter the outcome, we got a drink and toasted the close of the case. He died three weeks before I graduated from college. The director of the FBI flew out to Baltimore to tell me himself. Figured it should come from him. I went out and got a cherry cola that night. Seemed fitting to commemorate the end. Until I did the same thing a week later, and again. And again.”

Of course, there was rum in the glass as well back then. That first night was a blur and she’d woken up on a stranger’s couch. After that, her father only got more famous. She drank more rum. The movies aired over and over on cable TV. She drank more rum.

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