Murder Notes (Lilah Love 1)

No. An addiction. Perhaps a sick one, but no one, not even Kane, thinks to judge me. It’s not a place for lovers. I mean, if you were with a man, screwing your brains out, you’d want your gun in your hand. And a back seat where you could actually lie down and not roll down a rocky cliff.

I don’t do back seats. Neither does Kane.

I watch my rearview mirror for signs of his approach, hating the way my damn heart is racing. Telling myself it’s about what Kane may tell me tonight, not about the man himself. If I’m honest with myself, though, that’s not the real reason. Of course, I like to think that I’m honest with myself, not just about—or with—everyone else. I’m pretty simple. I’m fucked up and resolved to stay that way. It works for me. It works for my job. Keeping with that fucked-up theme, my heart isn’t racing because of what Kane might tell me. It’s because it’s him I’m meeting. He’s trouble for me and as every criminal I’ve ever arrested knows, the problem with trouble is that it can be so damn seductive.

I clear the bank of shadows and refocus on the here and now. The beachfront, an inky silhouette of rocks and boulders, comes into view, with Kane’s car already parked in the small gravelly circle where my path ends. The racing of my heart accelerates, but I don’t question my decision to ask Kane to come here just because I’m affected by him. Half-assing my way through things and avoiding the man who knows this land like no other isn’t going to solve these murders. Nor is it going to stop an innocent man, which I suspect Woods to be, from taking a fall. Or ending up dead. I’m going to solve these murders and save Woods. And my family. I think I might have to save my family, and that’s worth at least a small deal with the devil himself, aka Kane.

I near his car, and while his windows are tinted, there are no lights, no hint of movement. Wherever he is, he’s not in the car, but wherever he is, he knows I’m here. There’s simply no way for anyone to arrive here without being seen. It’s a perfect hideaway. Even the cell service out here is hit-or-miss, adding to how perfect the location is for a private conversation. Or illicit activity. Or murder. It’s a good place for murder. The kind that’s never supposed to be discovered. Of course, the killer I’m hunting, be that person a serial killer or an assassin, wants his victims to be found. But he, or she, leaves a clean crime scene that speaks of an intent to remain anonymous. This killer would not confess. If things heated up, he or she would disappear the way a body would disappear down into the water in this very cove. If, of course, the body was properly prepared. And, there you go—the reason I have no friends. These are the kind of thoughts that do not make good supper talk, and so I simply have nothing else to talk about.

Killing my engine, I scan for Kane, finding him exactly where I suspected he would be. At our spot, standing a good twenty feet away, on top of one of two connected giant boulders we’ve often favored. He’s facing the water, towering above a steep incline, his back to me, his long black trench coat lifting in the wind. Looking like some sort of dark fucking knight. Dark is right, I think. Dark and dangerous.

I’m not my father. How many times has he said those words to me? And he’s right every time. He’s not like his father. He’s smarter, more refined. More diverse. He’s not his father. He’s something I cannot define, but I do believe that it’s far more lethal than Kane wants me to believe it is. He is. Or maybe it’s me that still doesn’t want to believe it.

Popping my door open, I grab my coat, then stand to shrug into it. The wind catches my hair, its icy fingers wrapping my neck. A warning of what is to come, perhaps? Maybe, but I’m pretty sure the only chill Kane is capable of giving me comes by way of news I might not like. But I don’t allow myself to think about how intense every moment is with Kane or how easily that could turn against me. It won’t. I am taking control. Resolved to make it so, I slam the door and start walking, the dirt silent beneath my feet. The heavy weight of my gun at my ankle, reminding me I have a friend ready to assist with a problem. Not that I believe I need that friend. Kane might be trouble for me, but not that kind of trouble.

He doesn’t turn to watch my approach, though without question, he knows I’m here. I’m also certain that he’s aware the instant I reach the eight feet of jagged rocks I have to maneuver across to reach him. It would be a good moment to turn back, but I don’t even consider a pause. I’m here. I’m doing this. I’m ready. And this is the place where we said things to each other that we said no other place. No matter how dirty, dark, or downright murderous it might be.

Reaching the makeshift stone stairs lining the boulders, I start the climb upward, and smart man that Kane is, he doesn’t turn and offer help. The man does get me. He knows it would piss me off. I help me, and anyone who gets in the way gets a big ol’ punch to the chops. Or the balls, depending on the circumstances. I reach the top of the boulders, and my spot on the second of the two, next to Kane, leaves a good several feet between us by design. I don’t face him, nor he me. I stare out at the inky black of the water stretching before us, the waves crashing fiercely, almost angrily, into the rocks below, the cold, salty air brushing my lips.

“What’s said in the Cove,” he says.

“Stays in the Cove,” I finish, and we turn to face each other, moonlight illuminating more than his face and eyes. In one blink to the next, every kiss, touch, and word we’ve ever spoken, good or bad, is in the spotlight. Including that night. Our secret. “We confessed our sins here.”

“Is that why we’re here? To confess our sins?”

“We’re here because this place reminds us both that we share a secret that could destroy us both, and my family with us.”

“Forced loyalty is not what I want from you. Not in the past. Not now.”

“You didn’t force loyalty on me, Kane. You trusted me. It was my choice to deserve that trust. And that happened long before that night. This place is where you told me—”

“What a bastard my father was,” he supplies quickly, as if he’s traveled to the same memory at the same time.

“Yes.”

“And the things he’d done,” he adds.

“Yes,” I agree. “And all the things you said you’d never do.” I tell myself not to ask, but the way this man haunts me, the way we really are connected, I go off course and I dare to do just that. “Have you?” I ask. “Done them?”

“I’m no saint, but I’m still not my father.”

“You need a new reply to that question. It’s getting used and abused and you’re more interesting than that. Basically, you’ve done some of those things.”

“I only do what I’m forced to do and only what is absolutely necessary.”

“Do you think he started out saying that?”

“No,” he says instantly. “He embraced it from day one. He enjoyed it. I do not.”

“But you still do it.”

“Lilah—”

“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “I’m not with you anymore. It’s not my place to question why you are, or are not, involved in that part of your father’s world. And I didn’t even mean to go there.”

“And where did you want to go?”

“Your father. The whole point was your father.”

“My dead father is why we met here tonight?”

“Yes, because he influences who you are now.”

“I told you—”

“You’re not him. Yeah. I know. You keep telling me. Bottom line. He had rules and I know that whatever your role in your new empire or his old one, you respect those rules. Your home is a sanctuary and that means this town. You didn’t kill that woman last night or order her death. Who did?”

“Apparently Kevin Woods. Or so we’re being pushed to believe.”

“How do you know about Woods?” He arches a brow and I skip the question. “Right,” I say. “Your territory. What do you know about him?”

“There’s very little about Woods that would interest me or anyone else. No living family. No one to fight for him. No one to care if he’s dead or on d

eath row.”

“A perfect fall guy,” I supply. “Which brings me back to where my mind was when I called you. We are connected. What is the likelihood—”

“That my employee being murdered the night you came into town is a coincidence? Next to none.”

“It was a cover-up. Something someone thought I’d discover when I came here.” My mind goes to the tattoo, to him shutting me down over it, and that night. “What’s really going on here, Kane?”

“I don’t know. But I assure you, I will and soon.”

I stare at him, thinking about how angry he was at me in his office. Thinking about Junior and who might want me out of town. I’ve ruled him out as a suspect for Junior, based on the note-writing scenario simply not fitting what I know of him, but should I have? “I assume that murder happened when it did to keep me from stopping it and to keep her from revealing something someone didn’t want revealed.”

“That is my assumption as well.”

“Or,” I continue, “it was a threat. Was someone telling you I’m next, Kane?”

“No one would be that foolish, Lilah.”

“I’m the one hand you’ve shown. You have to consider that.” And not for the first time I wonder if that night was all about him. About me being used against him. “You made it known you care about me.”

“No one would be that foolish,” he repeats.

“Again, Kane,” I say, because I have to keep trying. “What is really going on?”

“Again,” he repeats. “I don’t know yet.”