Love Me Dead (Lilah Love 3)

I reply with: I’m exiting from the west door, destination Detective Williams’ place.

Because why wouldn’t we taunt the killer? he asks.

That’s the plan. I want him to know I’m waiting for him. One read I have on him is that when challenged, he will respond. I’m going to make sure tonight is the night and it’s his final night.

CHAPTER FORTY

Houston’s on the phone to me before I ever leave the building. “I’m calling in that lead detective I suggested. One of the girls found a pig farm in Syracuse that’s missing three pigs. I’m sending him out there.”

“Which girl?” I ask, stepping out of the building.

“Lily.”

“I need Lily’s call records.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t had Starbucks today. I don’t answer ‘why’ questions without Starbucks.”

“Fuck, Lilah, can you tell me where your head is?”

“I don’t trust anyone. I’ve told you this.” I hang up and walk into a Starbucks, texting Jay again as I do: Anything new from the people monitoring Lily?

Nothing, he says.

I hate that word “nothing.” It’s as sucky as “I don’t know.”

Just for that, I type: I bet you wish you could come out from the shadows where you’re stalking me and have Starbucks.

He replies with: I prefer tequila. It’s a Mexican thing.

I reply with: White girls drink tequila, too.

His reply is one word: Badly.

I grimace and call an Uber, ordering a coffee while waiting for my ride. “Can I get a shot of tequila in that?”

The girl at the register gives me a blank stare. Holy fuck, can no one take a joke anymore? “Never mind. Just give me whipped cream and a Xanax.”

She stares again.

“Whipped cream,” I say, and decide I’m being punished for not using the app.

My coffee in hand, my Uber is slowly coming and with good reason. The rain is pounding down on us and the streets are far less crowded than they would be on any other Saturday. By the time I pull up to Williams’ place, it’s somehow late afternoon. My cup is empty, and the caffeine has added to my agitation. I’m daring him to kill Williams by coming here. What I need to do is find her before he gets the chance.

Of course, I think, my hand on my weapon as I walk up the stairs, he could be here, she could be here, and that solves that. I reach the top of the stairs and find the door properly secured. I open it and enter, drawing my weapon as I walk the place. It’s empty. It’s as anticlimactic as meeting up with Roger again. Roger, I think, shoving my weapon in my holster. We solved a lot of damn cases together, and the clock really is ticking. I can’t let my insecurities get in the way of my job.

I dial Roger. “Lilah, I’m surprised to hear from you. So much so that I was going to ask if there was something that happened between us that I didn’t realize.”

Obviously, I’ve made my discomfort apparent. I skip over that topic and get to the work at hand. “Can you meet and talk about this case?”

“You finally decided the old man can help?”

“Can you meet?” I press, not about to respond to that kind of bullshit he’s trying to stir up.

“I’m on Long Island. I came up with the mayor last night and stayed over with my sister to catch up. I could be there around six. At the station?”

“It’s a press madhouse.” I decide being back in the area of the crime scenes might help me. “There’s a diner across from the area where both murders took place. Let’s meet there.” I give him directions and end the call. Six. That’s late. It might be too late to save Williams. I look around the apartment and start walking it again, looking for a trigger that tells me everything I need to know to catch this asshole.

***

Hours at Williams’ place delivers a few items to follow up on that I call into Tic Tac, but nothing that feels big. I arrive at the diner I’d visited the night of the murders to find Donna and I are the only ones here again. She waves when I arrive. “Pumpkin Latte?”

“What the fuck. Bring it on.”

She laughs, and soon, I’m at a booth with coffee and lots of whipped cream. “Got my strawberry pie?”

“How the hell would I know you’d really be back?”

“Like you’d get it for me if you had.”

The door opens and Roger enters, brushing rainwater from his jacket. “Lilah,” he greets, waving and heading my way. He starts to cough. That cough gets to me. It stirs something inside me that I can’t quite identify and I try to figure out when that started and why. Did he always cough like that? There is so much shit in between when I started with him and now.

He pauses by the booth and takes off his jacket, neatly folding it and draping it over the seat, before he sits down across from me, motioning to Donna. “Plain coffee.”

Good luck with that, I think.

Roger moves his silverware to the side with one of his precise movements. He’s a calculated man. Every I is dotted. Every box checked. He taught me to detail every crime scene with precision. I don’t dispute, or lack appreciation for what the man did for my career.

“What’s going on, Lilah?” he asks, studying me with those crystal blue eyes that I refuse to let intimidate me. If he wants to see a killer, see a killer, and fuck you, Roger.

Donna sets a pot down for Roger. I eye her. “He gets it without begging?”

“I already like him better than you.”

“Bitch.”

She grins and leaves.

Roger arches a brow at me. “We’re old friends,” I say. “Anyway, what’s going on? Whoever this is, is targeting either me or you or both. He used you to get me here. He left your brand of cigarettes at the first crime scene. He’s left me very personal messages.”

“Then it’s about you.”

“Or me as your protégé.”

“What kind of messages?” he queries.

“A link to Kane. A connection to a friend.”

“You,” he says, with certainty. “This is about you. Using me is still about you.”

“The cigarettes disappeared from evidence. He’s either law enforcement or using someone in law enforcement to do his dirty work.”

“How would he use someone in law enforcement?”

I go through the entire case with him, and we go through cup after cup of coffee, throwing out ideas, talking about the details. I take pages of notes. We don’t find the answers, but one thing about Roger is that he stimulates my mind. And thank fuck, he hasn’t been coughing. I don’t know how that’s possible, but thank fuck anyway.

“What about Houston?” he asks. “He’s the right age, in a position of power, and showed up right when this started. Where did he come from?”

My mind goes to his file. “LA. He worked with my boss in the past.”

“Then he could have watched your work there.”

He’s right. He could have. Damn it, I trust Houston because of Murphy’s placement, but why? I barely trust Murphy, and Kane doesn’t trust Murphy at all. That just makes me trust Murphy even less. “I need to get to my desk and put all my notes to work.” And pray Detective Williams survives the night. “Are you staying or going?”

“I think I’ll order a bite to eat and think about this all a bit more.”

“I’m going to walk and think.”

“You sure that’s safe?”

“I’m not just a profiler, Roger. I’m a field agent.”

“Take an Uber, Lilah. It’s raining.”

I toss money on the table and slip into my rain jacket. “And Detective Williams might be on the street waiting for me to save her. I’m walking.”

“If you invite him to come at you, he will.”