The Lancaster Murderer

Luxury Suites, 12:00 PM

EPISODE XII.

I had barely started to stir out of my slumber when I heard a light knock on the door. Sitting up, I stretched and yawned out that I was awake, and it was okay for my knocker to enter. Despite my assurance, Izayah still came in tentatively, granting me more time to get decent before I was ready to see him.

"How'd you sleep?" he groaned, voice raspy from disuse. Judging by his disheveled clothing, ruffled hair, and half-open eyes, he just slid out of bed.

"Great," I answered, telling him nothing but the truth. While I was terrified of what I found in his closet, I also trusted that Izayah wouldn't hurt me. We were on the same team, and I really hoped that with time, he would tell me the explanation about his link to Declan and what it meant when he said you killed "Dad." Not my dad or your dad – but Dad – a shared figure. But for now, I'd listen to Izayah's advice from last night. He said we needed to be more covert, and he's right.

"Do you want me to make breakfast or lunch food?"

I studied the circles of darkness beneath his eyes and frowned. "You're still tired," I pointed out. "We can just order in. I'll pay."

"I'll pay. What do you want?" Already, he was fishing his phone out of his pocket.

"You're giving me your room, the least I can do is buy my own food," I snapped, not liking the feeling of being a burden.

"I'm ordering what I want and paying for it, and if you happen to see something you like on the table, help yourself," he slyly cornered, dialing a number on his phone.

"Why are you doing all of this for me?"

Izayah held the phone to his ear, leaning against the doorframe. At that question, the exhaustion dissipated from his glassy eyes and all of his attention was solely on me. It was enough to wipe my brain clear of all thoughts except for one: who are you?

Whoever was on the other line answered, ripping Izayah from his position in the doorway and leading him into the living room.

Recollecting my composure, I eyed Izayah's closet, and borrowed some of his fresh clothes to change into after a shower. As the steamy water rolled down my face, I mentally worked out a plan. Izayah wanted covert? I'll give him covert. While I handle Lucas, I'll be checking out Izayah's ties to Declan. I could start with Declan himself – asking about his family, about Izayah – but not about the letters. Those letters were my absolute last resort to reveal when I most needed them. The instant Izayah caught a whiff about what I discovered, I know he'd feel betrayed; not that I found them, but I didn't confront him about it.

I could also go to Dumois and explain parts of my situation. I could feign apprehension that Izayah is a monster, mimic concern for Declan, and get information. She has a personal vendetta against Izayah for what he did to her son – it couldn't be that hard.

And if even that doesn't work, I can hunt for Mr. O'Connor's obituary, gleam information from there, and seek out those who knew him, his son, or Izayah Parker.

By the time I finished showering, I felt refreshed and determined. Bruises and a cut on my forehead reminded me of the helplessness I felt last night, but I felt none of that in my spirit. Walking out with renewed purpose, I spy Izayah accepting Thai takeout with enough boxes to last us through a zombie apocalypse.

Placing them on the table in front of the couch, Izayah rips out a pair of chopsticks and starts digging in. I follow suit, settling next to him. The moment my hand reaches for pad thai, he murmurs, "It's gonna cost you."