Love Kills (Lilah Love 4)

“Bullshit,” Kit says. “They weren’t letting you out tomorrow.”

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“I’m leaving tonight,” Jay snaps.

“Good idea,” I agree, and it is, which is why I came here. Well, one of the reasons.

“Meet you both in the SUV,” I say, exiting the room.

I take the stairs for a reason, aside from the gabbers. It’s expected that I might visit Jay. Visiting Brandon is another story. I take the stairs down three levels and exit to a waiting room. I sit down and study the photo and then wait. An hour later, Brandon walks in, and the couple in the corner hops out of their seats. I proceed to watch him cry with the couple as he shares bad news. Holy fuck, I need a drink.

That man is not the man. I don’t think he could even be a part of this. I am so far from knowing what I’m doing right now that I’m like that two-year-old kid who’s been all over the Internet lately with blow-up floaties on his arms. He tries to shove food in his mouth and he can’t reach his mouth, but he still keeps trying. He doesn’t see that he needs a new approach. I need to take off the floaties. I need a new approach. I quietly disappear into the stairwell and text Kit: Headed to the SUV.

A few minutes later, I’m in the backseat with Jay, and Kit is upfront. “Take Jay to our place,” I say, “and then drop me at the precinct.”

And that’s what happens. We pull up to our apartment, and Kit takes the wheel. The driver, I don’t know his name, comes around to help Jay out. “We have Rice Krispies,” I say before he exits into the rain. “The snap, crackle, pop will make you feel better.”

“Catch this asshole,” he says. “Then I’ll feel better. And yeah, well, I’ll eat some Rice Krispies, too.”

He gets out, and I’m shut inside the back of the SUV on my way to the station to reexamine the evidence, to find what I’ve missed, but I can’t help but try Kane again. I punch his auto-dial. His phone goes to voicemail. Kit eyes me in the mirror, a question in his look.

I shake my head.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

It’s nine when I arrive at the station, hours after Kane left me at the apartment, and he’s still silent. I’m about to lose my flipping mind, and I cannot deal with people right now. I might be arrested, which is exactly why I go straight down the stairs to the evidence room in the basement. Once there, I discover that the security desk for that room is presently unmanned, and I can’t get in. I walk down the hallway to a row of offices and flash my badge at an old man behind a desk. “Where’s the person running the desk?”

He takes a bite of a donut and says, “Lunch,” with his mouth full as if displaying why they keep him in the basement.

“When does that person get back?”

“Just left,” he says with another mouthful of donut. “Any time now. She had some dinner something or another to go to.”

Just left and any time now. Brilliant. “I’ll wait,” I say, and I snatch a donut.

“Hey!” he growls all fierce and stuff like he might throw a donut at me or something. Which works. More for me.

I snatch a napkin, too—because a girl needs a place to set her donut and wipe her mouth—and then I head back toward the security desk. Once I’m at the old steel dinosaur, grab a pad of paper, and I write two names side by side: Pocher and Detective Williams. I draw a circle around their names and connect them. They’re connected. I take a bite of the donut that is a sugary orgasm. Thank God I don’t work here anymore. I’d eat them all. How does anyone expect us to sit around late at night and not eat them? Nothing else is open or fresh. How are we going to shoot bad guys without donuts? I take another bite, and I add another name and another circle. My father. I connect all three. Finally, I write Umbrella Man and repeat.

Detective Williams wasn’t Umbrella Man, but she’s at the core of his attacks, perhaps to help him control the setup of the victims?

My mind starts throwing out ideas, playing mental basketball to see what lands where:

Umbrella Man is an assassin.

He’s Ghost.

No.

He’s not Ghost.

I try to call Kane again and get his voicemail. I try Zar as well. I also get his voicemail.

“Umbrella Man is not Ghost,” I murmur, which I don’t know why this comforts me. The Society hired Ghost to kill Kane.

I transition that thought to a broader one: they also hired Umbrella Man.

My brow furrows.

What if the Society, through Williams, was stupid enough to think they could really turn a serial killer into an assassin? In which case, they have no real control. Any they think they have is a façade. He’s smart. He’ll eventually turn on them. A killer who enjoys the game. I’ve said that. Kane has said that. All of this tonight, the entire Miller scene, was just him playing a game with law enforcement and me, testing me to be worthy enough to continue playing.

I finish my donut while staring at all of the names I’ve written down. They’re all the Society. Detective Williams must have had some level of authority. Maybe she even found Umbrella Man through her work. Tic Tac sent me her cases. I’m just going to have to go through them one by one. I circle her name again and write: Redman and Morris. Her ex who is dead, and her other ex who is a cop.

I pull up an email from Tic Tac and check the list of people who donated to my father’s campaign and are connected to this case. Redman is not on the list. That would suggest he was not Society. Maybe he was just a victim Williams was setting up. What if she and Morris plotted against Redman together? Maybe they never broke up. Williams just lured Redman in and made him love her. Really that doesn’t make sense. Maybe Morris was just jealous and that made Williams the center of attention, the center of the spiral of death.

I’m officially a nutcase because either way, that would make Sergeant Morris, the little bitch baby, Umbrella Man. I have a hard time going there, but Morris was pissed at the crime scene last night, and the only three people in that alleyway who know he didn’t kill Williams is me, Ghost, and him or her. What if he wasn’t upset about Williams dying but rather having his kills challenged by another killer?

Could he really be a cold, calculated killer who hides behind his job? Could Williams, while dating him or otherwise, have found out and recruited him for the Society? I keep assuming she’s the Society but maybe he really did force her into all of this. When considering his skills, the man is working with Roger. Roger must see skills in him that I have not, but he doesn’t see Umbrella Man. Roger has clearly stated that he thinks the killer is a woman.

Something stirs in my mind, and I’m back in the lab with Roger:

My eyes meet Roger’s, and he says, “You still think this has nothing to do with me?” he challenges.

I step to him. “Are you telling me you’re the killer, Roger?”

“Do you think I’m the killer, Lilah?” he challenges.

“I think you’re an asshole, Roger. You know that was a threat. You know what he was telling me.”

“Tell me. What was he telling you?”

“Eventually, he’s going to kill the people close to me and then kill me.”

“That’s right,” he agrees. “That’s exactly what he’s telling you.”

He repeatedly called Umbrella Man, him, not her. In the past, when he believed we were dealing with a woman, he said “her.” Is he covering for him? Or maybe he doesn’t want to see him as who he really is? He damn sure doesn’t see me clearly. Or, maybe he’s trying to catch him on his own to take credit. But at the expense of lives? The more I think about his connection to Roger, the more Morris is feeling like a suspect.

I stand up. I need to get home and go through his case files and look through Morris’ cases as well. I need to look for people he killed and covered up. But I also need in that evidence room. If I can just look at what was there last night again, maybe something will click. I walk back down the hallway, and now, everyone is gone.

I take the stairs several floors to the main desk that operates in the evenings and shove my badge under the gate between me and the officer there. “I need in the evidence room

.”

He glances at my badge and then says, “Oh, right. Agent Love. I have a package for you. The guy who came in said you’d want this tonight. I was about to try and reach you.”

He shoves an envelope under the gate. “But I don’t have the evidence room key. You have to check-in in the basement.”

It’s me. I’m the little bitch right now; because as I hold that package, some part of me instinctively knows it’s from Umbrella Man, and I’m all but shaking. Kane hasn’t answered my calls, and I’m terrified, yes, terrified, that I’m about to find out why.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I walk to the bathroom and shut the door. I don’t bother to lock it; I won’t be in here that long. I open the envelope and toss the contents in the sink. A badge wallet falls out. I glove my hands and pick it up, flipping it open, and I am instantly brittle with cold. Detective Williams’ ID is inside, but there’s also a plastic badge with a slice of paper across the center that reads: East Hampton. Where my brother is chief of police. Andrew. Mother of God, my brother is next. We didn’t talk after I warned him to be careful. I didn’t check on him. Why the hell didn’t I check on him? With a quake to my hand, I shove the badge in the bag again and then dial my brother.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Voicemail.

“Call me now, Andrew. It’s urgent.” I text him the same message.

I grab the envelope, exit the bathroom and walk to the guard behind the gate again. I shove it under the bottom. “Bag it and send it for fingerprints and do it now. Call me if there’s a match. And I mean now.” I’m all about now right now, and I don’t wait for confirmation. I turn and start walking.

I hurry outside and thank fuck, it’s not raining. By the time I’m down the steps. Kit’s pulled the SUV to the curb. I climb in the backseat, and Lord help me, I still have on the gloves.