Murder Girl (Lilah Love 2)

“Can you text me a name, data, and the person?”

“I can,” he says, “but just so you know, he dropped dead of a heart attack three nights ago.”

My gaze meets Kane’s, and we share a look of understanding: the man was murdered. “All right,” I say. “Text me the information anyway. What about Greg Harrison? Did you pull his file?”

Kane arches a brow at that.

“Shit,” Lucas says. “I was ready to get wasted on that forty-year single malt scotch you brought me. Give me a half hour.”

“If I don’t answer, leave me a detailed message.” I pick up the phone and end the call.

Kane is in front of me by the time I’ve set it back down, tugging my holster fully into place and connecting the buckle. And I let him. “A forty-year scotch?” he asks, his hands settling on his hips. “That’s an expensive showing of gratitude.”

“I stopped by my father’s house and took it.”

He laughs. “Sounds like you and serves the bastard right.” He pulls a small handgun from the back of his pants and shows it to me.

“My favorite flavor of Ruger,” I say of the brand, accepting it.

“And unlike your service weapon,” he says, offering me another ankle holster, “it won’t track back to me or you.”

“Right,” I say, accepting the strap. I start to turn away, and he catches my hip.

“Lilah—”

“Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. I get it. I’m in your world tonight, not mine.”

“My world is your world.”

His cell phone buzzes and his jaw flexes. “We aren’t done with this conversation.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and glances at the text. “My men are ready to shadow us to the airport.”

I nod and squat down, strapping on the ankle holster under my boot and inserting the gun. When I stand, Kane is two feet away, shrugging into a thin brown leather jacket that, while stylish, serves a purpose. It covers his holster. I grab an equally presentable but effective thin black leather jacket and pull it on over my holster. That’s when my gaze catches on my badge that I have yet to return to my belt, and Kane’s words come back to me: Your world is my world.

Since the moment I met him, that is true, right or wrong, good or bad. I can’t deny that. I’ve tried for two years, and here we are, which means I need to control what that means. I pick up my badge and walk to Kane. “Do I influence your actions?” I hold up the badge. “Do you think about my badge before you make decisions?”

“All the fucking time.”

“Did you think about it when I was gone?”

“Yes. Because I didn’t plan on staying away from you or you from me.”

“Then I’m keeping the damn badge. Because you don’t get to be your fucking father. I won’t let you.” I turn and start walking toward the door, grabbing my phone and sticking it in my pocket on the way past the table. And I can feel him wanting to pull me back, but he doesn’t. He can’t right now. We have an assassin waiting on us.

A few minutes later, Kane and I are on the road in his black Mercedes Roadster, which is a new addition to his garage. “Expensive,” I say as we settle into a steady speed on the highway, “but not too expensive.” I glance over at him. “Smart. A man who knows he draws attention and settles in the middle.”

“I have my extravagant moments,” he says. “You know that I’ve never cared for the spotlight. That hasn’t changed.”

“But you do enjoy power and control.”

“I won’t deny that as a truth.”

“And in contrast, my father craves the spotlight. That made him a target for those people, didn’t it?”

“Yes. And because of that hunger in him, like many political figures, he will look like he has power and control, but he will be controlled, submissive even.”

“I can’t save him, can I?”

“No. You can’t save him.”

“Could you have? At any point, could you have saved him?”

“You could theorize that I could have, had I found out before he dived in headfirst, but as you said, he wants the spotlight, and to some, that’s a drug that makes them addicts.”

“I searched his office at his house. I found a number with no name. I called it and Greg answered.”

“And?”

“He said he’s doing contract security right now and he gave his new number to my father for potential work.”

“Sounds like a bad lie to me.”

“A lie that he stumbled over,” I say. “And I told you, I all but saw him spoon a Romano, when a Romano bust is what supposedly got him in trouble. I’d like to think he’s just trying to clear his name, but the connection to my father has me thinking he’s one big fucking lying, cheating loser.” That thought pisses me off, and I grab my phone and dial Lucas on speaker again.

“Fuck, Lilah,” he groans, and then slurs his words. “You’re an impatient hussy bitch.”

“Yeah. I know you love me. What about Greg Harrison?”

“He has an open IA case, but the record is blank.”

My brow furrows. “Blank?”

“Yes. Blank. As in there is a record, but it’s blank.”

“Smart-ass,” I snap. “Obviously you’re too drunk to do this now. Call me tomorrow.”

“I could hack the United States of America ten times more sloshed than I am right now. The record is blank. I’m not going to call you tomorrow to tell you the same thing.”

“When did he leave his job?” I ask.

“No documented resignation or termination.”

And yet Greg told me he quit. I’d have Lucas check for an update tomorrow, but it’s too dangerous, and I can find out this part of the equation through Murphy. Kane pulls us into the airport. “Go drink, Lucas. Celebrate your greatness. Call a woman who isn’t me and get drunk with her. The booze is on my father.”

“What? Oh fuck. Is this your father’s booze?”

He’s drunk and can’t remember shit. I hang up on him.

“Sounds like Greg made a deal,” Kane says, parking us near the door and under a light, no accident I am certain.

“The question is with who?”

“I know how to find out,” he offers.

“How?”

“A chair and some rope.”

“If you were anyone else, I’d think that was a joke. But you’re you, so I’m saying this as if it needs to be said because apparently it does. No chair. No rope.”

“For him or for you?”

“Kane—”

“You can think about both or give me a wink and I’ll think about it.” He glances at his watch. “Time to go meet Ghost.” He reaches for his door, and I do the same, and together we walk into the building.

“Now what?” I ask.

He indicates a blank sign by a door, and we walk that direction, exiting to a private strip of the airway at the same moment that a chopper appears in the near distance, heading our direction. “You’re sure about this?” I ask.

“If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be going with me.”

“And yet you had me arm myself with an unregistered gun and a knife.”

“If I wasn’t cautious, you wouldn’t be with me either.”

I don’t really want to think about what kind of deal Kane has made with an assassin to feel safe with him. Or how much business he might have done with him to create loyalty, and now isn’t the time to ask for details that might piss me off. The chopper comes in for landing, the sound roaring in my ears, the blades lifting my hair from my neck. The minute the blades hover just above pavement, Kane’s hand settles at my spine and urges me forward. We hurry toward the small industrial aircraft, and there won’t be staff or steps to aid our boarding.

Kane opens the door and holds up a finger, indicating he wants me to wait, and once he has my nod, he climbs inside, and I watch him move to the front where he leans toward the pilot. Thirty seconds later, he’s offering me a hand, and I’m jumping on board. We head to