Love Kills

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “And the victim’s apartment?”

  “I’ve sent a team to discreetly secure it until you give further directions. An additional CSI team is also on the way, along with an additional ten men. That’s all I can spare right now. Sergeant Morris is in charge; he’s a good man.”

  “Who was fucking Williams,” I say, pulling off my gloves. “Get me someone else. He’s a person of interest.”

  He blanches. “What?”

  “Out of his mouth to my ears but he can say otherwise. Well, he said he dated her. He didn’t admit to doing kinky shit to her, but that goes without saying.”

  “He’s already on-site, and he’s a good man, Lilah.”

  “So, she must have said. He can stay. Umbrella Man didn’t leave anything behind he doesn’t want me to find, and I want to observe him.” I move on. “Name, age, occupation of the victim?”

  “Morris is the best man out here,” he says. “He didn’t kill Williams or anyone else.”

  “They said that about Jeffrey Dahmer, too. Name, age—”

  “Karen Nicole White,” he bites out. “Twenty-eight. Soap opera star. A one-way ticket to lots of press.”

  He’s right, and that, of course, was not an accident, any more than her home address was.

  I shove the gloves in a plastic bag, working the data as Houston gives it to me, but my mind races beyond that information. Umbrella Man wants me to go to Kane. He wants me to worry about Kane. Maybe he expects Ghost to kill Kane tonight in our own building. No. That’s not his plan. The victim would be my warning. He wants us to think we can stop him. He’ll want me to believe that I can protect Kane while he believes I can’t.

  Kane can protect fucking Kane. He doesn’t seem to get that.

  And if I want to call Kane, I’ll fucking call Kane.

  I pull my phone from my pocket, turning away from Houston, intent on calling Kane, only to have Houston grab my arm. This is twice he’s touched me, and I don’t like being touched. It’s all I can do not to whirl on him and react fiercely, but I have no doubt that I’m being watched. And I will not show weakness. “Why is your hand on my arm?” I ask softly, my voice low, tight.

  “What are you about to do right now?”

  “Why is that your business?” I challenge.

  “You’re too close to this to be objective,” he says. “You can’t work this case.”

  I give him a tiny smile and calmly say, “Get your hand off my arm, Houston, before I rip it off.”

  He must read how much I might enjoy that because his hand falls away and fast like it’s already yanked off and near bleeding. “You’re going to end up dead, Lilah. You know that, right?”

  I think of him showing up here when he shouldn’t have been able to get here that fast. “Is that a threat?”

  He scowls. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

  “Umbrella Man wants me on this case,” I say. “I’m on this case.”

  “And you think giving him what he wants is smart?”

  “This isn’t about what he wants,” I say. “It’s about what I want. And I want him.”

  “You can’t be objective,” he says. “There’s no fucking way at this point you can be objective.”

  “I don’t need to be objective. I just need to be right. And when I’m right, he’s dead.”

  “Is there a problem?” Roger asks, stepping to our profiles.

  “You can’t kill him,” Houston says, ignoring Roger. “And if that’s where this is going—”

  “It is,” I assure him, a warning to him if he’s Umbrella Man. “He’ll be dead before this is over. Because that’s what he wants.”

  “He wants to die?” Houston laughs. “You’re losing your fucking mind.”

  “That happened several years back,” I assure him. “It works for me. You should give it a try. Maybe then you’d stop running from the mayor and your own shadow.” With that, I turn away, but I don’t make it far without yet another opinion I don’t want flying at me anyway.

  “I agree,” Roger calls after me. “One of you dies before this is over.”

  Those words have a different impact coming from him than they had me. They stop me in my tracks and proceed to crawl down my spine and back up again, but I don’t turn to face Roger. I’m too busy trying to read my reaction, but I don’t get the chance before he adds, “Maybe you should ask for help before it’s you.”

  Ah, there it is. The reason I react to his statement so fucking badly. I knew where he was going. I knew it was right here where we’re at, to me being too stupid to stay alive. I rotate and face him. “You never did get me, Roger.” It’s a statement just a week ago I’d fear because, getting me, means seeing what I’m capable of, getting me, means seeing that I’m far more like the bad guys we hunt than I should be to wear this badge. “If you did, you’d know that I’m not the one who dies in this story.” I eye Houston. “I need an update on the wellness check the minute you have it. Get the family into protective custody if you can.” I scan for the CSI guy who is shooting a photo of the same spot he was shooting earlier. Can I get no one here who knows what the fuck they’re doing? I glance at Houston again. “Make sure he’s not part of the new CSI team.”

  “Agent Love,” he bites out, “on the record, you don’t belong on this case. I’m taking that to your superior.”

  “And Director Murphy will tell you what I’m telling you right now: fuck off, Houston. He’ll just say it in more formal, less offensive language. I don’t think he likes the word ‘fuck’ all that much, a character flaw, I know, but he’ll get the point across.”

  With that, I turn away from him, and this time, I step out from underneath the tent, the way I have the shadow of fear I’d associated with Roger. It’s an odd thing, really, that I even let it exist. Fear, like the bullshit Houston is pulling, isn’t my thing. I push through the punishing rain and pull my phone from my pocket, dialing Kane. He answers on the first ring. “Lilah.”

  “Karen Nicole White. Soap opera star who lives in our building. Do you know her?”

  “I know of her. I had everyone in the building investigated. What’s going on, Lilah?”

  “She’s the dead woman lying in the alley.”

  He’s silent a moment. “And so, this is war?”

  “Yes,” I say. “And so, this is war. Meet me in front of our building. Let’s tell him to fuck off together.”

  “I do like how you think, Lilah Love.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The walk to the building I now live in with Kane is short, and rain battered from the aftermath of a bitch of a late-season hurricane. I reach the building to find a barrier around the entryway, and officers guarding entry. Kane isn’t here yet. I flash my badge to the officer guarding the walkway setup to the door, between barriers. “Agent Love,” I say. “Are you allowing tenants into the building?”

  “That was my direction,” Sergeant Morris says, exiting the building to join us, almost as if he’s daring me to send him away. “Tenants only, by way of the security desk, but the elevators are down. No one is going up or down right now. I just sent the team up by foot. They’ll call down as soon as the apartment is secure.”

  “I’d send you to Detective Williams’ building to check things out, but we’ve both already been there.” It’s an attempt to push his buttons, and it works.

  His eyes burn fire. “You think you’re funny?” he asks. “Because I don’t think it’s fucking funny.”

  “Ohhh, bad words. You really don’t think it’s funny. But neither do I. That wasn’t a joke. And while telling a good joke might, to some, seem like my superpower, it’s not. Catching killers. That’s my superpower.”

  “Lilah.”

  At the sound of Kane’s voice, I add, “Let me know the minute you have word on the apartment or the family.” With that, I walk toward the barrier.

  “You need a new superpower,” Morris calls after me.

  I ignore him. I find ignoring people works in several ways. A)
It makes them mad. B) It makes them act out. And when people act out, they often show you just a little bit of the real stuff they hide underneath all their fluff. And everyone has fluff. I hate fluff. Besides, of course, he wants me to find a new superpower. I’m giving him attention that he doesn’t want.

  I exit the barrier and walk to the left, under an overhang, where Kane is waiting, not a damp hair on his pretty little head. Kit, the big burly guard who is usually at the front desk of the building, is by his side, which tells me he’s under Kane’s employ and far more than a staffer here at the property. That Kane is keeping him close also tells me that Kane isn’t taking the threat as lightly as he will play it off. I give Kit a wave, and in silent understanding, Kane and I move further down the walkway, with Kit between us and the front door. We’re now in a listen-in-free zone, free of any potential microphones or overly attentive eyes.

  “It’s a new day when you invite me to your crime scene,” Kane comments dryly.

  “It’s a fucked up day when that crime scene is in the building we now live in together,” I say, stepping in front of him and pulling down my hood. “And I work for Murphy now, who doesn’t want me for my body or skill; he wants me for my crime lord lover.”

  “I’ll respond to the many things wrong with that reply when we’re finally alone.”

  “You’ll get over whatever pissed you off by the time we’re finally alone, so whatever,” I say. “I have to go upstairs and walk her damn apartment. Where, he’s, of course, left me some sort of message, but,” I lower my voice, “we’re assuming that he still thinks that Ghost is going to kill you, but Ghost killed those women in the alleyway to keep the booby traps from killing me. Which wouldn’t have killed me because Umbrella Man was not ready to have me killed.”

  “And you’re afraid that he saw Ghost kill them to protect you,” he says, following my lead, “and no longer believes he’s going to kill me.”

  “Or maybe he paid Ghost to kill them.” My eyes go wide. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That’s it. He paid Ghost to kill them. This is one big fucked up game, and Kane, I’m not sure you really have Ghost handled.”

  “I am,” he says. “That’s what matters.”

  “No, that is not what fucking matters. I’m the one who has to bury you if you die, asshole.” I’ve started poking his chest. Good lord, help me. I drop my hands. “We’ll talk later.”

  His lips quirk. “Yes. We’ll talk later.”

  “He didn’t come here to warn you, asshole. He came here to save me because he was paid to save me.”

  “I have an agreement with Ghost. Trust me, even if you don’t trust him.”

  An unwelcomed memory of me sitting in a bathroom wearing bloodied clothes with him standing above me punches at my mind. I’m pretty sure at that point there was a body in his trunk. A body that has never been found. “What if you’re wrong?” I ask.

  “I just got you back, Lilah.” His eyes darken. “And you’re the only thing that keeps me human, as proven in ways you can’t begin to understand the past twenty-four hours. I need you too damn much to lose you.”

  I don’t ask what that means. Not now. Maybe not ever. “Then don’t take risks.”

  “I wouldn’t risk anything that ends in losing you.”

  “What about me losing you?”

  “Same thing. Do your job. Catch him. I’ll back up your team and secure the building behind them.”

  I nod, and we rejoin Kit. “I need to see the security footage, starting with the last time Karen was seen.”

  “Two days ago,” he says. “I already looked. She left. Her sister arrived four hours later.”

  Now he has my attention. “Her sister?”

  “Said she was in for a visit. She came in and out of the apartment several times. She’s up there now.”

  “Agent Love.”

  At the sound of my name, I go cold because I know what I’m about to be told. I turn to find Sergeant Morris standing at the barrier nearest me, his expression grim. “There’s another body.”

  “Yes,” he says. “Another woman. Shot to death. Possible suicide.”

  “It’s not a fucking suicide,” I snap.

  His lips thin. “I know who she is,” he says. “I can identify the body.”

  Of course, he can, but I don’t need his help. I already know who she is. “It’s her twin sister,” I say.

  “Yes,” he confirms. “It’s her sister.”

  And the reason she was killed here, in this building, is pretty fucking obvious. It was one thing to kill someone who lived here, outside in the alleyway. Another to kill someone inside the building where I live. Where Kane lives. Umbrella Man is telling us that our fortress is not impenetrable.

  CHAPTER TEN

  This is war.

  Kane said it.

  I endorse his position enthusiastically.

  I don’t, however, offer Sergeant Morris some big, over the top reaction. He’s not Umbrella Man. Williams wasn’t Umbrella Man. But I don’t know if they are somehow involved with Umbrella Man. It’s an odd place for my thoughts to travel in the first place, but my mind is going where it wants to go, without my permission.

  And so, I simply ask, “What about an update on the mother?”

  “Nothing yet,” Morris replies.

  “I’ll be right up, ” I reply, a clear dismissal in the statement.

  Surprise flickers in his eyes. “You aren’t going to tell me to leave?”

  “I’m not done with you,” I say. “So no. I’m not going to tell you to leave.”

  He inclines his chin, remarkably and uncomfortably compliant, which I’d like to think is about shock and grief, but he was belligerent only an hour ago. That makes this a hard sell now.

  Kane steps to my side. “You don’t like him.”

  “He ranks right up there with mushrooms for me.”

  “That’s some pretty serious hate.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Yes, it is.”

  “He didn’t get past security,” he says. “The sister killed herself.”

  “To save her twin.” I glance up at him. “That’s how he works. He plays with the family members and then convinces them to shoot l themselves because a bullet is simply nothing to him. Because they are nothing to him. They’re inconsequential.”

  “You understand him. You’ll get him. Stop letting him fuck with your head.”

  “He’s trying,” I agree, “but it’s not working.”

  He turns to face me and me him. “You sure about that?”

  “You doubt me?”

  “Never. But clearly you doubt me.”

  “You think you’re bulletproof. You’re human.”

  His lips quirk. “You worry about me.”

  “I do fucking worry about you, asshole. Stop throwing it in my face.” I start to turn away but stop, facing him again. “If you come face-to-face with him, I don’t care what trap he says he set for me, you kill him.” I grab his tie and yank it. “Understand?”

  “And if he threatens me, will you do what you have to do, and kill him? Or will you be suckered into thinking that you can save me?”

  The idea of him dead punches me in the chest and I hesitate. Fuck. I hesitate. “I’ll kill him so dead, there won’t be any of him left.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he says, “but I have faith in your ability to remedy that weakness.”

  “Bastard,” I murmur, releasing my grip on his tie. “Let’s go.” I don’t give him time to agree. I turn and walk through the barriers, and he’s right there with me, as is Kit. I don’t bother to clear either with the officer by the door. Kit is employed here, and Kane is Kane. He lives here.

  I enter the building and hear, “Love.”

  At Houston’s voice, I turn to find him entering the building. He scrubs his jaw. “The mother’s dead, too,” he says, stopping in front of me. “Shot herself in a Paris hotel room. And the press is everywhere. I just talked to the mayor. He wants to hold a press conference.”

&nb
sp; “This again?” I breathe out. “He needs to wait.”

  “This building drips money and power. We need to calm the residents, two of which called the press.”

  “She killed herself. It’s a suicide.”

  “She’s in an alleyway,” he argues.

  “I don’t have time for this, Houston. I need to be upstairs, looking at the evidence.”

  “This is happening, whether you deal with it or not.”

  My lips press together. “Stand up to the mayor.”

  “You tried that. How’d that go for you?”

  “You’re a coward.”

  “Fuck you, Lilah.”

  “No thanks, but try that with the mayor. No press conference. This is my case. This is my call.”

  “And his city.”

  “I thought it was yours. Oh right, you’re his little bitch, so what is yours, is his. Maybe I should get you one of those submissive choker necklaces. If you wear that then everyone will just ask you, who’s your Master, and you can say the mayor. And you can then explain that you have no safeword. The mayor never stops making the decisions.”

  “Are you done?”

  “Never really done. Haven’t you figured that out?”

  “Most of us have.”

  “Good,” I say, but I want to hit him. I want to go to the mayor’s house and hit him, too. I want to dress them up like the clowns they are and then hit them. “You want to hold a press conference,” I say, “then you tell the city that you’re investigating what may be a double suicide.” I turn and start walking away, but I turn and walk backward. “The only conflict of interest going on is you and the mayor trying to cover your asses to keep your jobs.” I turn and walk to the stairwell, opening the door and entering the corridor.

  I start the fifteen floor climb up the stairs, only two floors beneath our level, anger burning into calm, as I force myself to find that Otherworld. I need my zone. I need to focus. I’m there, thinking about the case. I need—the lights go out. I curse in my mind, but not out of my mouth. Instinct has me reaching for my weapon. Once it’s in my palm, a heavy bump of comforting weight, I reach for my flashlight. I’m about to turn it on when a door several feet above opens and then shuts. No light comes on. I would assume that means someone without a flashlight exited to the hallway, but there’s one problem with that theory: no one but law enforcement would be in the stairwell right now. I’m once again in the darkness, and I’m not alone.