Love Kills (Lilah Love 4)

A few minutes later, I’m in bed, in the darkness, Kane wrapped around me, like he’s afraid I’m going to get away or do something really stupid like get killed. He doesn’t say those things to me often, just as I rarely say them to him, but there are times, like now when I feel them when I know he feels them. We both know we’re going to war—no—that we’re in a war with the Society that never ended. I shut my eyes and try to force myself to sleep, but I swear I hear that damn U2 song in my head. Random parts come to me: My hands are tied, My body bruised. Words that don’t fit my attack or the victims. But there’s another line, one that feels like it’s a message, four simple words that say so much: I'll wait for you.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I wake to darkness, and the fact that my phone is silent has me sitting straight up. I grab it, reading the six am time. There are no missed calls. There are no text messages. My God, how are any of us sleeping after last night? Kane drags me back down to bed, wrapping himself around me, and orders, “Go back to sleep.”

I lay there and will myself to do just that. I need to rest to think straight. I’m in a warm bed with Kane. Of course, I don’t want to get up, but I have a bare minimum sleep of four hours that prevents further bloodshed at my hand, and my mind isn’t going to let my eyes shut or my body rest. “We aren’t going back to sleep, are we?” Kane murmurs roughly.

“You can, but I need to get up.”

He presses his lips to my ear. “I’d give you a reason to stay in bed, but I don’t like competing with other men. And I would be.” He kisses my neck. “Catch the bastard so I can have you back.” With that, he rolls out of bed and turns on the light. I roll to watch him pull on his pajama bottoms because, yes, I did just let a naked Kane Mendez get out of bed.

I turn away and climb out of bed myself, and yes, I’m naked, too, and no, I don’t care. I’m primal if nothing else, comfortable in my own skin, not with what’s beneath, but I’m working on that shit. I’m working on it hard. I just don’t want to end up so damn comfortable that I’m like Michael Myers, walking around with a big ass knife in my hand. I like mine to stay in my boot.

A thought that transitions rather seamlessly to—I need to pee. I walk toward the bathroom. “You still have a great ass,” he calls out, which makes me smile.

I don’t look back though. Mother Nature calls more loudly than Kane Mendez, no matter how he might think otherwise.

A few minutes later, we both end up at the sink brushing our teeth. I have a moment that is surreal, and all about me and this man. It’s short-lived as I think of three dead women who won’t wake up and brush their teeth. I grab the counter and force myself to think of their faces, and I don’t leave out Detective Williams. I’m not sure she’s completely innocent in all of this, but she’s dead. And she’s innocent until proven guilty. My badge says so, even if I did leave it on the table last night.

Kane steps behind me and settles his hands on my waist. We share a look in the mirror that has nothing to do with sex or romance. I like that we compartmentalize these things. Rich was all about sex and love and smelling the flowers. I don’t have time to smell the damn flowers, just Kane’s neck here and there. And if he’s lucky, I won’t bite it, too. Kane gets that. He understands it, and so, this look is all about those murders and what comes next. It’s ultimately about murder—and I like that it’s about murder. We’ve hidden from too much in our relationship. I’ve hidden from too much period. I’m done with that shit.

“I’ll make coffee,” Kane says, releasing me and heading for the door.

He’ll make coffee.

After having a silent conversation with me about murder.

For me, this is domestic bliss.

“Coffee is great!” I shout out, my version of “I love you,” and instead of heading to Purgatory, where I want to be, diving into murder once again, I go to the shower. If I don’t go there now, I won’t get there at all. Bullshit is coming. That’s how the morning after murder throws down, and I have to be ready to punch back when it punches me, and it will.

By the time I’m in jeans and a T-shirt at the bathroom sink, Kane is setting coffee in front of me. By the time he’s out of the shower, I’m in Purgatory on the floor with a stack of notecards in front of me, intending to write out one for each person involved in the case, but first, I upload the photos I took last night. I tab through the shots, lingering on the one of Katy on the bed. I then find the prior victim who was on the floor and realization hits me. It’s the ceiling fan. He placed the bodies directly under the ceiling fan. The location of the body wasn’t the big clue I’d hoped it was.

I’m about to google lyrics to the U2 song when Kane walks in, dressed to kill in a gray pinstriped suit. And that’s the thing, he’s not just dressed to kill. There’s an edge to him that says he’s going to kill someone. The man who was eating brownies in this very room last night is not gone, just temporarily on a leave of absence.

Funny how, in the light of day, that feels like a problem; when last night, it did not, but now, I’m thinking about all the big players in this game, players as powerful as Kane.

“What are you going to do, Kane?”

He closes the space between us and squats down in front of me, his brown eyes almost black. “You don’t ask those questions, Lilah. Don’t start now.”

“We talked about this Kane. We can’t live together and be in that void. And I’m not trying to keep you from doing bad things. I’m trying to keep you from doing stupid things.”

“I don’t do stupid,” he says. “Or you wouldn’t be with me. You know what you need to know.”

“I know what I need to know? Really? That’s what you’re going to say to me? We talked about this, Kane,” I repeat tightly. “Secrets-”

“I have no secrets from you, Lilah. Just an understanding.” He grabs the badge from the table. “And this.” He takes my hand and presses it to my palm. “We made a deal last night. You do what you do, what this badge obligates you to do, and I’ll do what I do.”

“Pocher—”

“Is mine to deal with. That’s our deal.”

“Ghost—”

“Also mine to deal with.”

“So that’s where we’re at, Kane? A deal actually means shut up and don’t ask questions? Be careful how you answer. Me and my badge might get all sensitive and arrest you. Of course, we can fuck tonight if you make bail in time.”

He stands up, and I do the same, ready for yet another war.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Apparently, I’m the only one who wants a war because Kane does what Kane has done too many times in our relationship: he dodges and weaves. “Do you want a ride to the station?”

“Shut down like a side chick with red high heels.”

“Lilah,” he bites out.

“Kane,” I bite right back.

“I’m protecting you.”

“Stop.”

“Never.”

“Fuck you.”

“Later,” he says smoothly, too fucking smoothly.

“Fuck you again.” My cellphone buzzes, and I glance at a text from Houston: Shit is hitting so many fans it’s raining shit here. The mayor is losing his shit, too. He has his own fan. The press is at his office. Where the hell are you?

I glance at Kane. “I hate politicians, and my father is one of them.”

“The mayor?”

“The moron? Yes.” I shut my computer, and Kane and I both stand up. “Yes, to the ride. And as you go about your secret business—”

“Lilah—”

“Don’t fucking ‘Lilah’ me in that arrogant, irritated Latin tone of yours. You’re going to end up dead,” I say, grabbing my field bag, packing my MacBook, and pulling it over my head and chest, “and then why the fuck did I move in with you?”

I head for the door, but I stop in front of him. “I thought after the other night, when you left on—” I lift two fingers and frame “‘business’ that we were beyond the secrets. I told yo

u, Kane. I can deal with everything but that. Our deal was divide and conquer, not whatever the fuck this is you’re doing now.” I don’t wait for a reply. I give him my back and head for the door.

By the time I’m walking by the stairs, he’s following me, like a freaking stalker, instead of the man by my side. And damn it to hell, I’m not in the mood for this. Kit is standing in the foyer, and I step in front of him. “Why are you here?”

“I’m your shadow today.”

“I don’t like you, Kit,” I say, and when Kane joins us, I say, “Keep him with you.”

“You like me, Lilah,” Kit argues. “You were just cranky last night.”

“I’m cranky every night. If you can’t get along with cranky me, you can’t get along with me.”

“She has a point,” Kane says.

My phone rings, and I glance down to find Houston calling. I answer the line. “I’m on my way now. I was actually going through evidence instead of talking about ways to hide it from the public.” I hang up.