“Are you a part of it?”
“I just explained where I fit in.”
“What about Kane?” he challenges. “Is he in the revenge circle?”
“Kane has nothing to do with this.”
“You weren’t so sure when I got the call about this murder. Keywords in that call we got, Lilah: tuxedo, married, dead. Those things lead to you and Kane.”
“Dead?” I challenge, feeling myself unravel inside. “You think the word dead leads to me and Kane? You’re still obsessed with what you see as the dirty side of Kane.”
“In case you forgot, I helped him bury a body, Lilah.”
“You helped him bury a serial killer who I killed before he killed someone else.”
“Is that how you justify it, Lilah?”
“I am not losing sleep over that monster. And if you are, well, like I said, your view is narrow, too narrow.”
“We’re off-topic. We should not even be talking about that problem.”
“There is no problem. It’s buried, remember?”
“Fuck, Lilah,” he curses.
When I curse, it’s part of my vocabulary, a learned method of sideswiping people with the unexpected. When Andrew curses, it’s a big deal, a sign of utter frustration. It’s him being outside his comfort zone, and that is becoming more and more of a problem.
He scrubs his jaw and settles his hands on his hips. “You cannot ignore the fact that Kane has enemies. This could be about him, all of this. You have to face that reality. You have to face this crime scene with that in mind. You have to face all of this with that in mind.”
CHAPTER FOUR
For just a moment, I have tunnel vision, and the idea of losing Kane buries me in darkness. I am drowning in too much reality. In the reality that Kane’s life is dangerous. The reality that Kane has enemies. And if that is not enough, even his dead father’s enemies are his enemies.
“Lilah,” Andrew presses.
I snap back to the room and him. “Fuck you, Andrew,” I snap back. “I don’t need you to point out the dangers of being Kane Mendez right fucking now.”
“And yet, you do.”
“Focus on the crime scene, not me or Kane, Andrew. Meanwhile, I’m doing a quick walkthrough and then I’m leaving. Don’t try and stop me.” I finish that statement by stepping around him.
Smartly, he doesn’t lay a hand on me again or even call out my name.
I’m just about to exit the room when Danica Day, the ex-aspiring model turned medical examiner, appears in the archway.
“Special Agent Love,” she greets, and to her credit, she gets right to the point. “What do I need to know?”
“Looks to be the same MO,” I say, “except this time I can’t figure out how the victim ingested the weapon. He was drinking whiskey is all we’ve got thus far.”
“Well, I hope it was at least a good brand, considering it was his last drink.” She gives a dry laugh and then clears her throat. “Sorry, tacky of me, as my mother would say. We may never know the form of ingestion, but if I can figure it out, I will.”
I’d started out thinking DD was a dirty, dumb blonde. I no longer think she’s dumb. She figured out the murder weapon in these cases. As for dirty, there’s a side to her yet to be revealed. But it’s peeking through the pink bunny fluff of her image.
Andrew joins us, and I throw a thumb point in his direction without ever looking at him. “He’ll fill you in on what I haven’t.”
With that, I exit the room. This is when I’d normally start a walk of every inch of the crime scene. Today, I’m taking the summarized version, homing in on where I feel I’ll do the most good with the least amount of time. I end up downstairs in an office area that seems to double as a study. I sit behind the heavy wooden desk, with the intent to search for clues to the revenge plot unfolding when my gaze catches on the wall. It’s a medical license for good ol’ Rip. Why would a doctor end up in banking?
I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Tic Tac. He answers on the first ring and for once he doesn’t bitch about me calling and wanting “stuff,” as we’ve come to call my demands. “Any news?”
He’s talking about Kane, which means he has no news to offer me. I move on. “What I have is another murder, same MO. This time the victim is wearing a tuxedo.” I quickly run down all the details with him and then add, “We need to look at the list of guests at the party.”
“Lilah,” he says softly, “why are you there right now? How are you even surviving being there right now?”
Because I’m susceptible to bullshit right now, I think, but what I say is, “Our victim, Rip, is the VP of a bank, but I’m staring at his medical license on the wall.”
“That’s odd,” he says, and I can hear his fingers on the keyboard before he adds, “He hasn’t actively practiced in five years, but he keeps his licenses up to date. His record is clean.”
“Banking from medicine is a stretch,” I say. “He’s got secrets and somehow they connect to the victims and the killer.” My cellphone beeps. I glance at the caller ID to find my cousin, Lucas, calling. I answer and say, “Hold on.” I switch back to Tic Tac. “I need to take this call, but you know the drill. Dig for me. Rip was at a charity event tonight. Officer North can give you anything you need. Email me what you find. I don’t promise to respond quickly.”
“Lilah—”
“He’s not dead, so don’t say whatever you’re about to say or I might fly to L.A. just to beat your ass.” I end the call and switch back to Lucas. “What do you know?”
“I hacked into the coast guard’s telecoms. They’re on a search and rescue mission, but it sounds to me like they believe there are survivors.”
The thought that there might be survivors is new, but there’s nothing about this conversation that tells me Kane is alive. And hope is a brutal bitch who builds you up and tears you down. And I don’t need hope, I remind myself. Kane is not dead.
CHAPTER FIVE
Some people treat emotions like they do chocolate—as if you can never get enough.
I treat chocolate like chocolate, and that means in excess, but emotions are another story. I treat them like whiskey, a nosy neighbor, and my brother. A little goes a long way. Right now, a little is really fucking going a long way. I’m a bomb rolling around a public place looking for the best spot to explode. Therefore, I need to get the hell out of here but I’m not sure what I’ll do when I leave. And there’s a dead guy upstairs who needs me to be here right now otherwise he’s left with Officer North, in charge.
I’ll stay.
For now.
Pocher has no idea how good that is for his health.
I search the dead guy’s desk. Considering my current state of mind, which could mean I miss something, I shoot pictures of documents, lots of pictures. When I’m done, and nothing has caught my eye, I slide my camera back inside my bag. I’ll relook at everything once Kane is home.