Murder Girl (Lilah Love 2)

AN IN-DEPTH SEARCH ON THE PRODUCTION COMPANY

The doorbell rings and I stand up, hurrying toward the front of the house, unzipping my purse at my hip as I walk. Once I’m there, I remove a $100 bill meant to be a tip, zip it back up, and glance out the side window and confirm my visitor is my pizza delivery boy. I disarm the alarm and unlock the door before opening it to find the same short, curly-haired, older teenager in front of me as last night.

I hold up the hundred. “How did the note that was in my pizza last night end up in my pizza?”

He blanches. “What?”

“The note. How did it get in my pizza box?”

“They put coupons in the boxes. Do you mean the coupons?”

The sound of music touches my ears, and I wave him backward. He eases out of my way and I step outside to find his passenger door open. “Why is your car open?”

“It’s faster. I can’t get the bag over the steering wheel without tipping the pizza sideways. I run. Grab the bag, deliver the order, and return it back to the seat.”

“Right,” I say. “Of course you do. I hope you don’t have anything in there that might get stolen.” I don’t wait for a reply. “How about those pizzas and my dessert?”

He pulls out my order and hands it to me, and I offer him the cash I’ve teased him with. His eyes light up. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He all but skips back to his car, and I can think of any number of people, starting with Kane and Rich, who wish I was that easily satisfied. Then again, I doubt Kane would even want me if I was easy anything. I enter the house, kick the door shut, and juggle the three boxes in my arms to lock up and re-arm the security panel.

The walk back to the kitchen includes the spicy, cheesy smell of real food that has me ready to open one of the boxes and inhale a slice of pizza. Maybe I’ll even stuff a bite of whatever that chocolate chip thing I got is, in between slices. I set my order by the coffee machine and inspect the giant chocolate chip cookie before I load a slice of it and a slice of pizza onto a paper towel. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and the action begins: Pizza bite. Pizza bite. Cookie. Water. Repeat. I’ve only managed this process two times before the doorbell rings again.

I decide that if this is my brother, I might punch him with no regrets. He has to back the fuck off and let me do my job. Ready to blast him with that exact statement, I hurry to the door again and peer outside, only to press my back against the wall and groan at the sight of Rich. “Lilah! I know you’re there.”

He knows no such thing, and I’d just pretend that I’m not here, except that he’d start calling and possibly sleep on my doorstep. I straighten and disarm the system, opening the door and stepping into the opening. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Because it will piss off Kane, or because you don’t want me here?”

“Don’t do this.”

He presses his arm to the doorframe above me, his big body close to mine. He smells good. I’ll give him that. Fresh and masculine. I always liked that about him. I like a lot of things about Rich, which is why my inability to fall in love with him confuses him and frustrates me. “Don’t do what?” he asks.

“Why are you here?”

“There were things I didn’t want to say on the phone or with your brother present.”

“Rich—”

“About the case, Lilah. Invite me inside.”

“You aren’t staying. Say it.”

“Lilah—”

“Say it.”

“I’m not staying.”

I back up and give him space to enter. “Do I smell pizza?” he asks.

“You aren’t staying,” I repeat, holding firm, and not because I’m the bitch he thinks I am. Because I’m protecting him from Kane. And me. I’m protecting him from me.

“I haven’t eaten,” he says. “Lunch didn’t exactly become lunch, remember?”

“The case, Rich.”

“We’re doing this right here, in the foyer?”

“Yes. We are.”

His jaw sets hard. “I know who those New York City assholes had the long dinner with, and I want to tell you, not your brother.”

“Fuck. My father?”

“Close. Pocher, who I know supports your father.”

“Pocher,” I repeat. “Of course.”

“Don’t make this a huge blow,” he warns. “We knew he was connected to the director of the New York bureau.”

“Yes,” I agree. “But now we have confirmation that he’s involved in what’s going on right here in this city. And in what looks like an attack on Kane.”

“Kane’s a criminal, Lilah. He’s an easy target.”

“Such a criminal that Pocher wanted in on his oil business. Kane refused, and Pocher hates him now. And Kane isn’t a fucking criminal, Rich. His father was a criminal. His uncle is a criminal. This is about hurting Kane while they take control and clear the case. It’s about my father’s reputation, which sucks, considering Kane has done things to protect him.”

“What things has he done to protect your father?”

Buried a body, I think. “Irrelevant,” I say. “The point is that Pocher is pulling strings to help my father, and my father is going down the toilet in a hunt for fame and power. He was always jealous of the attention my mother got.”

He studies me for several beats. “This doesn’t mean your father is party to Pocher’s activities.”

“My father is not a naive man, and I’m not a wilting flower who needs to have the truth softened. And right now, I need to be alone and to think.”

He steps toward me. I back up. “Rich, not now.”

“Let’s go eat that pizza I smell and talk about this.”

“I want to stay friends. I do. We are friends, Rich. I would take a bullet for you and not blink, but we aren’t a thing anymore. And later, you will thank me when you find the person you deserve.”

“Friends can share a pizza, Lilah.”

Except that he vowed to ruin Kane and prove he’s the right man for me. “The breakup is too raw right now. It’s too soon.”

He stares at me for several beats that stretch eternally, that I’m about to end w

hen he beats me to the punch. “I’m going to be here, though, when you wake up to the truth about him. I’m going to catch you when you fall.” He turns and walks to the door and leaves.

I rush forward and lock the door, re-arming the security system before I lean against the wall. Holy fuck, this day has been a bitch trying to bend me over and paddle the fuck out of me. And holy fuck number two: that reminds me of Kane and his hand-on-my-cheek comment this morning. I need more chocolate. I shove off the door and walk toward the kitchen, but as I leave the hallway I stop dead in my tracks as I bring the living room into view. Kane is leaning on the archway of the open sliding glass doors, his jacket and tie gone, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

Clearly, he and his people knew when I opened the door for Rich, and he used that opportunity to get in. As for how he managed to get past the locked door, clearly he took some sort of liberties while I was passed out to ensure he could. That infuriates me, and I want to cock block him again. But that’s what he’s waiting on. For me to go to him. Which is why I leave him standing there and walk to the kitchen. The bastard can come to me.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I round the island, grab my half-eaten slice of pizza and piece of cookie, and toss them in the trash, then set my coffee cup in the sink. By the time I’m back at the island, Kane is entering the kitchen. He saunters toward me, all dark good looks with a touch of the criminal I just denied him to be radiating from him. Fuck. He must have heard me defending him. He steps to the counter directly in front of me. I press my hands to the counter. “Of all the people I have stalking me right now, you are the worst.”

He mimics my position, pressing his hands to the counter as well. “Am I?”

“Yes. You are.”

His lips curve, eyes alight with amusement, not regret. Bastard. “Your pretty boy, Rich, was a perfect gentleman today,” he says. “Seems he’s been disciplined by Agent Love.”

“This spoken by a man who still has the imprint of my fingers on his right cheek.”