Love Kills (Lilah Love 4)

***

Thirty minutes later, I’ve left my raincoat at the door, pulled on gloves and I’m inside Miller’s apartment that is as sterile as a hospital room. Miller is dead on his couch, blood all over the cushions, nothing clean about it. No clean freak shoots himself.

It’s too messy. I walk the apartment, which doesn’t take long. Like so many city apartments, it’s a pair of moving boxes with the kitchen in one of them and the bathroom in the other. If there’s a clue left for me, I can’t find it. I go through his desk in the corner, but there isn’t so much as a light bill.

I stand in front of the body and dial Tic Tac, studying the body as I listen to the rings. He was a nice-looking guy, probably got women. There has to be a girlfriend. Of course, he might have beat her out of his life.

“Lilah,” Tic Tac answers. “Let me guess—”

“I need stuff. Yes. How long has Miller, who’s dead by the way, lived at his residence?”

“Three years,” he replies, “and holy wow, Batman.”

I grimace. “I don’t communicate with people who speak in such language.”

“Agent Love.”

I glance up to find Houston striding into the room. I hang up on Tic Tac, “Chief,” I greet since we’re being all formal and shit.

“Anything I need to know?” he asks.

“I need to know if he was a neat freak.”

“We’ll do the necessary interviews,” he says. “But the mayor is ready to hold a press conference tonight. He’s already put out the notice to the press.”

“And say what?”

“It’s him,” he says. “It’s over. You did your job, and you did a kickass job. Nobody had him on our radar but you.”

“And the minute I did, he’s dead, Houston.”

“Coincidence.”

“There’s no such thing as—”

“Coincidence,” a familiar male voice says from the doorway.

I look up to find Roger standing in the doorway. “I agree, Agent Love.” He glances around. “It’s too clean, quite literally. Neat freaks don’t shoot themselves. It’s too bloody. He would have taken the poison.”

“Look, Roger,” Houston says, “I respect the hell out of you but don’t come in here and try to turn my crime scene into another jungle. He’s dead. It’s over.” He looks at me. “Are you in or out on the press conference?”

“I hate lies, Chief, but if you want me there—”

“Don’t be a bitch, Lilah,” he snaps. “People are terrified. Scared shitless. We have extra patrols out, and the call volume is up one hundred percent for safety checks. We need to calm people down. We need to give them peace. And the fucker is dead. I’ll handle the press conference.” He turns and walks away.

“Alone on a deserted island,” Roger says. “No one is going to believe us until another body shows up. They’ll apologize soon.”

I glance over at him, and I realize then that I’m not like him at all. Sure, I hate stupid people. I hate stupid actions. I like dead bodies more than the living, most of the time, but he’s an example of why. The living are so damn self-serving, and I’m done always serving him. That’s why I struggled with my cases with him. I was serving him, not the victim. “I don’t want them to apologize, Roger. That means someone else dies. I want to be wrong. Something you’ve never been good at.” I walk out of the apartment and toss my gloves and boots in the trashcan the CSI team has set up. And I don’t look back. Roger belongs in my rearview mirror, and the glass is so damn broken I can’t even see him anymore.

“This isn’t over, Lilah,” Roger says from that rearview, but I don’t turn back.

He’s right. This isn’t over, but I’m going to end it. And I do that best without him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The minute I’m back in the SUV, I dial Kane. He doesn’t answer. Fuck. Fuck “Fuck!”

“Holy fuck,” Kit says next to me. “What the hell is going on?”

“Why isn’t he answering?”

“He said he’d be offline for a few hours.”

“That’s unacceptable.” I text him: Call me. Now.

He doesn’t call.

I text him again: Miller, the reporter—he’s dead. They made it look like he was the guy, and he killed himself to end it. It’s not him, but you know they want us to let down our guard. Keep yours up.

I text Tic Tac: Is Brandon Carmichael on duty at the hospital right now?

His reply is: Checking, and then sixty seconds later: Yes. He’s in surgery. Fifth floor.

Send me a photo, I reply, and he does.

“Take me to the hospital,” I say to the driver, sinking back into my seat. It’s time to get an in-person look at Melanie’s brother.

I sink back into my seat and shut my eyes, letting the rain thrum on the window, going to my Otherworld, here and now. It feels like a lifetime has passed since this started, but it’s only been days. Only days since Junior left me a note. I’ve forgotten Junior could be a part of this. That means this started on Long Island, but that doesn’t feel right.

Detective Williams is in the center of this. She didn’t expect to die. She was the insider at the force or at least one of them. Where there’s one gnat, there’s an infestation. Someone knew I knew about Miller. Houston knew, but he told his people to take action. Houston seems to be trying to do a hellish job. He needs to grow some balls that fit a man his size, but overall, I don’t think he’s dirty. But, then again, I thought my father was Mr. Rogers, and he turned out to be Michael Myers, and he even has the mask and the knife he shoved in my hand.

The SUV pulls up to the hospital, and I start to get out. Kit grabs my arm. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m potentially having your hand for dinner.”

He jerks his hand back. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“That went well for Jay. Are you trying to get a roommate situation? Because you do have good timing?”

“Lilah, please.”

“Please,” I say. “Please works. Hands do not. I’m visiting Jay to see if he’s well enough for me to throttle him while observing a suspect. You’re welcome to come, but if you screw up my surveillance, I can’t be responsible for my actions.”

He laughs. “I’ll stay with Jay and protect him.”

“Whatever toots your horn, but don’t show me the horn. I never ever want to see that shit.”

He laughs again. I might like him, too, but that could be short-lived. I liked Zar for about five whole minutes, though Kit is showing longevity.

I pull up the hood of my rain jacket, and Kit does the same. We exit the SUV and dart to the front of the hospital, swiping the rain from our bodies as we enter.

A few minutes later, we’re at Jay’s doorway watching him flirt with a pretty redhead. “He’s a loser,” I say. I’d walk away.”

Jay glances up. “Ding dong the bitch has arrived. But she saved my damn life. You stubborn bitch.” Kit steps into the doorway and Jay adds, “You’re next, man. Look out. She’s trouble.”

The nurse approaches, and Kit and I enter the room. I glance over at her. “He’ll die for you unless you save his life.”

Jay curses in Spanish, and the nurse leaves in a bout of laughter, while I join Jay by his bed, giving him a once over. “You look pale like you’re not even Mexican.”

“So do you,” he says.

“Good one,” I say. “I might have said it myself. Oh, and by the way, there’s a doctor here who might be a killer who uses poison stocked in the hospital lab. It’s not really poison, but misused, it works dandy.”

“What the fuck? Are you serious?”

“As a nun scolding you about your sexual preferences. I’m leaving Kit here with you to talk about how to protect yourself.”

“That’s it,” he says. “They’re discharging me tomorrow. I’m out of here now.” He sits up.