Murder Notes (Lilah Love 1)

“You bastard. I won’t. Not yet.”

I hang up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The drive home is all about how the men in my life are driving me crazy. All of them, Greg included. I went on the line for that man, and now. Now, I think he might be involved in this. Or maybe he’s just a dirty, rotten loser. I walk into the house, and do what I do to stay sane. I strip and pull on pajamas, head to Purgatory, and start trying to solve a crime. For hours, I scour the data Tic Tac sent me, looking for links to Kane, Pocher, or Romano, and it’s not easy. Looking for family who knows family or friends. All I need is one link to Laney and I find the link to my attack and, I believe, to these murders.

At four in the morning, I lay my head on the desk. At six, I wake up with my cheek stuck to the desk and only an hour to meet my brother. I rush to the shower and forget brands and money. I just toss on a pair of faded jeans and a sweater along with a North Face jacket, load up my briefcase, and head for the car, dialing Andrew as I start the engine. “Let’s do the graveyard first so I’m not dreading it the entire time we’re eating.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

Fifteen minutes later I pull into Cedar Lawn Cemetery and park under a tree. My brother parks next to me, driving his fancy Porsche 911 today, just one of his three vehicles. I lean on the hood of my rental, and he joins me, also in jeans and puffer jacket. “Sorry I missed you last night,” he says.

“Shit happens,” I say, my stomach twisting and turning with the kind of gut-wrenching emotions I often think I’m now incapable of feeling.

“You really hate this, don’t you?”

“This sucks, Andrew.”

“I know.” He motions me forward and we walk to her grave, and damn it, my cheeks are all wet and I’m crying.

Andrew wraps his arm around me, and we start telling stories about Mom. “I still don’t understand how she ended up with Lucas’s dad.” I glance up at him. “Do you think they were—”

“Yes. I do. And I was angry at her for a long time over it, but she was human. We all are.”

His cell phone rings and he pulls it from his coat pocket. “The NYPD.” He answers the call, a grim look on his face. “Right. Got it. My sister’s in town. Yeah. The profiler. I think she might want in on this one. Right. Yes. We’ll take a chopper.” He ends the call. “Lilah.”

“Why did you just say my name like that?”

“There was a decapitation in Manhattan.”

“Oh. Well. Don’t worry. I’m not shaken, Andrew. I do this for a living. But why did they call you in the first place?”

“It was a Romano, and the trademark kill of a Mendez is decapitation. And since Kane is in our territory—”

“It’s not Kane,” I say, my heart thundering in my ears.

“He took over for his father.”

“His uncle—”

“Hasn’t been seen in six months.”

“It’s not Kane.”

“If you go down to the border towns, Kane’s name strikes fear in people.”

“That was his father’s doing. He wanted him to take over.”

His lips thin. “I’ve got something to show you.” He walks to his car and I meet him again at the hood of mine. He tosses a folder on the hood. “I sat up last night, doing Internet searches to put this together for you after I saw you leave with Kane.”

“I walked down the steps with him,” I say. “I didn’t leave with him.”

He flips open the folder and displays a photo of a head on a stick. “The Mendez Cartel’s work.” He flips to another, where bodies are piled on top of each other. “Also Mendez.” He goes to flip another, and I shut the file. “Enough.” I inhale and force myself into my Otherworld. “The sooner we get to the crime scene, the better.”

He stares at me for several hard beats. “I’ll meet you at the airport. I need to go have a chat with Kane, and I think we both know it’s inappropriate for you to join me.”

I open my mouth to tell him that Kane would not kill on his home turf, and he considers Manhattan part of that, but even to me, it sounds ridiculous and damning. Instead, I give him a sharp nod. “I’ll see you there.”

I leave the folder on the hood of the car and walk to the driver’s side and get in. My brother opens the passenger side and tosses it in the seat before shutting me inside again. He pulls out of the parking lot, and I roll down the window and toss those damn photos.

I arrive at the airport, lug my briefcase with me, and walk into the terminal to find Rich waiting on me. “Is it true you dated him?”

I don’t ask who he’s talking about or who he’s been talking to. Obviously Eddie is up to no good. “Yes.” I walk around him and he falls into step with me.

“Are you in love with him?”

“He was good in bed,” I say, trying to drive him away.

He grabs my arm. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing you do to push people away.”

“I have a job to do. Please stop.”

“Are you still seeing him?”

“I’ve been gone two years. How can I be seeing him?”

“The man chopped off someone’s head.”

“He did not chop off someone’s head.”

“You’re defending him.”

“We’re done here.” I pull my arm free and start walking, making my way to the door where Andrew is waiting. We fall into step, crossing the tarmac to where the police helicopter is waiting.

“You aren’t going to ask how it went with Kane?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“He says he didn’t do it.”

Because he didn’t, I think, but I keep my mouth shut a

nd climb into the chopper, with Andrew on my heels, claiming the seat next to me. I’ve just buckled in when Rich steps on board. “What are you doing, Rich?”

“I volunteered my services.”

“You’re a tech guy.”

“And a damn good detective.”

He sits down and buckles up directly across from me. I toss the headset I was about to put on and rest my head on the seat, shutting my eyes.

I’m officially in man-hell, and the one across from me is trying to get killed.

CHAPTER THIRTY

We land in New York without a word between the three of us. Exiting the chopper, I head toward the car waiting on us, just past the runway, and Rich chases me down. “Lilah—”

“Working, Rich,” I say, as he steps to my side. “This is not the place for personal shit-kicking.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t be on this case.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t be here.”

My phone buzzes with a message, and I don’t even think about looking at it while he’s hovering. We reach the vehicle and he opens the back door for me. I walk to the front passenger side instead and climb inside, a local police officer in the driver’s seat, I give a barely there nod. Andrew and Rich end up in the back and cuddling for all I care. I glance at my phone and read the text from Kane: I would never leave a calling card. Not that he would never do this. But that he’d never get caught. Which I believe.

For the next forty-five minutes that it takes to make it to the crime scene, I process the implications of that message. Who would set Kane up? The answer goes back to Pocher and Romano. But would a Romano kill a Romano to pull that off? Maybe, but most likely Pocher is trying to damage Kane and ensure Romano is loyal. Or I’m completely chasing the wrong people.

I’m in deep thought when we pull up to the apartment building that is our destination, police vehicles and fire trucks congesting the street. I exit the car and freeze with realization. The tattoo parlor where I met the old man is one block down. There is no such thing as a coincidence, and this is not one.

“Lilah-fucking-Love.” I glance to my left to find Mitch Gibson, a graying forty-year veteran who’s still one of the best damn detectives in the city, walking my way. “Spreading the love everywhere she goes.”