Bloody Vows

by Lisa Renee Jones

  DD steps out of an office directly at the center rear of the lab. Today she’s wearing a lab coat over some sort of dress, I assume, since her legs are bare.

  “I was just about to call and check on you, Agent Love,” she greets.

  “Well, thanks,” I say. “My mom is dead and she’s the only one who ever did that for me.”

  She blinks, looking confused. I’d remind myself she’s not a suspect I’m trying to throw off in some way, but I’m not so sure about anything with DD, the model who might be connected to the Society.

  DD presses past her confusion and says, “I came in early and got a jumpstart on the examination but there’s something I want to show you before I go further.” She motions to the body and then walks to a station between tables, grabbing gloves from a box and sliding them into place. I don’t bother. I don’t plan on touching anything.

  DD and I meet on either side of the table and she pulls back the sheet to Emma’s shoulder blades. “She was too bloody to make this out on the scene,” she says, using her finger to indicate jagged marks on Emma’s neck that look like cuts. “As I expected and stated, this wasn’t a poisoning.”

  My brows dip at the strange injuries I continue to study as I ask, “Did someone try to cut her throat?”

  “Those cuts originate from the inside.”

  My gaze jerks to hers. “As in, she swallowed sharp objects?”

  “Exactly.”

  Inside a pill, I think. “Do we have a toxicology report?” I ask.

  “It’s not poison,” she insists.

  “I understand that, DD, but our job is to find out how that happened. Whatever cut her ended up in her body through some method of transport. Food or a pill. Do we have a toxicology report?” I repeat.

  “Right. Yes. Of course.” She clears her throat and straightens. “We do, and obviously, as you know, I’ll have to send off for the more extensive testing, which will take time. But for now, this is what we know. She had a few expected prescribed drugs in her system as well as ibuprofen.”

  “Was there a bottle of ibuprofen found?”

  “Not that I know of but she could have easily had a pill bottle or case in a kitchen drawer that was discovered after I left. Or maybe she grabbed it upstairs and then walked downstairs.”

  “I’ll find out,” I say. “That’s one option. Another. Could she have eaten something that caused this?”

  “If there was something in her food, I’d think she’d know it, she’d bite down on it,” she replies, “but certainly I’m looking at all possibilities.”

  She’s right. We chew our food or those of us that don’t, act like the animals do. She would have felt the crunch of a sharp object. I’m back to the ibuprofen. A gel tablet maybe, which drives my next question. “Could a gel tablet be used to hide a sharp object?”

  “In theory, it would be possible. I still need to open her up and take a look inside her throat and stomach. I didn’t want to do that until you saw the cuts. But that’s when I’ll know exactly what she swallowed.”

  My brows dip. “How would you get something inside a pill large enough to cut her inside out and her not know it was there?”

  “Believe it or not because of how stupid I sounded over the toxicology report—you make me a little nervous—I thought the same thing.” She fidgets slightly. I do make her nervous. Good. Maybe she’ll tell me who sent her here because it wasn’t organic. “But then,” she continues, “I thought I, now we, could be overthinking this. In theory inserting sharp objects into a pill is easy. What’s not as easy is inserting enough sharp objects to kill someone while making those pills appear untouched. Furthermore, why did whatever this was, cut her throat? If the sharp object was embedded in the pill it would have landed in her stomach. Which would also be deadly, but something just doesn’t add up.”

  “And of course, how does the killer know the person is going to take the exact medication or even a food that has the sharp objects? They’d have to be close to the person, very close.”

  “But isn’t that the case with food as well?” She asks but she doesn’t wait for an answer. “Pills make more sense than food. And she had the ibuprofen in her system.”

  “In other words, we need an expert in pharmaceuticals to walk us through the mechanics, equipment needed, and so on.”

  She holds up a gloved finger. “Which is why I have a call into an old college friend. Her father is CEO of a drug company. I’ll find out what we need to know.”

  “Well then, DD the model, I’m slightly impressed.”

  “How impressed do you have to be to call me Danica?”

  “More than humanly possible,” I assure her. “I still don’t trust you.”

  “At least you’re honest. I’d rather you say it to my face than behind my back.”

  “Well as long as you’re pleased, DD,” I say sarcastically, but really, truly for me, that’s kind of nice. “When are you opening her up?”

  “I have to deal with an incoming. It’s going to be a while, but you’re welcome to stick around.”

  I might be able to stab monsters to death, but I can do without the rest of this process. “Just call me after. Unless you have more for me now, I’m done here.” I’m already headed toward the door.

  I pass through the lobby and step into the hallway, replaying the crime scene in my head. Emma Wells. The dress. The bottle of water. Fake Naomi at our house. Too easily she was in our house and her connection to us originated with Kane. I snag my phone and punch his auto-dial. He doesn’t answer. “Damn it,” I murmur, “not now, Kane.” I shoot him a text message: Emma Wells ingested something that cut her from the inside out. We don’t know how or what yet, but I don’t like how easily Fake Naomi got to us. I also don’t like that it came through your contacts. Be careful.

  By the time I’m in the elevator, he hasn’t answered.

  I rejoin Jay in the Escalade and still, Kane hasn’t answered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Worry is a poison. It gets you nowhere but insanity. I’ve got enough to push my boundaries on the sanity issue. I’m not adding a worthless emotion.

  Jay pulls us onto the highway on our way to the airport and I dial Kane again. He doesn’t answer. Now I’m worried. “Damn you, Kane,” I murmur, and glance at Jay. “Have you talked to Kane?”

  “Not since we dropped him off,” he says. “Is there a problem?”

  “I just need him. Drive. I want to go by his office before the precinct.”

  I dial Andrew, who thankfully answers my call. I quickly recap what I know so far and then ask, “Did we find ibuprofen?”

  Papers shuffle and then he says, “Nothing on the list, but in light of this development, I’m going to send North back to look for any kind of drugs. We’ll bag them all and get them to the lab.”

  “Take a look at the food as well. I don’t think that is a likely option for this kind of attack, but look anyway.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “Fingerprints?” I ask, since he’s not offering.

  “None that we can’t identify. Not even in the car.”

  “Of course not,” I say dryly. “She was wearing gloves. Anything else?”

  “Nothing yet. You?”

  “Other than watch what you put in your mouth, Andrew. It might kill you.”

  “You loved saying that to me, didn’t you?” he accuses.

  “So very much,” I assure him and hang up.

  I immediately check my messages to find nothing from Kane. He has an empire to run, I remind myself, but I also know Kane. He puts me first. He has always put me first, especially in high-risk situations. And he decides what’s important, and when. That damn jar of blood with my name on it flashes through my mind and so does Fake Naomi inside our house.

  What the hell is going on?

  I dial Tic Tac, who is now officially on Director Murphy’s cold case task force that is really about the Society.
>
  “Lilah,” he greets tartly.

  “Okay, why do you sound like you’re sucking something sour right now? I didn’t call you yesterday.”

  “No, but having Director Murphy call me is the same thing. That was low, Lilah. I couldn’t say no.”

  “I didn’t have Murphy call you. He called me yesterday. But whatever. What do you have for me?”

  “Officer North,” he says.

  “I see Director Murphy talked to you. What about him?”

  “I found a connection to your old partner, Greg Harrison.”

  An answer I don’t expect. “What connection?”

  “North worked a private security job with Greg a few years back.”

  My lips press together. Greg’s been working with a security company that pulled him into trouble. He told me that was fresh. I suddenly wonder. “Which private security company?”

  “It’s called Cops Off Duty. Looks like that’s the only job either of them ever did for that service.”

  I consider this new information for a moment and I reconsider this connection. It’s just not reading right. The Society is too clever to allow me to find something this easily and they knew I would. Unless North isn’t dirty, or there was a reason they wanted me to connect him to Greg. It feels like I have a million smokescreens coming at me. “What was the job?” I ask.

  “The former Secretary of State was giving a speech. Obviously, it was a high-profile job. And it paid well.”

  It’s still an odd connection to me, I think. “Find out if that former Secretary of State has a connection to Ted Pocher,” I say.

  “Should we be saying his name on an open line?”

  “No, but I don’t really care right now. I’m not calling that bastard ‘our friend’ like Director Murphy. And as for Pocher, I hope he’s listening, and just in case, fuck you, Pocher. Now back to what I was saying. I’m going to send you a list of names. I need you to connect them to Pocher if you can. And pull their phone numbers. You’ll need them.”

  “I’m not calling witnesses, Lilah,” he snaps. “I’m a tech guy. I’m not—”

  “I hope you aren’t this bitchy with your boyfriend or you won’t last long.”

  “Do you always have to go there, Lilah?”

  His voice is tight, a tiny crack in the center. “Oh shit. You broke up.”

  “We’re,” I can almost see him pursing his lips, “taking a break.”

  “What happened?”

  “Like you care?” he challenges.

  “I’m a bitch, but I have a heart. Of course, I care. What happened?”

  “He got upset over my work yesterday. We exploded, almost literally, I swear. And then he left.”

  “You know, Tic Tac—”

  “If you’re about to tell me to quit my job—”

  “I’m not,” I say, thinking of my job and Kane’s family, that will always represent a job he does not want. I punished him for that. I won’t anymore. “You need to do what makes you happy. If that’s the job and he can’t understand that, he’s the wrong guy. If it’s not the job, then yeah, quit. I’ll still call you, but sure. Do that.”

  He laughs. “You would, too.”

  “Yes. I would. And I need more stuff.”

  “And right now, I need to work, so command me, fair maiden.”

  “Fair maiden?”

  “Okay speak, bitch.”

  “That’s better.” I hesitate just long enough to think of Kane’s warning about Lucas being too close to this case before I duplicate their work. “I need you to get onto a game called Banking the Billionaire.”

  “You do know that no one has actually told me what this case is about, right?”

  “Obviously Murphy talked to you.”

  “Quickly and as incompletely as you are right now. I’m a tech guy not a mind reader.”

  “Find out who is behind the game,” I continue. “Then take those phone numbers and plug them into Banking the Billionaire. That’s how you register there. See if you can get any hits. In fact, do that with Officer North as well.”

  “Lilah, I still need—”

  “I need. Tell me about Danica Day.”

  “She looks legit,” he says.

  “Define legit. How deep did you dig?” I challenge.

  “I don’t have her personnel file if that’s what you mean. I can’t get that, Lilah, but there are no connections to Pocher.”

  “What about North?”

  “I didn’t look.”

  “Look,” I say.

  “Are you going to tell me the details of the case, Lilah?”

  “I’ll have my brother send you the file,” I say, as we pull into the airport. “I have a chopper to catch.”

  “Give me something. I need to know the basics to do my job.”

  “Fine. Emma Wells was found in the Hamptons in a wedding dress. She was supposed to get married on New Year’s Eve. The dress she was wearing was not her dress.”

  “How did she die?”

  “She swallowed something that made her bleed from the inside out. Ibuprofen was in her system, so I’m thinking of a gel capsule, though I’m not sure we’ll be able to confirm that. It will have dissolved.”

  “Holy wow. That’s kind of terrifying. Could it be food?”

  Jay pulls the Escalade into a parking spot. “I don’t know. It would be kind of crunchy, I’d think, but Lord knows I’ve been hungry enough to inhale.” I grab my bag and unhook my seatbelt. “A couple of last things you probably need to know and then I have to go. The killer left a jar of pig’s blood with my name on it. I think this could be someone who idolizes the Umbrella Man and wants to call me. Oh, and I’m engaged to Kane.”

  “Wait. What? You’re engaged? The woman was in a wedding dress and there was a jar of blood with your name on it? And Kane Mendez? You’re engaged to—”

  “Gotta run,” I say, hanging up and motioning to Jay. “Let’s move. I need to get to the city an hour ago.”

  Once I’m in the chopper, strapped in my seat, I text Andrew to send the file to Tic Tac and I text Murphy: About to take off for the city via chopper, but I need the HR file for Officer North and Danica Day. Yes, I know that is against the rules, so if you can’t get it for me, I’ll find my own way. And I need to know about an ex-Secretary of State that visited the city a few years back. Anything there that stands out to you? And have you ever heard of a game called Banking the Billionaire? I’ll call you as soon as I can.

  He replies right away: We both know you’re avoiding calling me but I’ll get you what you need. Do not have Lucas get it for you. Yes, I know about Lucas. Do call me, Special Agent Love.

  Shit.

  He knows about Lucas?

  How?!

  The chopper roars and I put away my phone, and dismiss Murphy, at least for now. My mind is on Emma’s wedding date that I’ve now made mine. If I believed in tempting fate, I’d say I’m tempting fate. But I chose that date for me and Kane without even thinking about Emma. Now that I realize what I did, as far as I’m concerned, two birds one stone. I’m marrying Kane and I’ve given our killer a message. A big fat fuck you.

  My move.

  Game on.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The chopper lands in New York City, and I bundle up to exit, and then check my cell for a call or text from Kane to find nothing. There is a clawing feeling in my gut I cannot control. Jay and I have just walked into the airport when he says, “I’ll make calls and try to find him.”

  My cellphone buzzes in my hand and I glance at the caller ID a bit too eager, to discover Chief Houston calling me. Jay offers me a hopeful look and I give him a negative shake of my head and answer the call. “Where are you?” Houston asks. “I’ve got your Chef Roswell here.”

  I stop walking. “I told him I’d call him, that pain in my ass. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Can you get Naomi Wells into the precinct?”

  “I tried. She�
��s not answering any calls.”

  Jay motions to the bags and the door and I wave him onward, refocusing on Houston. “That seems off. What about her ex, Emma’s brother?”

  “He died of an aneurysm six months ago.”

  The phone cuts out—the service is always shitty in this airport. I step into the lobby and sit on the arm of a chair, hoping to secure a better connection as I ask, “How old was he?”

  “Forty-seven.”

  It’s young, but not that young. And it’s odd for both victims to have youngish dead husbands but cause of death for both at this point, at least, appears to be natural.

  “Were they already divorced?”

  “They were going through a nasty divorce at the time.”

  “I need phone numbers for anyone and everyone that is connected to Wells, or the chef, and I’ll explain why later. Shoot me an email. I’m thinking I better run by Naomi’s house on my way there.”

  “You want to leave the chef waiting for you or have me assign a detective to question him?”

  “I want you to question him and then make him wait for me. Let him get exhausted enough to talk to me if he doesn’t to you.”

  “You do know I have the title Chief for a reason, right?”

  “So you can tell people you have the title for a reason?” I don’t give him time to reply. “Consider it a compliment. I don’t trust anyone more than you.”

  “You trust me?” he asks.

  “I know you,” I counter.

  “That’s a no.”

  “That’s not a no, which is all you ever get from me.”

  Apparently, that’s enough for him because he says, “I’ll talk to him but only because the last thing I need is another serial killer in my city. And I can send a patrol car to check on Naomi Wells.”

  “I’ll go. I’ll call you when I get there.” I hang up and dial Kane. He doesn’t answer. This time, I call his office. The receptionist, Cindy, who is one of the few people on this planet I find just the right kind of sweet, answers. “Mendez Enterprises. Can I help you?”