Murder Notes (Lilah Love 1)

Lucas joins me as I mingle, but after two conversations that include “you look like your mother” and “I love your dress,” he finds a pretty brunette actress and starts getting cozy. I stay my course, working the room, each compliment to my dress revenge for my father’s harshness. In fact, by compliment one dozen or so, I’m not feeling the sting at all, while I am certain every time someone mentions me to him, he does. And the best part of a party is that the gossip when talking to me is all about the “poor dead girl” or “poor Cynthia, who died too young.” Each person shares some tidbit, many about meeting her and her habits, that is golden to my case, and I wonder if this is the real reason I wasn’t invited. I’m getting tongues wagging. I’m hearing things. Maybe I’ll hear something I’m not supposed to hear. And not once is Woods mentioned, or a boyfriend at all, for that matter.

Finishing a chat with a music executive who knew my mother well, I am on the move again when I come face-to-face with Samantha, her gown a sparkly silver number. “Lilah,” she greets me, looking a bit like she’s swallowed a whole egg upon seeing me.

“Samantha,” I say. “Do you know where Andrew is? Is he still working?”

“If you consider staying close to the host, then yes. He’s working. In the downstairs library with Montgomery and your father, talking politics. I’m surprised they didn’t invite you. That’s where I’m headed now.”

“You know,” I say. “I realize that you think playing ‘mean girl’ makes you special, but you don’t read people well. I don’t want to be in a corner, talking politics.”

“Did I mention Eddie and Alexandra are with them?”

“Thanks for the warning,” I say, irritated that my brother evidently told her Eddie is a sore spot for me with my father. “Now I know to stay up here. Since we’re talking, you never got me the security footage I requested.”

“Andrew said you have a suspect.”

“I’m not Andrew,” I say. “But you know what? Keep it. I got what I needed from Kane.” Her eyes go wide and I add, “Yes. I know you fucked Kane the night of the murder.”

“And now you’re going to tell Andrew.”

“You weren’t exclusive and it would hurt him, so no,” I say. “I am not.”

“Even though I did Kane.”

“Yes,” I say, and somehow, I manage a rather cordially spoken, “Even though you fucked Kane.”

“But you want me to stop seeing Andrew.”

“Of course I do,” I say. “I don’t like you, but he’s a grown man. This isn’t my call. But let me be clear, if I find out you’re using him, I will become a problem for you.”

I start to turn and she says, “I’m not.”

And yet she was just in bed with Kane. My mama told me if you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all. I don’t reply. I keep walking, weaving in and out of the crowd, when my gaze lifts to the banister on the second level to catch on Greg, who is standing by a wall, staring forward, in guard mode. Hurrying forward, I follow the trail of red carpet up the center of the stairs, and I’m almost to the top when he takes a call and then starts walking right. I’m sidetracked by several chatty guests but finally reach the top level and turn in his direction, pausing to eye the crowd, my gaze rocketing to Kane, who’s in a conversation. My gaze shifts to the other man, a stout, military-looking guy, I age around forty-five, who could be security. I’d like to say I’m disappointed Kane is here. I’d like to say I’m immune to how damn good he looks in a tuxedo. But I can’t say either of those things.

The two men break apart, and Kane seems to sense me, his attention immediately shifting to the railing where I stand. He gives me a small incline of his chin that is somehow intimate, a feast for the eyes of anyone watching and sure to piss off Pocher. I nod back and turn away, eager to find Greg again before I end up in the inevitable game of word roulette with Kane that this night will now hold.

Traveling a long hallway, I scan random rooms as I pass to include a library, a sitting room, and the theater before a row of sealed doors takes over. The path ends at the French doors leading to the outdoor garden, and I pass through them, finding people milling around here and there, but there are rows of shrubs and trees forming a giant maze, and I decide to just wait by the railing.

I’ve just claimed a spot in the corner and under a hanging heater when my cell phone rings. I dig it out to find Tic Tac calling. “Turns out Laney did a bunch of B movies under another name, and two of those tie back to the same Chinese investors.”

I perk up. “Did you find the US connection?”

“Not yet, but I used a computer program to connect any common denominator between the films. It might not ring any bells for you, but it’s in your e-mail and now I’m going to finally sleep for a few hours. Don’t call.”

“I won’t call.”

“I won’t answer.” He hangs up.

I end the call, already walking, this party over as far as I’m concerned. That data Tic Tac sent me is far more important than more mingling and chitchat about my dress. Now, if I can just get out of here without being intercepted. I text Lucas as I walk: I’m leaving. Tell me all about her tomorrow. I mean, don’t tell me all about her.

He replies with: Okay. I’ll tell you all about her.

I reach the lower level again, walking fast, with my head down to discourage conversation. It’s a strategy that gets me to the coat check without delay. I step into the room off the foyer to hand in my ticket, and once I’ve bundled up, I’m about to leave when I catch a glimpse of Greg behind the curtain I’d visited earlier. There’s a woman with him and they’re talking in near whispers, and I catch a glimpse of her hand on his arm, then his on her waist. An uneasy feeling slides down my spine for no good reason. He told me he had a booty call here. It has to be that woman and even if it’s not, this isn’t my business.

I shake it off and walk to the door, but I find myself looking behind me, just as the woman exits the curtain, but Greg doesn’t follow. I’m about to turn back to talk to him, but one of the attendants calls out the woman’s name in greeting, and I go cold all over. Olivia Mason. It’s the Romano family member who owns the party service. Incapable of seeing Greg in this moment without losing my shit and hurting his, I exit to the stairs. Greg’s dirty. No. No. No. He cannot be dirty.

Kane appears by my side. “Why do you look like you’re about to explode?”

“Because I’m at a party with a bunch of politicians that include my father. Do you come to these things just to taunt Pocher?”

He laughs that low, addictive laugh of his. “I do not, but his displeasure is always an added bonus to any day or evening.”

“He told me that as an FBI agent and a future first daughter, I shouldn’t be seen with you, with my father’s blessing.”

“You’d think a man who’d been your father for your whole life would know telling you not to do something is an invitation to do it. Now about that red dress.”

“I look like my mother.”

“I was going to say you owned it and the room tonight. Did you learn anything helpful?”

“Did you?” I counter, not ready to show him any more of my cards until he shows me some of his. “Did you—”

“I’m handling your request,” he says. “Just make sure you remember my terms.”

I stop and turn to him. “Your terms? What terms?”

“You will not go near Romano.”

“I will do what I need to do, Kane. I’m going to ask questions and get answers, with or without you.” I turn and start walking, clearing the steps, and I about have a heart attack as I spy Rich, who shouldn’t even be able to get on the property, leaning against the hood of my car, dressed in jeans and some sort of army jacket.

“Lover boy to the rescue,” Kane says. “I guess you won’t need my help getting out of that dress.”

I stop walking again and face him. “If anything happens to him, I will know it was you.”

Kane’s eyes darken, his lips tw

isting sardonically. “That would be my father’s way of handling this. And we both know I’m not my father.” He turns away and walks toward the other side of the parking lot.

He might not be his father, but I know Kane, and every part of me says I need to get Rich the hell out of here. I inhale and hurry toward him, and he pushes off the car to meet me. “Hey, babe,” he says, his hands going to my waist, under my coat, and I cringe with the idea that Kane is watching. “Wow,” he says. “Holy wow. You look amazing.”

“Why are you here? How are you here?”

“Eddie from the station got me in to surprise you. Nice guy.”

“No. He’s really not. Rich—”

“You weren’t responding and I know how you get with these big cases. I was worried about you.”

He really doesn’t know, but that isn’t actually relevant at this moment. “You shouldn’t be here.” I remove his hands from my waist and step backward and not just because of Kane. Because I’ve led him on or he wouldn’t be here, and it’s not fair to him. “You need to go home.”

“Lilah—”

“I told you before I left this wasn’t working.”

“You’re under a lot of pressure. I get that.”

“Rich. Go home.”

“With you. I’m going home with you.” He steps toward me and I step back.

“No. You’re not. I’ll pay for a chopper to get you out of here tonight.”

“What? You want me out that badly?” He scrubs his jaw. “Fuck, Lilah. Can you get any colder?”

“Do I have to?” I ask, because if he pushes me, I will. I’ll have to.

“I’m gone, Lilah. I’m gone.” He starts walking toward I don’t know where, and I suck in air. No. I just suck. Kane sucks for making me do this right now, like this.

I walk to my car, climb inside, and don’t hesitate to dial Kane, wondering what it says about me that I’m this close to a man who I think would hurt Rich.

“Lilah,” he answers.

“He’s leaving.” I say. “Tell me you won’t hurt him.”

“Tell me you won’t go to Romano.”

“Are you negotiating for a good man’s life? Are you really doing that?”

“I’m protecting yours. Say it. You will not go to Romano.”