Bloody Love (Lilah Love 6)

“My guy in L.A. looked him up. He’s licensed,” I say. “Which is what makes this odd to me. His name is Rip Vaughn. You know him?”

He snorts. “I know him. He’s a dick, or was a dick, keeping it in the appropriate tense. I had no idea he was a doctor.” He powers up his computer. “And I’m not sure why a guy of his caliber would be playing a game that teaches you to invest. He’s a player, a big-time investor, worked with my firm for a while, but got pissed off over a stock he held onto when our guys told him to sell. Told someone it was our fault. He’s also a part of some venture capital group for startups.”

“Can you find out what he’s invested in?” I ask.

“That won’t be hard, at least not from a market standpoint. The venture capital group could be another story. It will take some time, but I’ll get it done. Just knowing who he’s investing in will be only part of the puzzle. You need to know what they’re investing in. I’m betting there’s a medical connection.”

My mind races and lands in a certain place with a heavy thud. “Look for military connections, as in weapons research.”

“All right. But where is that coming from? What don’t I know? Because the more I know, the more I’ll know what hidden secrets might be buried where.”

I hesitate but I need his limitless hacking skills, and by limitless, I mean without the rules Tic Tac will follow, with hands tied. “This can’t go beyond me and you,” I warn.

“Never,” he replies. “You know that.”

“The murder weapon is inserted into a pill or edible item and once swallowed, it’s like a sponge that has water added. It expands and blades cut into the throat of the victim.”

“Holy shit. Ah, yeah. That’s military. Top secret is my guess.”

At that moment, Jay sets my favorite strawberry pie and a fork in front of me. The same pie Kane brings me when I’m working on a frustrating case or upset. It’s my comfort food. My reaction is instant. I spring to my feet and glare at him. “Why are you bringing that to me?” I demand.

His eyes go wide. “It’s your favorite. I thought you might need that right now.”

“You think he’s dead,” I accuse, and my heart is shattering in a million pieces right now. “Oh God, is he dead?”

The front door opens and I whirl around toward the sound, holding my breath, certain Kit is about to walk into the room and tell me Kane is dead. And I don’t think I can survive it. I know I can’t. I can’t do this.

I can’t do this.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kit steps into view, his jaw set hard, his expression harder.

The floor seems to spin beneath my feet, the room with it, and I can barely breathe. Several familiar men follow Kit, and I hang onto hope, searching for Kane in the mix. One man, two. Three. No Kane.

I don’t know how I ever left him. How I let time with Kane slip away from me. Why I let Pocher, and my badge, get between us. I pushed him away and now I’ve lost him.

Until—wait.

Wait, it can’t be.

But he’s here.

Kane steps into view.

I blink again, and yes. Kane is here.

Suddenly, all those emotions I’ve been battling explode inside me, an eruption of so many feelings. I drink him in with the visual inspection of someone desperate for confirmation, for proof that what they’re seeing is real.

He’s wearing someone else’s sweats and a T-shirt. His skin is angry and blistered, his thick, dark hair in disarray, but even now, even in his present condition, he is Kane Mendez, a man who owns the room, even commands it, just by being present.

There are so many thoughts in my head, fueling more of those emotions until I no longer have the capacity to hold them in. Adrenaline surges through me and I race toward Kane, but I don’t throw my arms around him. I push against him, punch at him. “You asshole,” I hiss. “You didn’t call. You left me here worried and you, Kane, asked me to marry you. You don’t get to die before the damn wedding. Do you understand me?” I try to hit him again.

He catches my wrists and pulls me to him, his dark eyes boring into me. “Lilah,” he says softly, his voice sandpaper rough before he’s cupping my head and kissing the hell out of me. And I don’t care who’s watching. Anger and pain become need and desperation. I kiss the hell out of him, too, and he tastes of salt and dark passion. He tastes like the man I love and can’t lose.

His lips part from mine and he leans down, his mouth against my ear, and says, “I love you, too.”