I’m eager to find him and wring his neck.

Kane and I make it as far as the foyer when Andrew corners us. “No word on the fake Naomi yet, but my team needs to come in and take fingerprints that we can try to match to the database.” He eyes Kane. “We’ll need to look at your security cameras.”

Bonding is over, I think, even before Kane says, “You can fingerprint. We’ll handle the cameras.”

I can predict the rabbit hole of accusation that is flooding my brother’s brain even before he replies with a disdainful, “Of course you will. I’m sure you have plenty of things on the feed you don’t want me to see.”

“Such as us naked in the very kitchen your dinner was being made in?” I challenge.

His lashes lower and he scowls. “Lilah.”

Beside me, Kane doesn’t so much as bristle. I suspect he’s enjoying Andrew’s discomfort. This might bother another sister, but to me, embracing your brother’s discomfort is a mandatory part of sibling love.

“I’m just keeping it real, Andrew,” I continue. “Kane and I like to mix things up, keep things from getting boring. I’m sure you know what I mean. In other words, the East Hampton police department doesn’t get to make us your Saturday night high.” I change the topic. “How long will your team be here to take prints?”

“At least half an hour,” Andrew replies, sliding into the change of topic with what I read as relief.

Kane replies to a text message on his phone and then says, “One of my men, Jay, is coming to supervise. He’ll lock up when you’re done.”

“You trust him but you don’t trust me,” Andrew says dryly.

“And?” Kane challenges with good reason. It wasn’t that long ago that Andrew vowed to destroy Kane, to get him away from me.

Of course, that was before the dead body, but Kane doesn’t trust easily, even with ammunition on someone. A well-known fact that I suspect keeps the Society on their toes and hating him.

“Don’t hassle Jay,” I add. “He’s the guy who stepped between me and the Umbrella Man and took a bullet for it.” I leave out the part where that was a stupid move, considering the Umbrella Man didn’t want me dead, but Jay, as my bodyguard at the time, was another story. The asshole could have gotten himself killed. He almost did. Bottom line, Jay was brave. He’s a man’s man, one who wouldn’t be throwing up in a trashcan because he heard about a murder.

“All right,” Andrew agrees, softening some now. “Jay gets the rest of that bottle of whiskey, but why do I need him? Where are you two going?”

“To find Lucas,” I explain. “I need him to hack now more than ever.”