He glances down at me and then follows the lift of my chin, where a ghost of a man that should be dead is now on the TV. Pocher, our sworn enemy, a powerful man in the Society, or what some call the Deep State, is being interviewed by a newscaster. Pocher, who Kane’s man killed under the guise of the Umbrella Man killings.

“Tell me that’s a rerun,” I say, my throat thick with ten flavors of anger just seeing that man’s face. “It has to be a rerun,” I add. “He’s dead. He’s been dead for seven weeks.”

Kane's expression tightens and he motions to a member of the staff to turn up the volume, already guiding me toward the screen. My cell is ringing again and I’m still ignoring it.

“The world is shocked right now,” the newscaster is saying. “We all thought you were dead.”

“My brother is dead,” Pocher says. “He was staying at my house at the time of the attack. Everyone simply assumed it was me who was murdered.”

“Then why not just tell us that?” the newscaster asks. “Why let us believe you were dead?”

“An abundance of caution,” he states. “The person who killed my brother was assumed by authorities to have been the serial killer called the Umbrella Man.”

“He’s dead,” the newscaster points out. “Any residual danger has been removed for weeks.”

“While that is true, someone in my position is an easy target. My private security team has assured me I’m safe, thus why I’ve now resurfaced.”

Pocher ordered the assassination of my mother. She’s dead. He’s alive “That bastard just won’t go away. He won’t die.” I glance at Kane. “That man made a deal with the devil. Maybe he is the devil.”

“The devil we know, Lilah,” he says. “I can handle Pocher.”

I don’t like that answer. It implies a line between me and him, my badge between me and him, which has always been his way of dealing with things, all of which was to end when I put this ring on my finger. “Of course. You can handle him. King Kane.”

“Lilah—”

“Do not tell me I wear a badge, Kane, which makes this yours to handle, because I swear to you that if you do, I will lose my shit. Honesty no matter what the cost,” I add, repeating our vow to each other.

He grabs my jacket and pulls me to him. “Careful what you demand, beautiful. You might not like the results.”

“You promised me.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” I challenge but I don’t give him time to reply. “No more secrets, Kane.”

His eyes darken, a tic in his jaw.

My cellphone rings. “That will be Murphy again,” I say. “Obviously we now know why he was calling me. I have to take it.”