Murder Girl (Lilah Love Book 2)

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Don’t bet on that.”

  He hangs up.

  “Asshole,” I murmur, and turn to stare out at the darkness, where the water stretches into a sea of eternity and my mind replays the feeling of driving that knife into yet another man’s chest. I want it to freak me out. I want it to make me melt down. Instead, I think back to the night on the beach, my attack. My knife driving over and over into that Blood Assassin’s chest. Kane’s words play in my mind next: It’s okay to enjoy it.

  “No,” I whisper. “It’s not.” I toss the bloody blanket still draped over me over the edge and watch it sink into the water, washing away the blood as it does. I grab my badge, remove the photo I have inside it, and then toss it as well, watching it sink. And with it, the rules it represents.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “I could ticket you for pollution.”

  At the sound of my brother’s voice, I turn to find him joining me on the boat. “I was just ridding myself of some dirt. I would think you’d want to do the same.”

  “We’re back to this?”

  “We never left this.”

  “Then let me repeat what I told you before. Whatever you think you know, Lilah, you don’t.”

  “Why was your phone off?”

  “I was in a meeting.”

  “Vibrate works just fine.”

  “Pocher takes our phones. He’s that paranoid.”

  “What? He’s afraid someone will know he gets off on the vibrations or what?”

  “Can you ever not be a smart-ass?”

  “Yes,” I say, though that quite possibly might be a lie. “Just not on the days I’m covered in the blood of two dead men after one of them came close to killing me. Back to you. Your phone. You are the police chief. You can’t just turn it off.”

  “Eddie was on call.”

  “Yeah, well, that worked great. His phone was off.”

  “Yeah, well, forgive me if I don’t fire him, sister. In case you didn’t notice, he’s dead right fucking now.”

  “Stop cursing at me!”

  “You curse at me all the fucking time. He was my friend. He’s dead, and you came damn close to joining him. Now is not the time to throw daggers at each other.”

  “You scared me. And for more than one reason, so yes. I will throw daggers and keep throwing them until you feel them enough to get your shit straight.”

  “I have my shit straight. And you scared me, too. I couldn’t get that asshole off you.”

  “But you did, and I killed him. Right after you wouldn’t answer your phone and I thought he was going to kill you. Don’t do that again.”

  We stare at each other, and he scrubs his jaw. “Damn it. I don’t want us to fight.”

  “Me either.”

  “You see monsters where there are no monsters.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes, Lilah. I am sure.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “What else do I say? I hate fucking blood and I’m wearing it. Nothing about this conversation is going to improve at this very moment.”

  “You’re right. You need to go clean up and rest. Unless you have an objection as lead on this case, I’ll run the crime scene.”

  I want to control it myself. I want back on that boat. I want to look for clues, but to what end? The only place they could lead is the Society, and I need room to breathe to figure out how to hurt them. I need them to think that I backed out. “Take the scene,” I say. “I’ll make a statement tomorrow and follow up on the details as they unfold.”

  “That works, but give me something to go on. What do you know about the killer?”

  “They call him the Gamer. And my boss says he’s known, but not beyond the nickname. He was—is—a big deal. This was a win, he said.”

  “You believe he killed them all?”

  “Yes. Including Woods.”

  He paused a beat, two at the most. “And this closes the case?”

  Closing the case is all he cares about. Nothing else. I want to shake him. I want him to care about something other than covering for Pocher. I want to tell him that Pocher killed Mom, but now isn’t the time for that either. “He confessed,” I say, and then I add a willing lie I intend to get back to the Society. And I do so because it leads me to an open field where the Society will roam and graze, and I will poison them. Destroy them. Hurt them first. “He said it was personal,” I continue. “I have no proof if it was or was not, so yes. I’m closing it.”

  “Who gave you the tip to come here tonight?”

  “I told you. It was anonymous.”

  “Delivered by who and how?”

  The push makes me feel like he’s asking this for someone else. “A stranger on the street,” I say, offering him a method that is impossible to check when I add, “a kid. A teen. He ran off before I could get more from him.”

  “Then it’s over?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We need this behind us. I’ll have a patrol car take you home.”

  “Work the scene. Use your people to take care of your people.”

  “Because you’re leaving with Kane.”

  “With my boss’s blessing,” I assure him.

  “Really?” he asks, sounding less than convinced, but then I had about the same reaction.

  “No. I lied because I want to fuck him all night long.”

  “Jesus, Lilah. Give me a break for just one night. I’ll call you when this is done.”

  “It’s got to be midnight. Call me in the morning.”

  He nods and starts to turn and then hesitates. “Your boss is right. This is a big win. It’s over and you’re alive.” He walks away, leaving me with a million ways to take that statement, and I don’t like the similarities to my father’s earlier tone. But if I analyze that thought now, I could lose my shit and go after his. I need sleep. I need a shower. I need to think. And my wet clothes are a constant chill on my mind and body.

  I step off the boat and work my way through the busy walkway, and this time I don’t stop. I hurry toward the yellow tape with the intent of continuing on to the parking lot, where I am certain Kane will be waiting for me. Another moment where I realize that the only person I’m ever certain of is Kane. And Rich. I know I can predict Rich’s actions, because he is an honorable man. I duck under the tape, and I’ve traveled all of two steps when Alexandra is in front of me, halting my progress. Next thing I know, she’s sobbing and throwing her arms around me, seemingly oblivious to the blood all over me. She starts this frantic mumbling of things I can’t even understand before she pulls back, her eyes and nose red. Her cheeks are tear-streaked, yet this emotional display feels fake to me. And sure enough, she now has blood on her cheek and probably more hidden in the black of her T-shirt.

  “Eddie and I were fighting,” she says. “The last words I said to him were not nice.”

  Not nice.

  That’s her version of cussing him out.

  It reads like a woman putting the finishing touches on the stage set. Did she do exactly what it seems, to me, she did? Set a stage and let someone else attack?

  “I have to see him,” she says, starting to pass me. “I have to—”

  I grab her arm. “No. You can’t go past the tape.”

  “I have to see him!”

  “Alexandra.”

  At my brother’s voice, I whirl around as he catches her shoulders. “You need to calm down,” he brilliantly tells her, like that won’t set her off all over again. “And you shouldn’t be here or driving.”

  “I am going to see him!” she shouts, proving my point and not even slightly calmed down. “Move out of my way.”

  Two officers step to Andrew’s side, and Alexandra just gets bigger and louder in their presence. A few minutes of chaos follow that end with Andrew on this side of the tape, his arms around her, before he picks her up and starts walking. I watch them depart, heading toward the parking lot, two officers shadowing them, and I don’t
like the place my mind goes. My brother is a good man, but he’s involved in this mess. Maybe more than I want to believe, and I have to change that before he ends up as fucked as Eddie.

  I wait until they disappear around the corner, then start walking toward Kane’s car. Once it’s in view, so is he. I find him leaning on his Roadster, ankles crossed, hands at his sides. Waiting on me, and as Murphy declared, he’s an enemy to everyone but me. I don’t know if that is ultimately true, but I know that Kane would bury a body for me. For a woman covered in blood who just killed a man, that’s damn romantic.

  He watches me approach, and he doesn’t come to me or coddle me, thank God. I stop in front of him. “I threw away my badge.”

  “When?”

  “A few minutes ago. I also killed for you.”

  “What does that mean, Lilah?”

  “The Gamer told me he killed you, and there was no coming back for him after that.” It’s a truth I admit to myself only in this moment. “He was going to die after he made that declaration.”

  “And you blame me for your actions?”

  “No. Not at all. But that badge keeps me sane. You make me insane.”

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “It’s not about which one I prefer, because insane wins. You know you win. But it’s about what is right and wrong.”

  “And where does that statement leave you and us?”

  “I’ll let you know when I decide.” I walk to his passenger door, and when he unlocks it and joins me in the V of the open door, I turn to him. “I’m going to make a mess of your car.”

  He grabs me, pulls me to him, and kisses me hard and fast before he pulls back.

  “You have blood on your face,” I say.

  “A little blood doesn’t bother me,” he says, “unless it’s yours.” He turns away, toward the car, and it hits me that Kane is with blood as I am with bodies: he really isn’t even slightly bothered by it. Therein lies our difference, which feels significant. Bodies to me are shells of the living. Blood is the magic of life. I can remove my badge from between Kane and me but not the blood. And yet, I still get into the car.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Kane and I have one exchange once we’re both sealed inside his car. Technically it’s not even an exchange. I’m the one who speaks. “Your place,” I say.

  He looks over at me, his strong features drenched in shadows, and he says nothing. I like this about Kane. He doesn’t waste words. He doesn’t create a need for explanations and chitchat. In this case, he simply starts the engine, places the car in gear, and gets us the hell away from the marina. The rest of the drive is silence. It’s an easy silence, which says much about our comfort level with each other, and that leads to what I most need to be doing right now: sleeping.

  It’s been one hell of a long day, with hardly a blink of sleep the night before, and I lay my head on the leather seat, close my eyes, and I’m out. I don’t even dream. There are no flashbacks of blood, knives, and murder. I don’t even know I’ve fallen asleep until the sound of Kane’s garage opening wakes me. I sit up and stare at the door opening, and it’s a welcome sight. This place is an escape to me, an oasis with a wall around it, the one place where I don’t have to pull out a weapon and start shooting or cutting my way through the sea of sharks surrounding me.

  I don’t even wait for the engine to be shut off. I exit the car and walk into the house through the kitchen. Beyond it, I pass through the living room and don’t even hesitate to start up the stairs. I enter his bedroom and walk straight to his luxurious and masculine bathroom of gray stone and tiles. I also don’t hesitate to strip away my clothes, start the shower, and step under the hot water.

  It’s then that I watch the blood pool at my feet. So much blood. Images flash in my mind, the memory of falling backward into the blood-soaked carpet. The blood is what is fucking with me. The damn blood. I shake my head and press my hands to my face. The shower door opens and Kane, still fully dressed, appears.

  He hands me a glass of whiskey. I down it and glance at his cheek. “Fuck, Kane. You have blood all over you.” I hand him the glass. “Get it off.”

  He narrows his eyes on me but doesn’t say what I know he is thinking: You still aren’t over the blood. He takes the glass and gets rid of it, I don’t know or care where, before he undresses and joins me. I grab a bottle of soap and spray it on him. It’s not about romance. I want the blood gone.

  He rinses off, water splaying all over his muscles as he flexes here and there. He looks good. That fact, and his money and power, and every Hollywood freaking starlet in this town wants to win his favor. That’s not me. “I’m not having sex with you, even though you look like that naked,” I announce.

  “I know,” he says, palming his hair back over his head.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because that’s not what you need from me tonight.”

  “What do I need?”

  “To talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Your badge. The one we both know you can’t get rid of.”

  I’m not a big scowl person, but it happens here and there when I feel extra inspired. I’m extra inspired by his mixed messages. I scowl. “It’s what you wanted.”

  “Not for the reasons you chose to do it right now.”

  “Really? What are my reasons?”

  “To take off your own cuffs and mine. And that doesn’t work.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Kane?”

  “I do the dirty work so you don’t have to.”

  “Not anymore. That’s the point. My freedom and yours.”

  “That’s the point that doesn’t work. I pull you a little bit over here with me. You pull me a little bit over there with you. And we meet in the middle. That’s why we work.”

  “You said you wanted this,” I repeat.

  “You can leave and still be you, but if you leave right now, in your present state of mind, it will change you. And I might be able to live with that, but you can’t.”

  “I want to slap you again.”

  “As long as my palm gets your cheek afterward, I’ll let you.”

  “You’ll let me. I’m done.” I move for the door. He pulls me to him and kisses me. “What happened to talking?”

  “Things change. It’s not what you need anymore.” His mouth closes back down on mine, and I don’t fight him. He’s right. Things change, which is the entire point of me throwing my badge in the water. I need a change.

  I wake up in Kane’s bed, draped in sheets so divine they must be a million thread count, sunlight beaming through a nearby window. I roll over and find him on his back staring at the ceiling. I do the same. “First three thoughts that come to your mind,” he says.

  “I’m in your bed. These sheets are really soft and must cost a fucking fortune. I don’t have my badge. Your turn.”

  “You’re in my bed. These sheets do cost a fucking fortune. And you don’t have your badge.” He gets up and pulls on pajama bottoms. “I’ll make coffee.”

  “You’re wrong,” I say, knowing what he’s thinking. “I don’t want it back.”

  “No,” he agrees. “But you need it back.” He heads for the door, and I watch him exit.

  “You’re fucking wrong, Kane Mendez.”

  “Tell me that after you’ve had your fucking coffee,” he calls out, his voice growing farther away.

  I inhale and blow it out, biting back another shout. I will have my words with him over that coffee. I throw away the blankets, and naked as the day I was born, I walk into the bathroom. I pee. On my way to the sink to brush my teeth, I realize that my horror-movie clothes are missing. Kane took care of them. When he’s not being the definition of an asshole, he really knows how to be a non-asshole.

  I brush my teeth and pull on one of Kane’s T-shirts before walking into the bedroom, my gaze landing on the nightstand where I charged my phone last night. I grab it and note the missed call from my father. I sit on the bed and
listen to the message: Your boss was right. This was a win. You’re alive and this is over.

  Not: I’m worried about you, Lilah. How are you, Lilah? And yes, I hate that question, but a father should care enough to ask it. Last night, not this morning. Instead, he repeats the same statement Andrew had made to me. It feels like a threat from my father and, in the morning light, a warning from my brother. This drives home one point: the Gamer might be dead, but the people who hired him to kill me are not. I hurry toward the door and down the stairs. Kane stands at the coffeepot and turns to face me as I pause on the opposite side of the island, set my phone down, and press my hands to the counter.

  “What keeps the Society from sending Ghost or someone else after me again?”

  Kane walks to the island and mimics my position, his hands pressed to the counter as well. “Me and Pocher.”

  “Pocher? Why would Pocher stop them?”

  “I promised you that I’d make the person responsible for your attack pay. I meant it. And the minute I found out that was Pocher, I began making that happen.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He’ll come to you soon for a favor. He’ll need you. You’ll know what to do when he does.”

  “I repeat. What does that mean?”

  “Deniability, Lilah. Once again, it’s my gift to you.”

  I want to push him, but I know him. It’s wasted breath. “Pocher is one man in the Society. How can he offer me any protection?”

  “He’s powerful. And he’ll be motivated to make your interests his interests.”

  “What happens when he makes destroying you his interest?”

  “You underestimate me, Lilah. He won’t, I promise you.”

  “I don’t underestimate you, Kane.”

  My cell phone rings, and I glance down to find Murphy’s number. “My boss or ex-boss or whatever the hell he now is.”

  I answer the line. “Director.”

  “I’m here.”

  My gaze meets Kane’s, and his brow lifts at my obvious shock. “Here as in where?”

  “In East Hampton. We need to have a one-on-one talk.”

  “Where and when?”