Love Me Dead

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  I disconnect and hurry past our apartment security. The minute I’m inside the apartment, I call Kane. “Did you meet with Roger?”

  “Not that now. Tropical storm Beth is coming. That means rain and murder, and it’s Beth. That means something. I need the number to Beth’s security person.”

  “I’m texting it to you now. I have to go into a meeting. I’ll call you right after.”

  “Yes. Okay.” I hang up and dial the security person, updating him as I start a pot of coffee. He’s with Beth, and he places her on the line.

  “Listen, it’s probably nothing, but the rain, the blood, the storm named Beth. I just want you to be careful.”

  “I’m here. The guard is great. I feel pretty okay here.”

  “The guard is great? And you feel okay there? Okay. That’s unexpected but good. And even better, you’re getting your samples.”

  “I heard. You know this is saving the lab six figures. That’s how much getting in this same equipment would have cost them. All and all, this worked out. I’m digging in the minute the samples arrive. Any leads?”

  “I’m working on some things.” It’s not really much of an answer but it turns into chit chat that really isn’t my thing, but I manage. The minute I hang up, my mind goes to Beth’s family. Damn it. They could end up suicide victims. I dial Jay and make arrangements to protect them. I’m literally using an army of Kane’s resources. I try not to think about what else he uses those resources for or how fucked up and contradictory it’s all becoming. Then again, maybe helping me is like my marks on the back of our photo. He’s redeeming himself. A good for a bad. He might need to do a lot of good. Why the hell doesn’t that bother me more than it does? That’s the reality here. I’m not as rattled by who and what Kane is as I vocalize. And he knows it.

  With coffee and strawberries in hand, I head to Purgatory and sit down at my desk. I don’t shut the door. I’ve always shut the door while in Purgatory, but not this one, not here. I’m not going to analyze why that is right now. The many layers to who I am with Kane Mendez are far too complicated and problematic. And good, but that’s another topic, too. I open my bag and set the pig on top of the desk. I should have left it for evidence but that meant Thomas, and for reasons I still can’t identify, I’m uncomfortable with that man. I’m actually uncomfortable with most people, but I deal with it. I just can’t with him.

  I stare at my board and repeat the data I know, looking for things that are similar and different between the two women. Mia had a boyfriend. Shelly didn’t.

  I dig through my paperwork to confirm. I’m correct. Shelly had no boyfriend. I also get irritated at Greg for not returning my calls. I dial him now. “Okay, asshole,” I say to his voicemail. “Whatever is going on with you, this is it. I got you back your job. Come Monday, it’s gone. Did I say asshole? I need you. I have something big going on.” I hang up.

  My phone rings, and lo and behold, it’s Greg. “Thank you, asshole, for calling back. What the fuck?”

  “I’m on a job. Private hire. It pays big. I’m not coming back. You should consider it. It’s damn good pay.”

  “I’m not in this for the money.”

  “Right. Rich bitch and all. You can buy me a drink when I get back next week.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Mexico. Heard a lot of shit about Kane Mendez down here. I’ll fill you in.”

  Says a man who was sleeping with a Romano, when a Romano killed Kane’s father, I think. “I don’t need to hear about Kane. I know about Kane.”

  “I doubt it. I doubt it very seriously, or else you’re not the person I know you to be.”

  “I’m not, Greg,” I say before I can stop myself. It’s out. It’s that whole embrace who you are lecture of Kane’s. It’s gone to my head.

  “Maybe you aren’t. But then maybe I’m not who you thought I was either. Later, Lilah.” He disconnects, and I sigh. He’s getting himself in trouble. I feel it. Then again, so am I, or I wouldn’t have run my mouth like that.

  I text Houston: Your guy is in. Mine is out.

  He replies with: The mayor wants you fired.

  I reply with: The mayor needs to eat a cookie and wax his bald head.

  He answers with: In case you didn’t see. He held the press conference. He told the city that Ralph’s suicide was a tragic accident and the two murders were isolated and unrelated.

  My cellphone rings, and it’s Murphy. I answer, “Hello, Director Murphy,” all polite and official, like a sweet innocent girl or something.

  “Don’t be stupid? To the mayor, Lilah?”

  “You can’t hide from stupid. His press conference will be answered and not by me. But by the asshole I’m hunting who wants attention he didn’t get. Saying nothing was better than stealing his thunder.”

  “He wants you fired.”

  That’s all he’s going to fucking say? “Okay,” I reply. “Am I fired?”

  “No, Agent Love, but if you make me come back to New York to save your ass, neither of us will enjoy my visit.”

  “If you come here, you can do your own dirty work rather than using Kane, because that’s where this is headed, right?”

  “I didn’t know you needed Kane to do your dirty work.”

  “My dirty work?”

  “Your dirty work is mine. If you don’t get that, you will. Stop pissing me off. Now get to work.” He hangs up. And this hang up shit continues and continues.

  I return to my note cards and focus on the one for Detective Lori Williams

  Redhead

  Police detective

  Boyfriend

  Killed stepmom

  Mom in a nursing home

  Father dead

  In my mind that bird and that man from those insurance commercials come to my mind: What do all of these people have in common? Nothing. That’s exactly right.

  I groan. The answer is not nothing. I shove a strawberry in my mouth and wash it down with coffee. I then pace, sit down, repeat. I look at the pig. I write down my name and Kane’s name again. I write down the words “the Society.” I set that card aside. I think that Beth being involved is what got me shoved down that rabbit hole. This is not the Society. They’d do an assassination, clean and done. This is not clean and done. And Kane went to war with Pocher recently and won. I don’t believe Pocher would cross him this fast or this directly. No. The Society is out.

  I write down “Junior” and set that card aside. Again, Junior feels like someone from the Hamptons, someone far less sophisticated than Umbrella Man. I write down “Roger” and stare at the name before sliding my name next to his. This guy is someone who has watched one or both of us; perhaps, we’ve crossed paths. Perhaps he was a part of one of our cases in the past.

  “Damn it,” I murmur and dial Roger.

  “Lilah. Or Agent Love. Interesting case. Melanie filled me in on the details.”

  Of course, she did. “What unsolved cases do you have that connect to these cases? What unsolved cases did we have that connects to these cases?”

  “I can’t think of any.”

  “Me either, but I feel like there’s something we’re forgetting, a connection, past or present.”

  “Maybe we should sit down and go through our old cases, and you can tell me what’s leading you here.”

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  “You go through your cases. If you see anything, send it to me.”

  “No to a meeting. Why Lilah? What’s going on?”

  “Murder, Roger. It’s a little time consuming. Let me know.”

  I disconnect and stare at his name on the paper. He was my mentor. I wanted to please him, but there was a point, in the end, where we started butting heads. That constant push and pull of me questioning him and him questioning me made leaving easier. No. I’m lying to myself. Killing someone and fearing he’d know is what made leaving so damn easy.

  My ga
ze lands on the pig Umbrella Man left me at the diner where Maria Mendez worked. He was bringing attention to Kane. Was he telling me, through Kane, that he knows who and what I really am? Was he telling me that we’re the same? Are we both killers hiding in plain sight? Was this his way of telling me that I’m looking right at him? He’s right in front of me. He’s close. He’s telling me that he knows me, and I know him. He’s so damn close, and that’s dangerous.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Kane calls me about an hour into my Purgatory torture. “Everything handled?”

  “Aside from the storm I can’t shut down and despite knowing that’s when he kills again, yes. It’s all just peachy fucking keen.”

  “Are you going to tell me what happened with Roger or are we avoiding that topic?”

  “I’m not avoiding anything including him. Yes, damn it, I saw him. He was far less intimidating than I remember.”

  “You’re afraid of yourself, not him,”

  “Are you my shrink now?”

  “I was repeating what you said earlier but I’m anything you need me to be, Lilah Love.”

  “Now? Here?”

  “Not yet. I’m taking care of that problem. And it’s like your storm. I can’t seem to shut it down. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  We end the call and that word “home” lingers in my mind. The thing is, since my mother died, there’s no place that feels like home, except here with Kane. My phone rings again, and this time, it’s my brother. I let it ring and go to voicemail. I do actually listen to the voicemail, which is all about family and support and getting my ass to the party. I consider calling back to tell him a few things, but that would earn me a lecture that would exhaust me. I need to catch a killer, and that’s my focus. I focus on pigs, umbrellas, and a monster. In doing so, at some point, time passes fairly rapidly and I end up in the center of the floor with papers everywhere, some of which are mini Hershey wrappers because, yes, Kane bought me chocolate. At present, I’m contemplating Murphy as the Umbrella Man, which tells you how desperate I am. I shut my eyes and will a real answer, that one in the back of my mind, to materialize. I open my eyes, and Kane is standing over me, and damn the man makes a suit look good. No wonder I give in to the sins of his dark world. Look at the man.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi, beautiful,” he says, “I was glad to see you come home to work earlier, just like old times.”

  “You saw me because you were watching me.”

  “Yes, Lilah. I was watching you.”

  “Stalker.”

  “You can watch me, too. We have cameras.”

  “That you record everything on.”

  He catches my hand and pulls me to my feet. “We can watch that together.”

  “You’re dirty.”

  “You like me dirty.” He strokes hair away from my face and kisses me hard and fast. “How is it coming?”

  “Like shit. He’s close. He’s someone I know, maybe we know.”

  “I’m gathering that considering that Mendez name today.”

  My cellphone rings, and I glance down at it on the floor to find my brother calling again. “Good lord. He’s stalking me now.”

  “We need to go shower and get dressed.” He takes my hand and leads me toward the door, stepping over papers. “I see you found the chocolate.”

  “We need another bag, and we’re not donating to my father’s campaign. He already has my mother’s money.”

  We step into the bathroom, and he kisses my hand. “No donation.” He catches the hem of my T-shirt. “Let me help you with that.”

  “Because you’re so helpful.” I push away from him. “I’ve got it.”

  “I’m not helpful?” He shrugs out of his jacket.

  I toss my shirt and unhook my bra. His gaze rakes over me, hot and heavy, before he pulls me to him. “What do you need help with now, Lilah?”

  “Nothing that requires clothing.”

  He catches a handful of my hair, and his mouth comes down on mine. From there, he doesn’t disappoint. Our clothes come off, and I’m reminded of how easily this man can make me forget even the worst, most horrific crimes, if only for a short while, but that escape keeps me human. He’s not going to make me a monster. He’s going to keep me from becoming one. We end up with me on the sink and him inside me, and when it’s over, he presses his cheek to mine and whispers, “I missed the hell out of you.”

  And for the first time since I’ve come back, I answer with what I really feel. “I missed you, too.”

  He pulls back and stares down at me, his expression unreadable and intense before he kisses me again and carries me to the shower. A long time later, I’ve indulged that part of me that is my mother’s daughter—the part that loves pretty things. I’m in the bathroom finishing up in a pink form-fitting knee-length dress, my lips painted the same shade, my hair a shiny silky brown around my shoulders. Kane joins me in his tuxedo, looking all Latin Stallion, with that air of danger especially edgy tonight.

  “God, woman,” he says, pulling me close. “You look stunning.”

  “Thank you,” I say, and it’s not awkward. He means his words. He just changes me. “I’ll certainly confuse a few people, fuck with some minds, you know?”

  “And we know how much you love that.” His cellphone rings, and he snakes it from his pocket, glancing at the number. His expression tightens, and he releases me to answer the line.

  “What now?” he asks. “No. Fuck, no.” He shifts to Spanish and gives me his back, walking out of the bathroom to the bedroom, where I pick up a few key lines like “Do I need to show him who the real fucking Mendez is?” That one gets me. I lean on the sink and squeeze my eyes shut, hating this is his world, our world, but I know Kane. I know he’s forced into this. I know he can’t just walk away.

  When he stops speaking, I enter the bedroom to find him standing at the window, one hand on the wall, his gaze on the skyline that is alight with the city, but I know that’s not what he sees. I know he’s in his head. I need to be there, too. I close the space between us and slip between him and the window. “I heard the part about the real Mendez.”

  His lashes lower, and he turns away, giving me his back again, but then he rotates to face me. “You know I do what I have to do. You know this.”

  “I’m not judging you, Kane. I told you. You can trust me.”

  “I fucking trust you, Lilah. We’ve had this conversation. It’s not about trust. What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

  “Okay, damn it. Forget all of that. You’re about to explode right now. If that were me, I’d talk to you. I’d break the rules and talk to you. Talk to me.”

  “My uncle is missing, Lilah. His right hand man wants to kill everyone he can find to kill, to make this right.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  “Yes. Oh fuck.”

  “You have to take control.”

  “Do you understand what you just said to me?”

  “Come on, Kane. You are your father’s son. You are who they all wanted in his place. You can stop this.”

  “What I want is to let them all kill themselves, but you know why I can’t?” He doesn’t give me time to respond. “Because the Society stepped back from the cartel. I made peace with Romano, despite knowing he killed my father for that very reason. I made peace with every enemy my father created, of which there were many, for that reason. And the minute we’re fighting amongst ourselves, the Society eats us alive.”

  “You already are in control, or you couldn’t have made peace. Do what you have to do and don’t hide it from me.”

  “You can’t be FBI and be with me if I’m pulled deeper into this.”

  “You already are. We both know it.” I step to him. “I’m not giving you permission to be a monster. I’m telling you that I will keep you in the middle. I’m not leaving again. You do what you need to do.”

  “Lilah, you don’t know—”

&nbs
p; “I know everything about you, even the things you don’t want me to know. I’m not leaving.”

  He catches my head and kisses me. “Holy fuck, woman, I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Now what?”

  “Now we go to the party and show the Society we’re in control.”

  “But what about your problem?”

  “It’s contained, at least for the moment.”

  A few minutes later, we step outside to find rain falling, and in it, I swear I see blood. Death is coming at us from all directions.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I shared a love for the Metropolitan Museum with my mother. Now, believing my father might have been involved in her death, even indirectly, I resent his fundraiser being held there. There is, however, another part of me that finds the pink dress and location such a part of her that it’s necessary. Because she was necessary. She made herself matter. She was good. She was what I wish I could be and never can be, but Kane and I both need me to try at least a little right now.

  We arrive at the event in a hired a car, and it’s not long until we’re inside a building of towering ceilings, amazing sculptures, and clusters of tuxedos and sparkling dresses. Of course, there are also banners and balloons that all say Love for Governor. There are also waiters with finger foods roaming the room, the kind of nasty shit no one really wants. “Why can’t they just give us chocolate and champagne?” I ask.

  Kane catches a waiter with a tray of the latter. I accept a glass. “One of the two,” he says. “Better than nothing.”

  “Do you know what I want?”

  “To be the hell out of here?”

  “Aside from that. I want to go see the dinosaurs. We should sneak out.”

  “Let’s show our faces and then we’ll find the dinosaurs.” He offers me his arm, and we start the torturous process of greeting people who are all giddy over my father. “You must be so proud!” one woman says. “He’ll be incredible!” another says.

  “Shoot me and bury me beside my mother,” I murmur.

  “Can’t do that,” Kane says. “You aren’t leaving me, remember?”

  I’d reply but Houston steps in front of us.