“Actually, I’m giving you a hard time, but I appreciate your bravery. Thus why I brought you chocolate cake. This, you can eat.” I set it in front of him, on the counter from across the island. “It’s safe. Shove it in your mouth hole.”
“I will.” He accepts it, a smile hinting on his lips. “Where are we going tomorrow?”
I eye Kane, who is now joining us from the living room entry, with the bottle of whiskey Andrew gave us in his hand. “We’re doing this bodyguard thing again?”
“Did we stop?” he asks, setting the whiskey on the counter and retrieving three glasses.
I don’t argue. I don’t mind backup I can trust. And if anyone proved I can trust him, it’s Jay, but that doesn’t mean we don’t need an understanding. “I’m not a damsel in distress,” I say, meeting Jay’s stare. “If we’re in the middle of an active incident and I tell you not to do something, don’t do it.”
“I’ll try,” he says, and he’s opened the chocolate cake container and already has a fork in hand.
“You’ll try?” I demand.
“If it’s you or me and a bullet, it’s me and the bullet,” he says, “and I won’t care what you say at the time. I won’t get a second chance once the gun is fired. Be happy about that. Bullets hurt a hell of a lot more than I knew.”
“If I tell you something, it’s for a reason.”
“Perhaps that reason will be to save my life, Ms. FBI Agent. That’s not how this works.”
Kane laughs and lifts his glass, pausing at his lips. “Now you know why I brought him back.”
My cellphone rings with Andrew’s number and I answer with, “Hold on,” before I look between Kane and Jay. “I can’t deal with either of you right now. I’ll let you figure out the morning plan on your own. I have to be in Hauppauge at eight and then straight to the city.” With that, I grab one of the glasses of whiskey and exit the kitchen.
“I’m back,” I say, speaking to Andrew and heading up the stairs. “Are you alone?”
“For the moment,” he says. “Why?”
I enter the bedroom and continue on to Purgatory, where I turn on the lights. “Watch your back.”
“I always watch my back.”
“If that were true, Samantha would not be in your bed.”
I can almost see the grit of his teeth. “You don’t know her like I know her.”
“Said one head to the other head and the wrong one won,” I reply and I don’t give him time to push back. “Kane and I are both good judges of bad character. She’s a bad character.” I sit down in the chair against the wall and slide my bag off my shoulder, letting it drop to the ground.
“Did you really call me in the middle of an investigation to talk about Samantha?” he snaps.
“I don’t trust Officer North or Danica Day either. Just be careful, asshole. That’s all.” I change the subject. “Anything else on the fake Naomi?”
“Nothing. I’ll call you and wake you up if we get something.”
“You’d enjoy that, but do it anyway.” I hang up and sit there a moment, just thinking about why I made that call. Why do I have a need to protect my brother, who really is a damn good police chief? Most likely the visit to the plot of land that is now the graveyard to my former house. And of course, the talk Kane and I had about my mother’s murder. Right now, I recognize that I’m hyper-focused on the sins of the Society. The same goes for Director Murphy.
And I can’t go down the Society rabbit hole right now and get obsessed with them. I have a murder to solve. And a killer who appears to be obsessed with me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I sleep exactly four hours, and I only do that at Kane’s insistence.
I know he loves me, but personally, I think he’s protecting himself. I’m a bitch when I don’t sleep. Okay, I’m more of a bitch than normal when I don’t sleep. And if there is one thing Kane Mendez is afraid of, it’s me in bitch mode.
As the morning throws me chaos, I decide I should have slept more.
I hurry through my shower, dress to confuse. That means black dress pants, Chanel ankle boots, and an emerald green silk blouse with my hair long around my shoulders. I look like a girl. It makes people expect me to be soft. I like it when people expect me to be soft. It makes them an even softer target.
Kane dresses in a suit the color of a deep blue wash of sea on a sunny day. He wears it like a king, arrogance radiating from him. I like him arrogant about as much as I like my targets soft. Both equal winning. And when it comes to the Society and a murder investigation, winning matters.
Jay picks Kane and me up in a black Escalade. Our first stop is the airport, where Kane is flying out on a chopper to the city while I ride deeper into Long Island for the autopsy. I say my goodbyes to Kane just outside the Escalade and then Jay and I are on our way. For the sake of the investigation, I lay my head back and shut my eyes. Sleep comes hard and fast and lasts until the vehicle halts. I jolt awake and sit up to find us sitting in front of a place called Duck Donut.
“What is this?” I demand. “I’m FBI, not a cop. We eat chocolate cake, not donuts.”
“I’m a Mexican,” he says. “We eat whatever we like and I like donuts. And they have a strawberry donut with buttercream icing. Thank me later.” He gets out of the vehicle.
Okay, that little monster has tempted me now, when I secretly swore to myself that I’d drink water and eat rice cakes today. Only I didn’t buy rice cakes or water. I was lying to myself. I hate people who lie, even to themselves.
And still, I climb out of the truck and hurry toward Jay, with donuts on my mind. “What the hell does a duck have to do with a donut?”
“They started out in Duck, North Carolina, and yes, apparently that’s a real place.” He opens the shop door for me and motions me forward. “Unless I’m not allowed to be a gentleman with you, Agent Love.”
“And why wouldn’t you?” I ask. “I’m a lady.” I head inside and the sweet smell of sugar and donuts touch my nose. To hell with rice cakes.
A few minutes later, Jay and I each have two donuts, mine are, of course, strawberry, while his are maple bacon, and we head to the vehicle. I walk to my side of the Escalade and stop dead in my tracks. There’s a note on the window and I know exactly who it’s from: my note writer who had gone MIA. Junior is back.
I scan the parking lot, but the strip mall is new, and Duck Donut is the only tenant. There are no other cars. Clearly, someone could have driven into the parking lot and posted the note and most likely they had been following us. Otherwise, they would not know I was in the passenger seat.
I walk around to Jays’ side of the vehicle. “I need my bag,” I say.
He reaches in the car and hands it to me, casting me a curious look. “What’s up?”
“Find out if there are cameras anywhere. Now.” I toss my donuts onto his seat. To his credit, he doesn’t ask questions. He’s already moving, shutting his door, walking back to the donut shop. I round the vehicle, bag the note, and glance down at the message. As in the past it’s short, not at all to any point, and created with cut out of letters from a newspaper. It reads: M is for money, M is also for more, and M is for Mendez.
Again, with the jabs at Kane. What the hell is Junior’s problem? And why now? I glance at my ring and decide the timing is no accident.
I toss the note in the seat and shut the door, with me on the outside, and start walking, checking the vacant spaces and finding them all locked and dark. When all is said and done, I’ve checked the perimeter and further, and I don’t even find a suspiciously parked vehicle. I head back to the Escalade and Jay is walking toward me. “No cameras. What’s going on?”
“Someone left me a note on my door,” I say.
“Then we were followed.”
“It looks that way,” I say, but I offer nothing more.
I motion to the vehicle and we make our way in that direction. Once I’m inside, I think about the timing
of the note. They first started when I returned to the Hamptons after years gone. And now, they start again when Pocher returns to the Hamptons after weeks gone.
There is no such thing as a coincidence. And I know then that whoever this is, stands close to Pocher’s side. That detail makes Junior easier to find. And I will.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Never ignore a theme in your life. And never blame that theme on someone else. You’re responsible for it, at least on some level. And if someone else is controlling the theme, then you had better fix it fast. That’s where I’m at.
For me right now, the theme of my life is “the games we play.”
My father is playing a game with my life. If that’s what you call tormenting my mother and potentially helping to plot her murder. Pocher has long been playing a game with my entire family’s lives. Emma’s killer is dragging me into a game. Junior has long been playing a game with me. And I’ve let it happen. I give Junior props, though. She, for I’ve always thought Junior a female, chooses times when I’m hunting a killer and when a note writer is not my priority. And therefore, Junior goes untouched, but not this time. This time, I will find and deal with Junior.
I won’t be sidetracked.
This time I will deal with Pocher, once and for all.
Once Jay and I are on the road again, I do the only thing I can do at this very moment. I open my donut bag and start eating what turns out to be a delicious treat. And thank God, rather than asking questions, Jay does the same of his. Perhaps he’s silent simply because we’re stuffing our faces, but whatever the case, I’m starting to move past “I don’t hate him” to “I like him.” Especially since I didn’t buy a drink and he has bottled water in the car. He’s a virtual saint, no worry that he works for my future husband who is not. He’s also not a monster either, like his uncle and Pocher.
Whatever the case, by the time I’ve licked the last dusting of sugar from my fingers, he’s dropping me at the door of the medical examiner’s office. With my trusty field bag at my side, I head up the stairs and enter the building where a security post greets me. I disarm and pass through the metal detector, only to set it off. The next thing I know, a thirty-something guard with a scar is patting me down and getting about as handsy as I get stabby. At one point, my legs are spread and he has his hand on my inner thigh. I decide the scar came from some woman biting him. He goes a little too high and I’ve had enough. “If you touch me in my secret garden, you will lose your sense of smell.”
He yanks his hand back. “What does that mean?”
“Well, my secret garden is right there between my legs, and your sense of smell is right there on your face, right above my knee.”
“She’ll do it. Beware.”
At the sound of Andrew’s voice, I turn to find him joining us, all decked out in his Police Chief Love uniform.
“Big brother,” I greet. “I thought Samantha would have greeted you with such love last night that you’d never make this early drive.”
“Well, though her secret garden is alluring, I didn’t see her last night. I didn’t get home until four.” He glances at his watch and then motions me forward. “I don’t have long. Let’s get moving.”
I eye the security guard. His lips press together and he motions me onward.
Seconds later, Andrew and I fall into step on a path toward the elevator. “Why are you here, Andrew?”
He doesn’t look at me. “It’s my case unless you’ve officially claimed jurisdiction and haven’t told me.”
“I thought it was Officer North’s case?” I challenge.
“You don’t trust him or Danica,” he reminds me. “As far as the eye can see, him, her, and you in one place was a recipe for another murder.” We arrive at the elevator and he punches the call button. “And this got personal when you were called out by name.” The doors open.
“I can handle this, Andrew,” I say as we step inside the car and he punches our floor.
The elevator closes and we face each other while my brother tries to play hardball. “Either you’re running the show or you’re reporting to me, Lilah.”
“Contrary to your attitude,” I reply, “I play nice with those in charge at least fifty percent of the time. I often work with the locals, offer aid, and I don’t take control. Which is why I assure you that I’ll go to the city, run down the leads, and report back.”
“So you’ll respect me being in charge?”
“As long as this case is confined to one murder in your jurisdiction,” I say. “Yes. Sure. I’ll let you know tonight.”
He faces forward, giving me his profile. “So much for respecting who’s in charge.”
I face forward as well. “Probably I will.”
The elevator halts and the door opens. He catches the door and I step outside into the hallway, with him fast on my heels, but when I would charge onward toward our meeting, he has other ideas. “Lilah,” he says, and his tone halts my steps.
I turn to face him and he motions for me to move further down the hall, away from the elevator, away from prying eyes. Once we’re huddled together, he lowers his voice. “You handed me a bombshell last night and just left.”
He’s all intense and hard-jawed, though I have no clue which bombshell he’s talking about. I said plenty to try and wake him up last night. “I’m good at that, actually,” I reply. “Can you be more specific?”
“Pocher ordered Mom’s murder?”
At least he’s focused on what’s important. “I already told you that.”
“Yeah well, I got a little distracted by the person you stabbed to death.”
“Understandable, I guess. You are you.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t say shit like that just to say it.”
“You did need me to help bury a body right then, Lilah.”
“Yes, but when have I ever been a liar?”
He scrubs his jaw in earnest. “Does Dad know?”
“I’d like to think he doesn’t,” I reply, “but he knows—” I hesitate. “I said I wouldn’t talk about this.”
“The rape,” he says. “You said something about rape, Lilah.”
“It’s a little more than rape.”
“I know you don’t want to talk about this but—”
“Pocher ordered my murder and he’s still with him.”
“Murder?”
“Yes. Murder.”
“And Dad knows?”
“From the horse’s mouth,” I say and because I need him to understand just what Pocher is capable of, I dare to add, “I was drugged, taken to the beach at my house, and if the piece of shit hadn’t decided to rape me first, I wouldn’t be here now. He meant to kill me. I think he told me that. I blocked it out. Or I try. Kane saved me. If he hadn’t come home early to see me, I wouldn’t be here. He pulled the guy off me.”
I speak that confession with remarkable ease, I think, but then killing your attacker does lend to closure. And other things, like a willingness to kill, but that isn’t a topic to discuss with Captain America.
He presses a hand on the wall and lowers his chin to his chest, torment radiating from him before he looks at me again. “There’s a lot of things I could say to that—”
“Don’t. That’s not why I told you. I want you to know who Pocher is, what Dad knows, and how much Kane really is there for us.”
“I get that. I owe him then.”
“He doesn’t want to be owed.”
“Either way, I can’t believe you didn’t come to me.”
“It was complicated.”
“I’m only letting you get away with that simplistic answer right now because of location and time restraints. Be straight with me. Do you think Pocher is behind that jar of blood and the visit to your house last night?”
“Logically, yes, but my gut keeps telling me that this is just a sick fuck who killed for the sport. Which means he’ll kill again.”
He scrubs a hand through his hair and settles his hands on his hips. “I came here to talk. Emma’s fiancé is flying in at noon. I’ll set the interview up for tonight. Can you make seven?”
“I’ll be here.” I tilt my head. “You came all the way here just to talk to me?”
“There are some things better not discussed by phone.”
“Good to see you growing a brain. The Society is monstrously large and powerful. Don’t underestimate them. And don’t trust anyone. And that means Samantha, Andrew.” I glance at my watch to discover it’s eight-fifteen. “I have to go.” I grab his arm. “Don’t go trying to play Captain America on your own. There’s a way to deal with the Society. Leave this to me and Kane.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then you work with us. Promise me.”
“I can’t do nothing, Lilah.”
“Work this case. Just work the case. And come by the house tonight.”
His lashes lower, but he nods before he takes a step backward. “I’ll leave this to you.” He turns and heads for the elevator. He punches the call button and disappears inside the car, leaving me kicking myself. I should not have told him about Pocher killing Mom. He’s not going to let this go or wait on me. And he’s going to get himself killed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
When I die, I want to be cremated. I don’t want a stranger pumping me with formaldehyde, painting my face, and prettying up my hair, all so I can be shoved into a silk-lined casket. Not a lot of things bother me. This does. The entire process of people crying over the top of the shell of what was once a human being is just creepy. The autopsy process isn’t much different. Strangers stand around and examine what is left of a human being. It’s actually morbid but necessary, and today is no different, nor is it my first rodeo.
As I’ve done too many times before, I walk to a reception area of the medical examiner’s office, where I show my credentials to gain entry into the offices. After which, I’m allowed to travel onward to the office marked Room B as DD directed in her text. I enter a small office and then stop at a second door, where I hit a buzzer. The door pops open and I walk into the lab where a covered body rests on one of the four steel tables, the other three empty.
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