Jake rose as the people in the ballroom stood and clapped. He pasted on a fake smile, the same one he’d been wearing for the past couple of years, and made his way to the podium to retrieve the large shiny trophy.
He wove through the white-draped tables holding the remnants of a dinner that had consisted of a piece of dry chicken with a strange, mysterious green sauce over the top and potatoes and purple cauliflower on the side.
The meal had been horrible. The night already seemed endless, and he knew after the official itinerary was over there was still a cocktail party that would be filled with congratulations and glad-handing.
He should be thrilled with the recognition he’d just received, but it was an empty victory without Suzanna standing by his side. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stand beside him because she was dead. He shoved these painful thoughts away as he accepted his award with a short speech.
Twenty minutes later he stood in a circle of other architects talking about the huge renewal projects taking place in the Kansas City downtown district.
“I’ve got to admit it, your building at Tenth and Main is a real visual beauty,” John Davis said. “And you’re working on another one, aren’t you?”
Jake nodded. “Third and Main is also mine.”
“That’s going to be some addition to the skyline,” Richard Burke said. “What is it? Eighteen...twenty stories high?”
“Actually, it’s twenty-two stories,” Jake replied.
He stiffened slightly as Tim Lathrop joined the group. Jake and the dark-haired man with his cold blue eyes were often in competition for a job, and Tim had a reputation for not always playing nice.
“You know that award should have gone to me,” he said.
“You can take it up with the members of the committee if you think a mistake was made,” Jake replied.
Suddenly he was exhausted. He was tired of the fake smile he’d sported all night long. He wanted to rip off his gray-and-black tie and get out of his black suit and into something casual. The polite social chatter was wearing on him. He had so many other important things on his mind...things like murder.
It took another half an hour before he finally took his leave. He stepped out of the building where the celebration had been held and into the oppressively hot late-August night air. He made his way to his car parked down the block and as he walked he yanked to loosen the tie around his neck.
He couldn’t wait to get home in his own space. All he wanted at the moment was a drink and his recliner, where he didn’t have to smile or interact with anyone.
This was the first real social event he’d attended in the past two years and he’d found it beyond exhausting. He wouldn’t have attended at all if it hadn’t been for him receiving an award.
He’d only gone a short distance when a female voice called out from behind him. He turned and saw a petite, dark-haired woman hurrying toward him.
He frowned. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her and in any case had no idea what she wanted with him. She wasn’t one of the attendees of the night’s festivities, for instead of wearing a cocktail dress she was clad in tight blue jeans and a royal blue tank top.
Despite her casual dress, she was quite attractive, but when she drew closer to where he stood beneath a streetlamp, recognition slammed into his gut.
Monica Wright. Oh, hell no. What was she doing here? The last person he wanted anywhere in his life was the investigative reporter with her popular podcast. And why did she want to speak to him?
“Mr. Lamont, could I just have a moment of your time?” She finally reached where he stood.
Despite his initial impulse to turn and hurry away, he smiled at her and played dumb. “And you are...?” He looked at her quizzically.
“Monica Wright of The Wright News podcast.” She offered him a bright smile.
He’d found her attractive when he occasionally tuned in to her podcast, but in person she was even prettier. She was petite and shapely. Her eyes appeared more blue, a startling and beautiful contrast to her long dark hair. She had a heart-shaped face and full lips that were more than a little bit appealing.
“I see you brought home the big prize,” she said with a gesture to the large trophy he held.
He relaxed. Maybe that’s why she wanted to speak to him. “Yes, I’m very honored.”
“The building you won for is a real beauty.”
“Thank you. It’s always nice when people recognize your hard work.”
“And how did you feel when Max Clinton was murdered two nights ago?”
He stiffened, gut-punched by the unexpected question. “No comment.” He turned on his heel and once again headed in the direction of his car.
“Mr. Lamont, I’d really like you to come on my podcast. I’m sure you have an interesting story to share.”
She followed him like an annoying, yappy Chihuahua. “You must have some thoughts and feelings about Max Clinton being murdered by the Vigilante Killer.”
Thankfully by that time he’d reached his car. He opened the door. He then turned back to face her. “I told you no comment and that’s all I have to say on the matter.” He got into the car and slammed the door.
He ignored her presence as he started his engine and then roared out of the parking lot. He headed north and tried to keep his mind empty.
But of course, that was impossible. With a single question, Monica Wright had stirred up a lot of thoughts...all of them bad. Why had she singled him out? Had she talked to some of the other men who had found their personal justice through a pact forged in hell? How had she possibly learned about them...about him? The last thing he wanted was to get tangled up in any discussion concerning the Vigilante Killer.
Home was a four-bedroom brick house on an acre of land. He’d had it built three years ago. At that time, he’d believed the bedrooms would eventually be filled with children. He didn’t believe that anymore. He hadn’t believed in anything like happiness or family since he’d lost his sister.
He pulled into his garage and then entered the kitchen, where he placed the trophy on the countertop. Eventually it would find its way into his downtown office, but not right now.
The first thing he did was head to his bedroom, where he changed out of the suit and into a pair of jogging pants and a T-shirt. He went into the family room and to the minibar in the back corner. He poured himself two fingers of Scotch over ice, and collapsed in his black leather recliner.
He took a sip of the drink, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Instantly, a vision of Suzanna filled his head. Whenever he thought of her, it was with her head thrown back and her eyes twinkling with laughter.
She’d been so beautiful, with her short dark hair and sparkling green eyes. She’d had an exuberance, a love of life that had been intoxicating to the people around her. She’d been the star in Lamont and Star. She’d been Jake’s inspiration, his partner and his twin sister. And since her murder two years ago, Jake had been utterly lost.
He took another drink as his thoughts shifted to Max Clinton, the man who had killed Suzanna. He’d been Suzanna’s boyfriend. He should have been her champion, the man who had her back, and instead he had beaten and strangled her in a fit of jealous rage. Unfortunately, his lawyer had managed to put enough doubt in the minds of the jury that he’d walked away a free man.
How did he feel when he’d learned that Max was the latest victim of the person the news had labeled the Vigilante Killer? He’d felt so many emotions that it had been difficult to sort them all out.
There