Murder Girl (Lilah Love 2)

“You better,” he says, “because I’m about to repeat it to the local officials. You call your brother and give him the heads-up. And make damn sure your exit is fast and simple. Get the hell out of there.”

He hangs up, and a fire truck pulls up in front of the house, followed by a cop car. I greet the officials and answer questions, but I don’t get the hell out of Dodge. I want to see them pull the body down. I want to look for answers in the sea of questions. I back off, though, standing outside, giving the locals space to work while I dial my brother. “I’ve got nothing for you,” he says. “They left Kane’s offices and Rich hasn’t returned here, nor will he answer his phone.”

“I’ll find out what happened,” I say, “but right now, this is an official call in case you get an official call.” I relay the situation exactly as I’d explained it to Murphy as well as to the locals on scene. It doesn’t go over any better with big brother than it did with my boss.

“Lilah, damn it,” he says. “What the hell are you thinking? You got hit with all kinds of trouble over that case.”

“I just explained what I’m doing here,” I say. “I need to deal with this here. I’ll deal with our situation and Kane when I’m done, but call me if there is a development. If I don’t answer, I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

We disconnect as a car pulls to the curb, and I cringe as Beth climbs out. I also find it interesting that with so many medical examiners in this county, she just happens to be the one on the scene. I walk toward her, and we pause together midway up the sidewalk. “Do I even want to know how we both ended up here?” she asks.

“You tell me,” I say.

“I got the directive from above on a possible homicide.”

“Huh. Interesting. I called it in as suicide.”

“You’re FBI. They’re covering their asses. But how did you end up in the middle of a suicide scene?”

For about the sixth time now, I run through the story, which at this point is already about as palatable as old bubblegum. “Strange you say suicide,” Beth observes when I finish. “I remember the Laney case. You were obsessed. You thought she was murdered.”

“You have a good memory.”

“You asked me to consult. I read her file. But I didn’t get to see Laney’s body. Let’s take a look at Rick. Maybe I can find something that helps with both cases.”

“You won’t,” I say. “I had the best of the best try with Laney, and this is an identical situation.”

“And yet you called this one suicide and that one murder?”

“I said it looks like suicide. I didn’t give my opinion otherwise.”

She narrows her intelligent eyes on me. “Right,” she says. “Let’s go see the body.” She steps around me and heads for the house.

I rotate and follow her, and damn it, it’s irritating to distrust everyone but two men who hate each other and who I used to prefer naked. They’re both less complicated that way. I enter the house and follow Beth through the process of meeting everyone before we head upstairs into the bedroom to find that Rick is still hanging from the closet. I stand back and watch Beth pull on gloves and then do a detailed inspection of the body. At the end of which, she glances at the books and then me. “He stood on books?”

“Same as Laney,” I tell her.

“I’d have thought they’d tumble over. That’s odd to me.”

Agreed, I think, though I’m not comforted by the observation. For all I know, she’s in on the big picture here and taunting me with the absence of one. Though admittedly, Beth isn’t likely to believe I’d be taunted easily.

She motions to the EMS team, and two minutes later, Rick is on the ground. Beth and I kneel beside him, doing a complete inspection of the body. “He’s got ink,” she says, pulling up the sleeve of his white T-shirt.

I stand with the announcement and move to her side of the body to squat next to her, studying the etched heart on Rick’s shoulder that reads RIP LANEY. He didn’t let her go. He just made the rest of the world think he had. And now, more than ever, I believe that he was killed to shut him up. My distance kept him alive. My nearness did to him what it did to Laney: killed him. And that’s a poison pill that’s going to be a bitch to swallow.

Otherworld, I remind myself.

Focus, Lilah.

I push to my feet and leave Beth to her work, stepping around the body to inspect the closet I couldn’t get to earlier for the dead man hanging in front of it. I start searching pants, shirts, and finally jackets, hitting all the pockets. A bagged black jacket in the very back catches my attention. Bagged means “special.” Black means “funeral.” His funeral jacket is my best bet, and I reach inside the pocket to remove a necklace of the Virgin Mary. And while that might not be significant to anyone else, I now have two dead bodies with a bleeding Virgin Mary tattoo on them, one of which I killed. I pocket the necklace and continue my search.

By the time I’m done, Beth is standing. “I’ll need to look closer at the facility, but as it stands—”

“You see no signs of struggle or foul play,” I supply.

“Correct,” she confirms, “but those books just don’t make sense to me. Did you do models and reenactments with his sister’s case?”

“I did, and the books scattered every time, but I still couldn’t get anyone to buy into murder. There just wasn’t anything else that pointed in that direction.”

“You didn’t have me working the case,” she says. “As for the here and now, I’m ready to go if you are.”

Considering Murphy wanted me out of here about thirty minutes ago, I’m quick to agree, and we weave our way through the gaggle of uniforms and out the front door. “I need a ride back to your office,” I say, joining her on the sidewalk beside her car.

“You don’t have your car with you?”

“Nope,” I say, walking around the rear of hers to the passenger door.

She clicks the locks and I climb inside. Once she joins me, she glances in my direction. “Don’t ask about the car or Rick and Laney Suthers because you aren’t answering, right?”

“That works for me.”

She accepts that reply and starts the car. I like a person who knows when to just leave things the fuck alone. I also like a person who knows how to be silent, and during our short ride back to the medical examiner’s office, Beth proves she’s still really good at saying nothing.

For my part, my mind is already on the people who knew I was headed toward Long Island and might surmise I was headed toward Rick Suthers’s house. The list is surprisingly long: My brother. Rich. Kane via his hired stalker. The man at the doughnut stand. Greg, perhaps, since I brought up Laney, though that was a cautious, barely there mention. And Beth. Then, of course, there is the assassin and Junior, who could be connected to any of the other names, or not.

Beth pulls into the parking lot. “I’m at the front door,” I say.

With a little direction from me, she pulls in beside my rental. “You want to stay for the autopsy?” she asks.

I do, but that would bring attention to a case I can’t afford to have attention on. “I don’t need to be here for you to find nothing.” I pop the door open. “And that’s what you’re going to find. When are you back in the Hamptons?”

“This weekend. Want to eat pizza and watch me do yoga?”

“No yoga,” I say, barely in this conversation while my mind is racing other places. “But I vote yes to pizza and—” A sudden realization hits me. The assassin is done killing. That’s why Woods was killed. That’s why they want the cases closed. I really need the assassin, and whoever contracted the assassin, to believe that I’ve given up.

“And?” Beth prods.

“Tequila,” I supply. “If I’m still here.”

“You’re already going back to LA?”

“It’s looking that way,” I say. “I’ll let you know if I leave before the weekend.”

“What about the case you came for? Are you closing it?”

“It’s not my case to open or close.” And because I don’t want to seem suspiciously uninterested, I add, “Call me if you find anything in the autopsy, will you?”

“Of course.”

I nod and exit the car, walking toward mine, a new strategy burning through my mind. Pull down everyone’s guard but mine. I have to convince Murphy to let the locals close the case but allow me to stay on some pretense of personal matters—my father’s campaign could work.

I unlock my door and glance at the windshield. There’s no note from my stalker. I climb inside and consider Junior’s silence. Perhaps I’ve parked strategically within a camera’s view, but Junior has been highly creative and resourceful up until now. This feels like a choice. The question is why, and I tick through the options:

A: Junior’s strategy has been deemed unsuccessful;

B: Junior feels that he has succeeded and moved on—though I’m not sure what success has been found; or

C: Junior wants to make me squirm with, or without, a plan to kill me, since Junior may or may not be the assassin.

I vote C. And since I don’t let anyone have that kind of power over me, Kane included, I’m damn sure not giving it to Junior. I start the car and decide that Junior and Kane have more things in common than not. Both are stalking me, and both have me chomping at the bit for payback.

And Kane might just get his tonight.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A starless night has fallen by the time I’m on the road, thunder rumbling in the far distance. My mind has shifted from the storm I’ve left behind me in Westbury to the one in front of me in East Hampton. And that brings me to two conclusions:

I need Kane.

I’m worried about Rich.

Those things are not mutually exclusive, considering Rich has placed himself in Kane’s path, while in turn, Kane and I are in the line of fire from our unknown enemies, who seem to be stepping up their game. Once I’m burning up the highway miles at a steady pace, the traffic light and my rearview clear, I dial Rich, only to be sent directly to voice mail. I try again with the same outcome. “Damn it.”

My fingers itch to dial Kane, but the circumstances haven’t changed. Tonight is not a good night for us to have documented communication. My phone buzzes with my brother’s number, and I quickly answer. “What’s happening?” I ask.