Love Me Dead (Lilah Love 3)

“He’s a drama queen. He wouldn’t miss the chance to claim a kill. Three. We have three murders but that doesn’t mean he won’t stage more.”

“Agreed. What do you need from me?”

“Beth Smith was called to the scene, too. She’s—”

“The coroner who worked the cases with you that connected to our dear friends.”

“Is that what we’re calling them now?” I ask because I know good and well that he means the Society. Beth and I literally just wrapped up an investigation of a series of assassinations that were directly linked to the Society covering up their existence. Assassinations pinned on someone close to my father, but not so close as to screw up his Society-sponsored run for New York governor.

“On an open line, yes, Agent Love. They are our dear friends. That’s what we’re calling them. In person, we’ll speak frankly, preferably in your language.”

“I’m speaking that language in my head right now.”

“And I can hear you,” he assures me. “Is Beth’s situation linked to the killer’s game or our dear friends?”

“I don’t know, but she looks like the victims. Is this all a staged threat by our ‘dear friends’ or is a killer just playing with me? Either way, I’m worried about her.”

“Consider that problem solved.”

“How?” I press.

“You’ll know when it happens. I’ll remove her from reach.”

“Soon,” I press.

“Immediately,” he assures me. “What else can I do to help right now?”

“Tic Tac—”

“Is at your disposal.”

“I told him to look into that Griffin call you received.”

“As you should have. And he told me. What else, Agent Love?”

My brows dip. “Why exactly are you being so agreeable?”

“Because, for once, you’re communicating. It works. Keep making it work. What else?”

He’s such a smartass and the only way to handle a smartass is by being a bigger smartass. “I’ll communicate if I need anything.”

“Excellent decision. I’m going to bed. Tic Tac’s also in bed, Agent Love. Let him sleep. I’ll tell him to contact you after noon your time.” He disconnects.

I dial Tic Tac. He answers on the first ring. “Director Murphy said you’d be calling me.”

Of course he did. He knew I’d call even when he told me not to call. I’m perhaps becoming too predictable for my own good. “Just give me what I need to know. Did Old Man Smokey make the call to Murphy?” I ask, giving Roger an overdue nickname though Gruff Old Fuck might be more appropriate.

“If you mean Roger Griffin, I can’t say. The call came in from a number assigned to a disposable phone that I traced back to Brooklyn. And before you ask, no, I don’t know who bought it. That store’s been closed for five years.”

“I’m too tired right now to even say fuck to that with proper emphasis.” And I don’t even know why this question keeps coming to mind, but I need the answer. “Is Old Man Smokey in Connecticut?”

“Yes.”

“And he got there when?”

“Per his hotel and travel arrangements, last night.”

I should feel relief that Smokey is telling the truth, but I don’t. The killer is watching him, the killer knew where he was and planned tonight’s events accordingly, but also on a rainy night. That just seems like a damn near impossible feat. “Is there anything else I need to know right now?”

“Is there anything else you want to know? Yes. Is there anything else you need to know right now before we all sleep? No.”

Suddenly a laser to a gun is pointed at my chest. I freeze, and damn it, my heart starts to race, a reaction I don’t like to give any piece of shit killer. “Lilah?”

At Tic Tac’s prodding, I decide that I can’t alert him to my present shit circumstances without risking a trap that ends with someone else being shot. “Go to bed,” I order.

“I don’t need to be told twice.” He hangs up.

The minute he disconnects, I decide that if this entire situation is a staged event by the Society to scare me then fuck them. If they want to kill me, then I’m already dead. If this is a crazy fucker and a serial killer, he wants to play, which means he won’t kill me. I lift my hands and fire off two middle fingers in the direction of the laser. It immediately disappears. I push off the wall and start walking back toward the rest of my crew. The laser doesn’t reappear and sending someone chasing its location will be futile. The asshole who pointed it at me gets a game point but not a win.

Beth is waiting on me when I arrive back

to the alley, huddling deeper into a NYPD jacket and shivering. “What don’t I know?”

“You know nothing, Beth Smith,” I say in my best Ygritte Game of Thrones’ voice and accent.

She glares at me. “Did you really just make a Game of Thrones joke at a murder scene?”

“Yep. Sure did. And you got the joke. You watch Game of Thrones?”

“What I get is that I worry about you sometimes. How can you go through this hell tonight and joke around?”

“Should I cry? I’ve practiced that for certain situations. Would you like to see?”

She positively glowers. “Lilah—”

“I want you to stay at a high-end hotel for a few days, one with lots of security until I get you reassigned out of town for a while. I’ll pay.”

Her eyes go wide. “You think I need to leave town?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I—God—holy hell. I don’t need the hotel. I’ve got a new man, believe it or not. I’m officially dating an FBI agent here in the city. I’m staying with him. I’ll be safe for now.”

This news delivers a laundry list of possibilities:

1) I know from working with Murphy that the local FBI has a connection to Pocher and the Society. That could confirm that this is all indeed a way for the Society to keep me busy and remind me how easily they can hurt those I love.

2) Her boyfriend got her on this job to be closer to her.

3) Her boyfriend is the Umbrella Man.

Not to mention she wasn’t dating him two weeks ago, when she told me she was destined to be single forever. I frown. “What’s his name?”

“Jess Monroe. Do you know him?”

“No,” I say, but I wonder if he knows me.

I’m sure about to know him, especially since I don’t know how to keep her away from him. “I’ll still get you a room at the Ritz. Take him with you. I’d feel better if you were in a controlled situation.”