Love Kills (Lilah Love 4)

“I just got you back, Lilah.” His eyes darken. “And you’re the only thing that keeps me human, as proven in ways you can’t begin to understand the past twenty-four hours. I need you too damn much to lose you.”

I don’t ask what that means. Not now. Maybe not ever. “Then don’t take risks.”

“I wouldn’t risk anything that ends in losing you.”

“What about me losing you?”

“Same thing. Do your job. Catch him. I’ll back up your team and secure the building behind them.”

I nod, and we rejoin Kit. “I need to see the security footage, starting with the last time Karen was seen.”

“Two days ago,” he says. “I already looked. She left. Her sister arrived four hours later.”

Now he has my attention. “Her sister?”

“Said she was in for a visit. She came in and out of the apartment several times. She’s up there now.”

“Agent Love.”

At the sound of my name, I go cold because I know what I’m about to be told. I turn to find Sergeant Morris standing at the barrier nearest me, his expression grim. “There’s another body.”

“Yes,” he says. “Another woman. Shot to death. Possible suicide.”

“It’s not a fucking suicide,” I snap.

His lips thin. “I know who she is,” he says. “I can identify the body.”

Of course, he can, but I don’t need his help. I already know who she is. “It’s her twin sister,” I say.

“Yes,” he confirms. “It’s her sister.”

And the reason she was killed here, in this building, is pretty fucking obvious. It was one thing to kill someone who lived here, outside in the alleyway. Another to kill someone inside the building where I live. Where Kane lives. Umbrella Man is telling us that our fortress is not impenetrable.

CHAPTER TEN

This is war.

Kane said it.

I endorse his position enthusiastically.

I don’t, however, offer Sergeant Morris some big, over the top reaction. He’s not Umbrella Man. Williams wasn’t Umbrella Man. But I don’t know if they are somehow involved with Umbrella Man. It’s an odd place for my thoughts to travel in the first place, but my mind is going where it wants to go, without my permission.

And so, I simply ask, “What about an update on the mother?”

“Nothing yet,” Morris replies.

“I’ll be right up, ” I reply, a clear dismissal in the statement.

Surprise flickers in his eyes. “You aren’t going to tell me to leave?”

“I’m not done with you,” I say. “So no. I’m not going to tell you to leave.”

He inclines his chin, remarkably and uncomfortably compliant, which I’d like to think is about shock and grief, but he was belligerent only an hour ago. That makes this a hard sell now.

Kane steps to my side. “You don’t like him.”

“He ranks right up there with mushrooms for me.”

“That’s some pretty serious hate.”

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, it is.”

“He didn’t get past security,” he says. “The sister killed herself.”

“To save her twin.” I glance up at him. “That’s how he works. He plays with the family members and then convinces them to shoot l themselves because a bullet is simply nothing to him. Because they are nothing to him. They’re inconsequential.”

“You understand him. You’ll get him. Stop letting him fuck with your head.”

“He’s trying,” I agree, “but it’s not working.”

He turns to face me and me him. “You sure about that?”

“You doubt me?”

“Never. But clearly you doubt me.”

“You think you’re bulletproof. You’re human.”

His lips quirk. “You worry about me.”

“I do fucking worry about you, asshole. Stop throwing it in my face.” I start to turn away but stop, facing him again. “If you come face-to-face with him, I don’t care what trap he says he set for me, you kill him.” I grab his tie and yank it. “Understand?”

“And if he threatens me, will you do what you have to do, and kill him? Or will you be suckered into thinking that you can save me?”

The idea of him dead punches me in the chest and I hesitate. Fuck. I hesitate. “I’ll kill him so dead, there won’t be any of him left.”

“I don’t believe you,” he says, “but I have faith in your ability to remedy that weakness.”

“Bastard,” I murmur, releasing my grip on his tie. “Let’s go.” I don’t give him time to agree. I turn and walk through the barriers, and he’s right there with me, as is Kit. I don’t bother to clear either with the officer by the door. Kit is employed here, and Kane is Kane. He lives here.

I enter the building and hear, “Love.”

At Houston’s voice, I turn to find him entering the building. He scrubs his jaw. “The mother’s dead, too,” he says, stopping in front of me. “Shot herself in a Paris hotel room. And the press is everywhere. I just talked to the mayor. He wants to hold a press conference.”

&nb

sp; “This again?” I breathe out. “He needs to wait.”

“This building drips money and power. We need to calm the residents, two of which called the press.”

“She killed herself. It’s a suicide.”

“She’s in an alleyway,” he argues.

“I don’t have time for this, Houston. I need to be upstairs, looking at the evidence.”

“This is happening, whether you deal with it or not.”

My lips press together. “Stand up to the mayor.”

“You tried that. How’d that go for you?”

“You’re a coward.”

“Fuck you, Lilah.”

“No thanks, but try that with the mayor. No press conference. This is my case. This is my call.”

“And his city.”

“I thought it was yours. Oh right, you’re his little bitch, so what is yours, is his. Maybe I should get you one of those submissive choker necklaces. If you wear that then everyone will just ask you, who’s your Master, and you can say the mayor. And you can then explain that you have no safeword. The mayor never stops making the decisions.”

“Are you done?”

“Never really done. Haven’t you figured that out?”

“Most of us have.”

“Good,” I say, but I want to hit him. I want to go to the mayor’s house and hit him, too. I want to dress them up like the clowns they are and then hit them. “You want to hold a press conference,” I say, “then you tell the city that you’re investigating what may be a double suicide.” I turn and start walking away, but I turn and walk backward. “The only conflict of interest going on is you and the mayor trying to cover your asses to keep your jobs.” I turn and walk to the stairwell, opening the door and entering the corridor.

I start the fifteen floor climb up the stairs, only two floors beneath our level, anger burning into calm, as I force myself to find that Otherworld. I need my zone. I need to focus. I’m there, thinking about the case. I need—the lights go out. I curse in my mind, but not out of my mouth. Instinct has me reaching for my weapon. Once it’s in my palm, a heavy bump of comforting weight, I reach for my flashlight. I’m about to turn it on when a door several feet above opens and then shuts. No light comes on. I would assume that means someone without a flashlight exited to the hallway, but there’s one problem with that theory: no one but law enforcement would be in the stairwell right now. I’m once again in the darkness, and I’m not alone.