Love Kills (Lilah Love 4)

Kit immediately speaks. “I’ve been at this building for over a year. I can help. I see things. I know things that might help you.”

“Sold. I don’t hate you anymore but stay here. Work the building. Find out how the hell he got to her. Because he was in this building.”

“I don’t want you without backup today, Lilah,” Kane says.

“I’m not a fool who turns down backup,” I reply and turn to face him. “Unlike some people, I know when to face a dangerous adversary.”

“You don’t seem to know when to stop this morning, Lilah. With Kit present, would be that time.”

“Jay almost died because he tried to be a hero. I’m not in danger. Not yet. And Kit does you no good. He’s no match for Ghost.”

“But I am.”

“Because you’re such a badass. Right?”

I step around him and head for the door. A few minutes later, we’re in the back of an SUV with Kit behind the wheel. Kane and I don’t speak. There’s nothing I want to say in front of Kit. There’s clearly nothing Kane is willing to say in front of Kit. If this asshole wants to assume he’s the Latin King of the world and bulletproof, I can’t stop him, and I have to live with that if I choose to live with him. But the secrets, those are a problem. They are going to that wall between us that won’t come down.

We pull to the road where the station is located to find a horde of reporters. “Starbucks one block down,” I order, long ago developing an escape and entry plan.

Kit does as I say and parks at the curb. I reach for the door, angrier with Kane right now than I realized. I need out of here before he finds out in a big way, right along with Kit. I exit the vehicle and Kane follows, shutting the door behind him.

I turn to face him, and he says, “I lined up another man to shadow you. He’ll text you, so you can get to him if you need him. He won’t do anything without your instruction.”

I step to him, and I poke his chest. “Hesitation is bullshit. Don’t fucking hesitate. That’s not what this is about. Have the balls to tell me what you’re going to do and believe I’ll still be with you when you do. That’s where I thought we were. Because you know what, as fucked up as it is, as fucked up as you make me, the only comfort I have is knowing that while Ghost is a killer, so are you. And we’re the most fucked up couple on planet earth.” With that, I turn and walk, not to the police station, but into Starbucks. Because I need a fucking white mocha before I deal with one more man today.

And yet, I walk to the counter, and a man offers to take my damn order.

Lord help him and Lord help Kane Mendez when I get him alone again.

And Lord help me because I’m an FBI agent who just wants him to kill everyone before they kill him. I manage to place my order, rather uneventfully, when my phone buzzes with a text that reads: This is Zar. I’m Kane’s man.

I frown. Zar? His name is Zar? Someone’s parents were doing too many of the Mendez drugs when they filled out the birth certificate. It’s rather sickening though. Drugs. Kane’s family is all about drugs. I’ve seen what drug overdoses do by way of dead bodies. I’ve arrested dealers, and I pretty much never think about Kane being a part of that world. Because he’s not, I mentally push back. He’s in oil, and he makes a hell of a lot of money in oil. The end. But he’s the one I should be talking to about drugs that kill and are undetectable.

No.

He’s not.

It’s Beth, who is now in Europe, doing her medical examiner job there, instead of here, where she might end up a victim of the Umbrella Man. She also has special equipment and samples of the victims’ blood, to get me my answers. I ignore the time in Europe and dial her now.

“Please tell me you got him,” she says. “I heard there were more victims.”

“We didn’t. I need the toxin identified.”

“Bad news on that. I ran the samples. I have nothing. I wish I was back there because there are things I’d look for now that I didn’t, but I talked to Melanie. She’s going down my list of suggestions.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah ah fuck.”

I crinkle my nose. “Stop saying that. It sounds weird when you say it.”

“Coffee for Lola Love!”

“Jesus,” I murmur. “Men are on my nerves today. Run the test again, Beth.”

“I ran them three times.”

“Try four. You’re in Europe. You gained seven hours when you got there you can waste.” I hang up and put my earbuds in before I grab my coffee. I need to call Kane with my hands free to drink coffee or shoot someone if they piss me off. I step outside, and I’m about to dial Kane when I think of Houston pretty much telling me Kane’s under surveillance. I can’t call him and ask him what I need to ask him while we’re being listened to. Oh well, fuck it. I’m doing it anyway.

I dial Kane. “Did you call to apologize?”

“I don’t apologize to assholes.”

“Did you call to apologize?” he repeats.

“I need a drug that can be used to kill someone and not be detected on lab tests. If you don’t know maybe that friend of yours who you have so under control does.”

He’s silent a beat, that turns into several, and I know why. I’ve assumed he’s an expert on drugs. “I’ll make some calls.”

“Zar sent me a text. Who names their kid Zar?”

“Did you forget his name?”

“No.”

“No one does.”

I round the corner and grimace at the news trucks. “Oh, the joy of my job. I need to go.” I hang up and cut right down an alleyway and then left. A few minutes later, my coffee is gone, I need to pee, and I’m walking in a side door of the precinct. I travel a hallway, pee, and then walk into the empty break area, which is the only way to get to the main department from this area. The TV is on, and there’s a picture of my father speaking to a crowd, flashed by a newscaster saying, “The Love campaign is hitting the Governor hard and drawing big crowds.” I stop walking and stare at the massive crowd being shown on the TV before the camera homes in on my father as he shouts, “I’m with you, never without you,” and then U2’s “With or Without You” starts playing.

CHAPTER TWENTY

My phone starts ringing, and I glance down to find Houston calling. I disconnect the line and press my hands to the basic table to my left. Aside from that being a weird as fuck campaign song, my father wasn’t campaigning back when I was attacked. Did I hear that song in the parking lot or not? There’s no in-between to this. It matters, and it matters because that poster on the apartment wall last night was a message. Either Umbrella Man told me that the Society is involved, which isn’t the first time I thought he was giving me such a message. In which case, Kane could be right. The killer enjoys the game, and he doesn’t think I’m good enough to figure out what he’s telling me anyway. In which case, he’s still a Society guy and so is my father, who is their golden child right now. That means my father is safe.

Or—

/> He’s not with the Society. He’s threatening my father, and I blew off the pig at his event as nothing more than a way for the killer to get attention and make the news. If this is all to cover up mine and Kane’s murders, getting me in the news chasing this killer would feel like something they would want. But I can’t be sure that’s not the case.

His intended message comes back to my knowledge of that song.

And I never once remembered that song in connection to that night until last night. Now that I know my father knew about my attack, my mind could easily be connecting the song to him. If he’s playing it on the campaign trail, I could have heard it before now. I probably did hear it before now, but considering my feelings about his run for office, I tuned it, at least partially, out. I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself back there again, back to that godforsaken night, back to the moment when someone grabbed me.

I sway and someone catches me, someone big and strong. Unfamiliar. “Bitch is hot,” the man says. “A good fuck.”

“Stop,” I say. “Stop. Let me—”

“Her fucking phone is ringing again”

My phone is ringing? Why can’t I hear my phone ringing?

“It’s Kane,” another man says. Or no. Is it a woman?

I lose the moment. Everything is black. And then I’m in a car.

I open my eyes. Everything was black. I was knocked out. There was no song. I’ve heard it played in relation to my father. That has to be it. That I turned it into a part of that night, because it’s associated with him, says I have unresolved issues with him that I should probably solve with counseling. Or, by staying the fuck away from him. My shoulders relax. My father is not in danger. That I’m relieved after deciding to stay away from him might be illogical to some, but I don’t have time for a funeral right now. This is all the Society, and they’re involved with our family because of him.

I contemplate calling Kane, but this topic is dangerous, considering we’re being listened to, so I text: That problem you want to solve. It’s the right problem to solve.