Love Kills

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “To keep tabs on you.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And most everything I just said is unproven, but damn good in theory. If I’m right, and I believe I am, they won’t kill him until they don’t need him. Until they’re done with us.”

  “Until we’re done with them,” Kane amends. “And that’s soon.”

  “Which is why I need to find Umbrella Man. Who could be more than one person, by the way. Or, one person with Society helpers. That feels more on point, but it could also be why we don’t catch one familiar person on security feeds.” I grab my MacBook from the floor and sit down behind my desk, snagging paper to begin making a list of everyone I need watched for safety reasons or otherwise, as well as everything I need someone to follow up on. I then email Tic Tac to have him add addresses, names and critical information. The list is long and includes a trip to the pig farm. I know Houston had someone go check out the closest locations at one point but there is something to be found there, something missed. I’m all but done when I blink as Kane sets a cup of coffee and a bag of chocolate in front of me, my thinking tools. I didn’t even know he’d left the room.

  “It’s not spiked, but we can fix that,” he says.

  “No booze until we’re done with them. Thank you,” I add, reaching for my cup. “See? Still being polite.”

  “Well, we both know you know how to say please,” he says then winks.

  I laugh because he’s being dirty. God, I do love a dirty Kane Mendez. “I don’t remember that word choice ever.” I sip my coffee and set it down and move on before he details a particular moment when I did, in fact, say please, which he might. “I have the list. How do I get it to Kit?”

  “I’ll take it.”

  I scoot around in my chair, pull it off the printer behind me and then hand it to him. “You still have someone watching Lily, right?” I ask. “Because she’s intimately involved with a man who was dating Williams. I still believe she could end up a victim.”

  “Yes,” he confirms. “Nothing unusual, but I can have the man watching her text you.” He glances at the list he’s now holding. “You don’t have Roger on the list.”

  I frown and grab the list. “I do.” I scan for his name. It’s not there. “I swear it’s like I want him to end up dead. I meant to include him. I think I thought we were already watching him.”

  He studies me a few beats, and then says, “I’ll add him.”

  He moves to his seat and sits down, where his own MacBook is waiting on the table next to it, with a cup of his own. Of course, while studying me, he’d been trying to figure out where my head is on Roger. And where the fuck is my head on Roger? Why did I leave him off the list? What is wrong with me? The Society is watching him. They threatened him. I should want Kane to watch over him. I’m about to go down the emotionless bitch killer profiler rabbit hole, which won’t get my job done, so I shake off those thoughts and text Houston: DNA samples. Where are we?

  You really want to do this to law enforcement? he replies.

  My response is two words: Yes. Now.

  He doesn’t reply, but I can almost feel him cursing. Satisfied that I’ll make him a foul mouth sailor yet, I move on. I open up Tic Tac’s reports and start writing the names of everyone who was at the crime scenes on their own notecard. I’m about five in when Kane’s phone rings, and he stands up and walks out of the room. I sip my coffee and realize that this is the first time I don’t wonder what he’s hiding when he does that. He knows and is on good terms with my demons. It’s time I know his, though, I don’t think he wants me on good terms. I think just the opposite. I think we’re both in trouble when that happens.

  I glance down at my notecards and the CSI guy who was taking pictures in the alleyway last night pops in my head. Mitch was his name. I look through the cards that I’ve made from Tic Tac’s list. He’s not here. Name. What was his last name? Mitch. Mitch McAllen, that’s it. I dial Tic Tac. “You need stuff,” he answers, “I know.”

  “Finally, you’re getting the hang of this. There was a Mitch McAllen on the CSI team last night. I don’t see him on your list.”

  “If he was there, he’s on my list, but hold on. Let me look him up.” His fingers tap the keyboard, and I sip my coffee as several sighs and more key tapping occurs on his end. I put him on speaker, to work while he works, and Kane chooses then to walk into the room.

  I point to the phone. “Tic Tac,” I say.

  “I’m trying, Lilah,” Tic Tac snaps.

  I scowl at the phone. “That’s very disrespectful, and you’re on speakerphone.”

  “Oh God,” he groans. “Tell me Murphy isn’t there.”

  Kane arches a brow and sits down. I furrow mine. “Is Murphy here?”

  “He said he was headed that way.”

  And he didn’t tell me? I don’t like where that’s leading. “Great,” I murmur. “Go ahead and shoot me.”

  “He listens to this recorded line, Lilah,” Tic Tac says.

  “You let him listen to your cellphone?” I challenge, because, of course, he doesn’t.

  Kane laughs, and Tic Tac groans, “Oh God,” again. “Is that—is that Kane?”

  “Yes, Tic Tac,” Kane confirms, amusement lighting his brown eyes. “I’ll send someone right over to kill you, too. Can I have the address?”

  Tic Tac gives a choked laugh. “You’re funny. He’s funny. He’s joking, right, Lilah?”

  “Mitch McAllen, Tic Tac. Focus.”

  “There is no Mitch McAllen on the CSI team or with the department at all. I even checked contractors. He doesn’t exist.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “Is it him? Is he the killer?” Tic Tac asks.

  “No.” I glance at Kane who arches a brow in challenge. “Maybe,” I concede. “I need you to go through the security feed and find the CSI guy taking photos. Send me that footage.”

  “There’s no footage in the alleyway itself,” he says. “And I didn’t see him. The first footage we have is a block away.”

  “Holy fuck! I do not have time for this,” I grind out. “Look for the CSI jacket. Mid-forties with a salt and pepper beard. And pale green eyes that stand out.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” he says. “But—”

  “Do better, Tic Tac. People are dead. More are going to be dead.” I hang up and look at Kane. “I just did to him what you said Roger did to me, right?”

  “That man is never going to believe he’s a killer.”

  “That statement says something about me that I’ll analyze later.” I pick up my phone from the desk and consider my next move. “I need to know if Houston knows this guy.”

  “But?” Kane prods.

  “What if he’s a part of this? What if he’s Umbrella Man, and this says I’m close, and they need to end this before we end this?”

  “Is this Umbrella Man?”

  “My gut says no, but he’s clearly a part of this.” I make my decision. “I have to call Houston.”

  I dial him, and he answers on the first ring. “Tell me you have something to save my ass right now.”

  “There was a man I met on the scene, name is Mitch McAllen. Forties, salt and pepper beard. Pale green eyes. He was wearing a CSI jacket, and he was taking pictures.”

  “Holy fuck. Mitch was there? In a CSI jacket? That little prick.”

  My eyes rocket to Kane’s. “Who is he?”

  “A reporter. I’ll handle him. I hate that piece-of-shit. If I ever committed murder, he’d be my victim, and I’d have no regrets. Anything else before I go personally beat his fucking ass? Don’t say DNA testing. I’m doing it. I said I’m doing it.”

  “Then that would be all.”

  “And his name isn’t Mitch McAllen. It’s David Moore, but the eyes and the beard give him away. Lying sack of shit. I’ll get back to you.” He hangs up.

  Reporter, I say, texting Tic Tac the news, adding, Back to the drawing board.

  I’m about to type more, but stop with a thought tha
t has me calling Houston back.

  “I don’t know who I want to avoid more,” he answers. “You or the mayor.”

  “I want that reporter’s DNA.”

  He barks out laugher. “He’s no killer. He’s obviously too dumb to be this killer in particular, but you know what? I’m going to enjoy asking for it. Serves him right for sneaking onto our crime scene. Done.” He hangs up. I set my phone down and pick it up again to text Tic Tac: Look for that reporter on the security feed from the other crime scenes, too.

  Kane’s phone buzzes with a text that he gives a quick glance. “Kit’s on his way. I’m going to give him your list.” He exits the room, and I start writing out notecards again.

  This time, I focus on extracting important pieces of the data Tic Tac provided, but end up doing what I have yet to do. Writing names on notecards to include: Lily, Sally, Thomas, Houston, Melanie, Roger, me, Kane, Detective Williams, each of the victims, my father, and even Pocher. I pin the victims in a row on one of my cork boards and write out details about their lives. I write out additional cards for people who donated to my father’s campaign who have a direct link to this case such as Roger, Houston, and Melanie.

  Also Melanie’s brother, Brandon Carmichael, who is a real standout as far as I’m concerned. He might not have supplied the drug that killed the victims, but he must know how to use it. He’s on Kit’s list, to begin surveillance, but I text myself all of his details. I can’t interview him without setting off a major red flag, but I need to see him in person. I know people. Okay, I know killers. As much as Kane wants to make me believe I’m not one of them, they see me as one of them. Ghost sure as hell does. If I get close enough to Brandon, I’ll know if he’s him, the man behind Umbrella Man. And there is one person behind Umbrella Man, even if he has help. This is all done in such a calculated perfect way, his way. Anyone else is support staff. This is a cause to him, a major New York stage show that he’s orchestrated.

  My cellphone rings with Houston’s number again. “Did he confess?” I answer.

  “Funny,” he says. “Your always so ‘not’ funny. The mayor has me holding a press conference tomorrow morning. Do you want to be there? To let the public know the FBI is involved?”

  “What part of stop holding press conferences do you not understand?”

  “The victims include one of our own and a television star,” he says. “That is high profile. On this, I get where he’s coming from. It’s getting press. We want to control the narrative.”

  “There were three victims, not two.”

  “Two sisters. Right. That rattles people as well.”

  “This is what he wants. He wants attention. He wants to be in the press.”

  “And he’s got it. His way, not ours.”

  “This is my call.”

  “You can’t stop the mayor from talking about losing one of our own or a crime spree in the city. Do you want to be there?”

  “The killer wants me there.” I tap my pencil on the desk and consider my options, “but you know what? Yes. I have a plan.”

  “Are you going to tell me that plan?”

  “No.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes.” I hang up.

  The only plan I have is to buy time, but I’m not sure I can.

  It feels like this is it.

  It feels like Kane and I are next.

  And he’s going to meet Ghost.

  I stand up and head down the stairs, following male voices to the kitchen. Rounding the corner, I find Kane at the endcap and Kit and another man on the side facing my entry. I glance at the stranger, and Kane says, “Meet Zar, Lilah.”

  I give his short hair and thirtysomething features a once over. “I thought with a name like that you’d have long hair and wear lots of jewelry.” I stop at the island across from Kit and next to Kane, focused on Kane. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I need to show you something first,” Kit says, sliding a photo in front of me. “Kane told me who I was looking for, and I’d already flagged this guy. He wasn’t with the rest of the crew that came in.”

  I glance down to find the same green-eyed reporter, dressed in a service uniform, inside the stairwell of this building. I grab it. “When was this?”

  “During the power outage,” Kit says. “We let a team in to try and repair the circuits. He had a fake ID and logged in as Miller Farris.”

  “I need to call Houston,” I say, “and my phone is upstairs.” I start to turn, and Kane slides his phone to the counter.

  “You want me to call the police chief from your phone?”

  “I’m highly amused by the idea,” he assures me, a quirk to his lips.

  “I’m sure you are,” I say, but I make the call.

  “Kane Mendez,” Houston answers.

  “No, he’s just my lover,” I say.

  Zar laughs, which you know always earns points with me. I like people who get my jokes, especially hearing half the conversation. They’re few and far between. “I have footage from our building, and your reporter asshole was here. He was dressed in a maintenance-style outfit and signed in with a fake ID.”

  “He’s known for being sneaky,” he says. “He’s not the guy.”

  “I want him brought in for questioning,” I say. “Call me when you have him, and I’ll meet you at the precinct. And Houston? I’ve never met a killer who someone didn’t think was a nice person. Don’t be an idiot who gets someone killed. Assume he’s the killer.” I hang up.

  “How many killers have you known?” Zar asks.

  “More than you.”

  “I doubt that,” he says dryly, and he actually sounds proud of that statement.

  I lean on the counter and look him in the eyes, killer’s eyes. “I know you. I knew you the minute you walked in the door and the only reason you’re staying in my house is that I know you’re riding along with Kane tonight. And I know Ghost. I’ve met him. He’ll shoot you first.” With that, I look at Kane. “I need to speak to you.”

  “Anything you wish, my love,” he says, giving me another amused look.

  I exit the kitchen, and he follows me to the bottom of the steps where I turn to face him. “I have a bad feeling about this meeting with Ghost.” I press my hand to his chest. “Just hear me out. The murders were by our building and in our building. That’s the perfect time to make us the next victims. And now, we even know the building isn’t secure.”

  “This apartment is,” he assures me. “Ghost called again. That’s what he does. He moves things around to protect himself. I have to go now. I’m leaving Kit with you because you seem less likely to shoot him.”

  “Zar isn’t enough backup. Let me go. I’ll be your backup.”

  “I’m not taking you, Lilah.”

  “Because you think we’ll both end up dead.”

  He cups my head and kisses my forehead before looking down at me. “Pocher is the one who is going to die. And painfully. The kind of pain I’ve wanted him to feel since he had you attacked. I’ll be back tonight. I promise.” With that, he releases me and walks away.

  And I let him because I have to let him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Kane makes me human alright.

  I’m pacing Purgatory, imagining him dead, imagining me killing Ghost in a fit of rage. Imagining the moment that I’m no longer human. Why didn’t I just kill Ghost? Why the fuck didn’t I kill him when I had the chance?

  Loaded with adrenaline, and get to work, I call Tic Tac, and have him get me “stuff.” He pulls Miller’s file. I manage to occupy my mind by reading up on him. He’s forty-four. He’s single. He’s had a domestic abuse charge. He could be the guy, at least on paper, but he doesn’t feel like the guy. One of the cult, I decide. I call Houston, and he doesn’t answer. My phone buzzes with a text: Miller was an entertainment reporter for a year. He interviewed the soap star.

  I immediately dial Houston again. Twice. He answers the second time. “He’s not at home or work,” he says
. “They can’t find Miller.”

  “Did you go into his apartment?” I ask.

  “We can’t just go into his apartment,” he says.

  “You sure as fuck can. He was at two murder scenes and one of them he identified himself as law enforcement. And he’s got a history with one of the victims. He interviewed Karen. Go in now.” I eye the address of his apartment, which is across town. “Call me when they’re in. I’m on my way. And tell them to glove and boot up. I don’t want evidence trampled on.”

  “You really think this is the guy?”

  “Just do it, Houston. It’s raining again. He might be gone because he’s at a victim’s home and the way we save him or her is at his apartment.” I hang up and grab my field bag. This might not be “the” guy, but he’s really damn close. I just hope like hell Kane really has Ghost on a leash because I’m about to put a hell of a lot of pressure on Umbrella Man and the Society.

  I hurry down the stairs to find Kit watching TV in the living room. “Let’s go.” I don’t wait on him; I head for the door.

  Five minutes later, I’ve updated Kit, and I’m in the back of an SUV, driven by one of Kane’s men with Kit next to me when Houston calls. “He’s dead, Lilah. A bullet just like the others.”

  “Fuck,” I say. “Then he’s the secondary victim. The family member who was doing things to try to keep the real victim alive. We need to know who that victim was, though, from what I read, there isn’t a long list. A girlfriend. Look for a girlfriend.”

  “I was just told that he was Detective Williams’ press contact. Maybe this really is him. Maybe he killed himself.”

  I digest that with a discomfort level equal to heartburn. He didn’t kill himself, and this isn’t over, but someone wants me to think that. They don’t want me to know that I’m a future victim. They don’t know Kane knows about Ghost. Someone knew that I’d found him and that information traveled through law enforcement. “I’ll be at the crime scene in fifteen minutes.” I hang up, grab my field bag, my damn rain jacket, and rush for the door to have a little chat with yet another dead body.