Love Me Dead (Lilah Love 3)

“I was busy cleaning up pig’s blood,” I say, though truly I had no idea he’d called me. I was busy with Kane. “Why were you calling?”

“Because I had something important to say.”

“Then say it.”

“Detective Williams had a juvenile record,” he says. “She killed her step-mother.”

“And she became a detective,” I say. “How the fuck did that happen?”

“Several layers of paperwork, name changes, and a friend of a friend who knew the right people. Sounds like you know who your killer is. This one isn’t that complicated.”

“Except it’s not her.”

“It’s her,” he says. “She’s a crazy person.”

“It’s not her. Send me her address. I’m going over there. And what about family, friends, exes?”

“Her mother’s in a nursing home. Her father’s dead. No siblings. She does have a boyfriend. His name is Ralph Redman. He’s a criminal attorney, and get this, he’s got photos of big game he shot hunting. Like a tiger and an elephant.”

“He’d know how to slaughter a pig for that blood,” I say.

“Wait. You brought up a pig before. You never finished that thought. What pig?”

“I guess you don’t know everything. You will, but seriously, you know Williams is missing, and you didn’t tell me about the animal killer?”

“What pig, Lilah?” He sounds exasperated.

“Pipe down. There was pig’s blood at the first crime scene. Text me the animal killer’s address, photo, and anything else I need.”

“Done. You have it now. He’s in court today. He’s representing a stalker. He’s that kind of creepy guy.”

It could be him, but it still feels off. It’s too obvious, like this is what I’m supposed to think, but chasing this lead may entertain Umbrella Man enough to delay another kill. I disconnect the call with Tic Tac and stare down at the photo of a decent looking man with neatly trimmed blonde hair. My phone beeps with a text from Tic Tac: I guess we were done?

I reply with: I had to kill someone. Currently cleaning up the mess.

Another text hits my phone, but this one is not from Tic Tac. It’s from Roger: Still waiting on your case file. Did you get mine?

I stare at the message. I want his file, but I’m not keen on sharing with Roger, not because he’s Roger, but rather my concern of corruption within the department. Roger’s old school. He’s close to the longer termers, and he generally thinks most people are beneath him. I could see him being in the Society.

For now, it’s a good excuse to avoid a man I don’t want to see. I text him back: I have yet to sit down to get the file done. Detective Williams is missing. More this evening. I’m walking into an interview.

I’m about to hit send, but I reconsider. I delete the part about Detective Williams, but I can’t say why. My gut just says to keep this quiet. I find Houston’s number in the text he’d sent me and hit dial. He doesn’t answer so I leave a message.

Roger hasn’t replied to my message. That works for me, but his silence won’t last. Roger never takes a backseat, and in this case, he’s been used by the killer, targeted like I have. If I don’t catch this killer quickly, Roger will be here, staring in my eyes and judging me.

I stand up to leave and it’s as if the man heard me, my phone buzzes with a text, and damn it, it’s Roger: We got our man here. I’m coming back.

I want to throw up. I set my phone down but manage to stare at his message. He’s coming back. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Inhaling, I reach in my field bag and pull out a photo of me and Kane, flipping it over to the marks I’ve made there. A mark for every murder I’ve solved since that night. That’s what Roger will see, the profiler who’s caught hundreds of killers. Not the profiler who is a killer. Not the profiler who killed easily. Not the killer who knows she could do it again. The only person who sees that part of me is Kane. And he’s the only one who will ever see her.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I catch an Uber to the apartment of Detective Williams’ boyfriend.

If I were anyone else, I might call Kane during my ride just to have him tell me I’m right; no one but him knows me or sees the real me. But I know this to be true. I don’t need a fucking man to tell me so. And I hate whiney, needy people who need to be coddled. I’m not going to become one of those people. Luckily, right as I’m about to call him anyway, my brother calls, and there is really nothing better in this world than a sibling punching bag.

We get that party started right out of the gate. “You coming home for the weekend or staying up there with your criminal boyfriend?” he asks.

“Says the guy dating his ex and taking hand me downs.”

“Oh fuck, Lilah. Did you really go there?”

“Since you’re dating that bitch, yes.”

“Speaking of being a bitch, Lilah.”

“Did you call just to tell me you love me or what?”

“I called because dad’s holding a fundraiser Friday night. You said you were going to be supportive. He’s running for Governor of our great state, sis. That’s big.”

“I know, but—”

“Already the but—”

“I’ve got a problem here,” I say, abbreviating to ensure the driver doesn’t put two and two together, but he doesn’t seem to know much English anyway. “And,” I add, “that problem’s hyper-focused on me. I’m not bringing him to you.”

“What the hell does that mean? A killer?”

“Yes.”

“Hyper-focused on you? What the fuck Lilah?”

“You need to relax. This is what I do, Andrew. And I’m in an Uber, so don’t ask for details. I’m fine.”

“How safe is your apartment?”

“Kane basically hired me a bodyguard, and I’m going to stay with him tonight.”

“Thank god for your criminal boyfriend.”

“Hanging up, Andrew.” And I do.

He calls back. “The fundraiser is at the Metropolitan Museum in the city. Show up. Bring Kane. Tell him to donate big.”

“I can’t. Not with this situation.”

“There will always be a situation. That’s who you are. I’m calling Kane to invite him.”

“Don’t call—” He hangs up and I murmur, “Kane.”

I dial Kane. He answers on the first ring. “You okay?” he asks.

“Am I okay? Why are you answering like that, asking me if I’m okay? You do know who I am, right?”

He laughs. “Yes, Lilah. I know very well who you are. Please forgive me for asking if you’re okay.”

“My brother—”

“Is calling me right now.”

“Yeah, don’t answer. It’s an invitation to a fundraiser for my father that we aren’t going to.” The Uber stops in front of Ralph Redman’s apartment building, and I get out. “That’s all I had to say. You go take care of your assholes. I’m presently working on mine.”

I watch a man walk toward the door that requires a code which means he’s my way in the building. “I have to go.” I hang up and rush after him, catching the door before it closes, and enter. I step into the entryway, and it’s reminiscent of Mia Moore’s place. Small foyer. Mailboxes to the left. Stairs directly in front of me. It’s not fancy, but it’s an expensive city to live in. My phone buzzes with a text, and I grab my phone to find a message from Kane: I accepted your brother’s invitation. We can fight about it in bed tonight.

I scowl and shove my phone back into my field bag. He probably didn’t even accept. He’s just trying to piss me off. He enjoys pissing me off. I’ll deal with him later. For now, I start up the stairs, stopping at level two. There are four door options, two right and two left. I go left per the address indicated. I’m a few steps further down the hallway when I realize that Redman’s door is open. I grab my weapon and then my phone, dialing Tic Tac. “Don’t ask questions,” I say when he answers. “Is Redman in court right now?”

“Checking.”

I can hear him punching the keyboard before he says, “Yes. He’s in session now.”

I disconnect and shove my phone in my waistband, approaching the door and kicking it open. “I’m behind you,” Jay calls out.