Page 18 of No Lies No Promises

“It’s soda.” She slides it across the table. “Funded by what cash?”

I quench my thirst, then return her soda pop. “Billionaires and corporations mostly.”

“And we’re part of this how?” She shakes her head, like she can’t quite believe it, so I break it down.

“Babe, we do what we do. Follow the money. Others use their skill sets.”

Her eyes widen. “Holy shit. I mean, I’m thrilled there are people out there protecting us, but I had no idea…”

Chapter 10

Lillian

It takes a minute to absorb Sean’s reveal. Dante’s intelligence network is no doubt larger, more experienced, and better funded than the U.S. government’s. Unpacking while starting dinner, I discuss our current case with Sean until footsteps sound in the hallway outside our door.

“Hey, lovebirds, it’s me. You decent?” My sister taps on the door.

“At least she asked,” Sean mutters from behind his laptop.

After sharing a quick hug, I point Becks at the steaming pot. “Wanna stay for chili?”

Looking like a model, even in jeans and a T-shirt, she shakes her head. “Ruthie wants you downstairs. She’s doing another reading. You’re supposed to bring something small and personal.”

“Not interested.” Sitting at the kitchen table, Sean doesn’t glance up from his screen.

Rebecca slips behind him, waving her fingers in front of his face. “Okay, but when her tallow candle sets off the alarm, don’t blame me.”

He slaps the table. “Unfucking believable.”

The chair scrapes the floor as he eases to his feet. Favoring one leg, he races to the door. “Let’s go.”

“We’ll be right behind you.” My sister shoves me down the hall, past the bathroom, into the bedroom. “Find something… anything will do.”

I dig through my jewelry until I find a tarnished silver tennis bracelet that belonged to my mom.

On the way out, I switch off the burner, pat Buddy on the head, then follow my sister down three flights of stairs.

Inside Gram’s apartment, a stinky candle flickers on the kitchen table. Even though the shades are drawn, a faint breeze stirs the flame, casting eerie shadows across her wrinkled face.

I jump when her orange tabby, TJ, hisses before zooming from the room.

Wishing I could do the same, I nod at Sean as I bend to kiss Ruthie’s weathered cheek. “Hey, Whassup?”

“Sit.” She uses a faraway, melodramatic voice. “And hold hands.”

Her grandson plants his feet, arms crossed over his chest. “No, this is bullshit, total bullshit.”

“Quiet! I can’t hear the spirits.” Her wooden spoon appears from under the table to point at him. “Now, be seated, Sean James. You too, girls.”

Coughing, I pull out a chair for him, plop into the one next to it, and place my mother’s bracelet in front of the candle. “We’re here. What’s the harm?”

“Fine.” Sean opens the window, turns on the overhead fan, and grimaces as he sits. “But make it fast.”

“Join hands.” Spoon on the table, Grams adjusts her purple turban before picking up my tarnished keepsake.

When no one moves, she gives us the stink eye, singing, “I’m waiting.”

My eyes burn, and my nose runs from the fumes. Sneezing twice, I grab the hand to my right and the left. “Okay. We’re ready.”