“Isn’t it?”
“No. It’s not. And right now, I have a murder to solve, Kane. I need the contact information for your real estate agent.”
He reaches into his pocket and produces a card, which he holds up and then offers me. I stare at it, aware that if I take it, he’ll touch me. “I don’t bite unless you tell me to bite, beautiful. You know that.”
I reach forward and take the card, but he catches my hand, and a charge rolls up my arm, but his words, and his eyes staring into mine, are what hold on to me. “I handled it. Let it go.” He releases me, and I cut my gaze, shoving the card into my pocket, my hand trembling when my hand never fucking trembles.
“Where were you this afternoon?”
“In my office.”
“Which, I assume, can be corroborated by half your staff.”
“And a camera.”
“Of course. A camera. Don’t leave town until we’re done questioning you.”
“You’re here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I force myself to look at him. “I’ll be in touch.”
I turn away and start walking, feeling the weight of his stare, and just when I’m about to disappear between the vehicles again, he calls out, “You still have a nice ass.”
I cup my hand behind me and shoot him my middle finger. He laughs, a low, deep, taunting laugh that fades into the wind, even though he refuses to fade out of my life. I quicken my pace, placing much-desired space between him and me, and finding Shirley waiting on me at the gate. Ignoring him in hope of avoiding conversation, I pass him by, step onto the sidewalk, and charge toward the porch.
“I heard you used to date him,” Shirley says, falling into step with me. “And they called you Marilyn and Pacino, you know, because Kane was born into a crime family and your mother was a famous actress who once played Marilyn Monroe and was married to the mayor. And then your mother was killed and—”
“Bringing up my dead mother is in very bad taste,” I say, stopping to face him, his face reddening in response, but I’m not done teaching him a lesson. “And since you seem to be getting fed gossip on me, let me just give it all to you. Did you know I slept with Keanu Reeves, too?”
“You did? Was it the Matrix Keanu or the older John Wick Keanu?”
I never have time to watch movies and have no idea what he means by John Wick, but I just go with it. “Both,” I say, “but the John Wick version was older. Wiser. Better in bed.”
He holds up his hands. “That’s more information than I needed to know.”
“You’re right. It is. That’s my point. Holy fuck, Shirley. You aren’t from here, are you?”
He blanches, looking quite confused. “No. Connecticut. How did you know?”
“Because gossip is an outsider’s fodder. And if you believe I slept with Keanu Reeves, or Kane Mendez, with nothing to back it up but words, you will never be anything but someone else’s babysitter.”
I give him my back and climb the stairs back into the house. Rivera is waiting for me in the doorway, one shoulder on the doorframe, one laced-up loafer over the other, his eyes cold and calculating. “What’d you find out?”
“Nothing. Not one damn thing.” I try to walk around him.
He steps in front of me. “I don’t believe you.”
He’s close, his spicy, overused cologne misplaced at a crime scene and irritating my nostrils. “Step aside, Rivera.”
“You’re done here.”
“On what grounds?”
Seconds tick by, his eyes glinting with a mixture of hate and lust that, while familiar, never becomes tolerable.
“On what grounds, Sergeant Rivera?” I repeat.
“Conflict of interest.”
“What conflict of interest?” I press.
“Mendez.”
“There is no conflict of interest with Mendez.”
“We both know that’s a lie. I want you off my case.”
I think of Murphy’s urgency to get me here. “And when the FBI claims jurisdiction?”
“Even if they do, you won’t be the agent in charge. I’ll make sure of it. I told you. I want you off my case.”
I narrow my gaze on him, and my first thought is that this situation isn’t what it seems. Rivera’s over-the-top reaction reads as being as manufactured as my confronting Officer Rogers to avoid Kane Mendez.
“Did you hear me?” he demands. “I want you off my case. When your director finds out you fucked Mendez—”
“I heard you,” I say. “You want me off your case.” Maybe a little too much, I think, before adding, “We’ll leave it to the powers that be to decide.”
I turn and start walking, but I’m not going anywhere. Kane’s right. I do belong here, at least for now and until I figure out what this all has to do with me, before someone else does first.
I climb into my rental and dial Director Murphy, who answers the call this time. “What do you have to report, Agent Love?”
“Same MO, different state.” I don’t give him time to ask for details. “How did you know I needed to be here tonight? How did you predict a murder?”
“That was a surprise.”
“But you wanted me here tonight, earlier rather than later.”
“Coincidental politics. Nothing more. Nothing I’m going to involve you in.”
“But I am involved. I’m the one who’s here.”
“And well equipped to do a quick, thorough investigation.”
“I have a history with Kane Mendez.”
“Which makes you the perfect candidate to get into his head.”
“Why do I need to be in Kane’s head?”
“He’s connected to this. Tonight makes that clear.”
“I didn’t tell you that
. How do you know he’s connected?”
“I looked up the crime scene address. I know he owns the property.”
“But that doesn’t make him responsible for the murder.”
“That’s true, but anyone else working this case would assume he is because of who he is, and I don’t like the obvious as an answer to anything.”
“Are you protecting Kane Mendez? Is he a part of the politics you keep mentioning?”
“There’s always pressure to close cases and calm the public, and that doesn’t always mean solving the case.”
“You mean creating a fall guy.”
“That’s right. And I don’t do fall guys.”
“But Kane Mendez isn’t anyone’s easy fall guy.”
“You’re right,” Murphy says. “He’s not, but when you appear invincible, you become a challenge.”
My brow furrows. “I really don’t understand what’s going on here.”
“Just go catch me a killer, Agent Love.”
“I will,” I assure him. “But you should know that Rivera wants me off the case. He’s going to be a problem, but I’ll handle it.”
“If you need me to—”
“I don’t. This was just an FYI.”
“Noted. Check in tomorrow.” He ends the call and I start the engine, but I pause as Kane’s words come back to me: I handled it. Let it go.
I’m suddenly not sure whether he was talking about the past and my secret, or the present and tonight’s murder.
I pull onto the highway with one thought: my secret has secrets. It’s that thought that directs my path. I start driving and instead of ending up at the cottage I rented, I find myself in the garage of the beach house I inherited from my mother, while my father maintains what he calls the “Master House.” I never really understood why we had two homes only miles from each other, but I always suspected my mother kept this house to get some much-needed space from my father. Although he tended to follow her, so I’m not certain it worked. Whatever the case, it became my getaway after I left Cornell to recover from her death. And then later it became a weekend getaway from the city when I decided two years of law school was enough and joined the NYPD.