Bloody Vows (Lilah Love 5)

Exiting the vehicle, I head toward the police cruiser sitting at the curb behind an ambulance. An unmemorable cop with a beer and donut belly that I don’t know, and don’t wish to know, is leaning on the driver’s door.

I glance at his badge and flash mine. “Special Agent Lilah Love, Officer Kinsley.”

He doesn’t so much as straighten. He’s lazy. He’s fat. And yes, that’s judgmental but he is not a civilian. He has a duty to be his best to save lives. Thirty seconds can save or end a life. I learned that the hard way. I wasn’t ready the night I was attacked. I wasn’t ready to save me or someone else.

“What the hell is the FBI doing here?” the officer asks.

“While you’re holding up a car, I’m securing a murder scene,” I say. “Call for backup.”

He straightens and remarkably, since he takes his duty to hold up the car so seriously, the car doesn’t fall over. His lips press together. “It’s an overdose.”

“Considering her ex-sister-in-law was murdered two nights ago, it’s not that simple.” I don’t offer him a chance to reply. “Is she dead?”

“Yeah. I got word she’s DOA.”

“Call Chief Houston and tell him I’m on the scene, and for now, taking control.” I don’t wait for confirmation. I might not like my father’s name dropping, but I’m not above it on occasion, especially when I’m not claiming jurisdiction, thank you, Andrew. The chief is the holy grail of holy grails. I have Officer Kinsley’s attention.

I step around him and his car and head toward the sidewalk.

A short, stocky blond EMS tech rushes through the patio framing Naomi’s house and toward the gate. I meet him there, flashing my badge. “Officer Kinsley said it was a drug overdose.”

“That was no drug overdose.” He scrubs his jaw. “I’ve never seen anything like it. She’s bleeding from her throat.”

I don’t react. None of this is news to me. “Who called it in?”

“Her landlord,” he says. “I don’t know anything more.”

Sirens screech and Officer Kinsley appears by my side. “We have a second team on the scene now and more officers in progress. I told the chief what’s going on and called in CSI and the ME’s office.”

“I need an officer at the gate and the door,” I say. “And you can set a short perimeter. I know what to expect, but I need you grabbing camera footage and going door-to-door for witnesses now.”

“Got it,” Officer Kinsley states. “On it.”

“And where is the landlord?”

“She lives a few doors down.”

“Make sure she doesn’t leave,” I say. “I need to talk to her.”

“Got it. On it.”

He’s a broken record, but as he hurries away, he has no attitude at all remaining. Something tells me Chief Houston told him to mind his manners, even if I don’t. And of course, I probably won’t.

I open the gate and allow Kinsley to exit before heading through the patio toward the door. I grab my phone and check my messages, but they’re empty. Forcing myself to focus on the crime scene, I slide my phone back into my jacket pocket and pull out my gloves and booties. Once I step inside the doorway, I find a small living room that is neat and simply furnished. A couch. A chair. One picture of a bunch of flowers on the wall. Emma Wells had money. If her brother did as well, you’d think Naomi would have a little bit more to show for herself.

I grab my camera and shoot a few photos. An EMS tech exits a hallway and glances at my badge before offering, “She’s in the bedroom. We’re short-staffed today and there are calls coming in. We’re done here unless you need us?”

I wave him onward and he wastes no time getting out of here.

I make the short walk to the bedroom, still missing that anticipation I used to feel over dead bodies. Maybe that’s just who I am now. I pause in the doorway and stare at the woman lying on the bedroom floor. The one I could have saved and didn’t. I don’t feel guilt. I did feel guilt when I realized she was dead. But now, I recognize that there was nothing we could do about a pill that was likely already in her personal possession even as we did a safety check. What I do feel in the present moment is a responsibility to solve this crime, to give her and Emma justice.

The killer chose to pull me into this.

The killer chose wrong.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The real Naomi is brunette, pretty, and petite. She’s also on her back, blood running from her mouth, over her throat. She is not wearing a wedding dress. I walk to her side and kneel, and with her head tilted backward, her neck exposed, as if she was desperately gasping for air. And she’s stiff. Judging from the state of rigor mortis, she died last night, probably not long after the wellness check.