Murder Notes (Lilah Love #1)

“The next time I ask won’t be in the Cove. People are dead, Kane. More might die. I will take you in for formal questioning. And we both know that will start the tongues wagging about you and your father all over again.”

He inhales and lets it out, his energy sharp-edged and lethal. “I don’t like being held captive, Agent Love.”

“Neither do I,” I say.

Our eyes lock, a war of wills raging between us before he finally says, “I’ll need forty-eight hours.”

“Fine. Forty-eight. Not forty-nine.”

“Understood, Agent Love.”

He reaches into his pocket and holds up a flash drive. “I expedited the security footage you wanted from my home and office.”

I take a step toward him, and he to me, the boulders connecting in the middle, and I make a quick swipe for the drive, only to have him close his hand around mine. “No one dresses in a hoodie and unisex clothes to put a note on a car window, and then disappears in the woods, who isn’t up to no good. Who put the note on your car today at my office?”

“Who blew you last night?”

“Who put the note on your car?”

“I’m about ten seconds from sticking my knee in your groin. I suggest you let me go.”

He inhales again and then releases me. “What did the note say?”

“It said, Kane’s an asshole.” I head for the steps and call out, “Twenty-four hours.”

“Forty-nine,” he calls back.

“Twenty-three it is,” I say, and jump to the ground, hurrying away, and I don’t stop until I’m in the car again. I crank the engine and glance forward to find Kane is still standing on that boulder, but this time he’s looking at me, watching me. He’s definitely not Junior—not that I thought he was in the first place. But he is definitely hiding something from me, and I’m not leaving until I find out what.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Strawberry pie. That’s my answer to hating everyone as much as I do right now. A whole strawberry pie, with a fork to eat it right from the pan. Because, damn it. Not only can I not manage to get dinner in this town, I can’t manage to get an honest answer. No one is shooting straight with me. Everyone is talking in circles. And yeah. That’s the life of an FBI agent, but these people are my people. They shouldn’t be big, fat freaking liars. That also shouldn’t be able to twist me in knots. I mean, I see dead people and all. The living should not be able to get to me anymore. But maybe that’s the issue. The family unit that connects me to this life, not the next, is starting to feel as dead as most of the people in my life.

I pull up the security system app on my phone and hit the remote for the garage, and the door lifts but the light does not come on. I’d like to think a bulb is out, since the garage door worked, but the security system has a backup battery. And with Junior creeping around in unisex clothes and lurking in the woods, I have a feeling my strawberry pie isn’t going to be happening anytime soon.

I brighten my headlights and confirm that no one is inside the garage, but I don’t like the idea of being sealed in there right now. I do, however, like the idea of someone else being trapped inside the house and forced out another exit. I hit the remote and lower the door again, then place the car in reverse to back up, re-angling the lights to shine on the front door. Next, I remove my service weapon from my holster and grab my keys, exiting the vehicle to walk to the front of the house, where I unlock the door and shove it open. Reaching inside, I flip the switch, but the lights don’t turn on, confirming a bad bulb in the garage isn’t the issue.

“Definitely not getting that pie anytime soon,” I grumble.

This also means that I need to get to the circuit panel to hopefully remedy my problem, which, of course, is in the garage I just sealed. Really cranky right now and hoping for an excuse to go at it with Junior, I head back to the car while my stomach growls in empty protest.

Climbing back inside my rental, I shut myself in the car, place my weapon on my lap, and hit the remote to open the garage again. I scan for Junior, just to be safe, and then with the all-clear pull inside, but I don’t shut the door behind me. Weapon back in hand, I exit the car and walk to the panel on the wall, tugging my sleeve down to open the metal door to preserve prints, and then flip the switches. The garage lights up, but before I go inside, I need to make damn sure no one follows me from behind. I walk to the button on the wall by the entry into the house and push it to lower the garage door.

I then walk to the car and kill the headlights, setting my purse on the hood and taking off my coat to leave it there, too. If I need to fight once I’m inside, I need to be agile. And preferably more well fed than I am at present, but hey. Hungry Lilah is almost as bad for her enemies as PMS Lilah. My cell phone rings in my coat pocket where I’ve left it, and I dig it out, glancing at the number to find Rich as my caller. I swear that man has a special radar for calling while I’m holding a gun in my hand. I press the Decline button, and since I know he will call back, I place the ringer on silent. Opening the door to the house, I find the kitchen light on, and I may or may not have been responsible.

I scan the immediate area and then check the security system to find it active but not armed. The only logical explanation for that, considering it, along with the garage door, has battery backup, is that someone hacked the security company and pulled my password to disarm the system. Junior isn’t a stupid-crazy person, and smart-crazy people are dangerous. The questions for later will be, does Junior have tech skills, or is Junior working with someone else? Moving farther into the house, I secure the living area, walk through the living room to the patio door, check the locks, and glance outside to find nothing but darkness. I start clearing the rooms, flipping switches and securing doors and windows. Finally, I have only Purgatory left, and I rush upstairs, do a quick check that includes the closet, return my gun to my holster, and head back downstairs.

Certain now that I’m alone, I pull out my phone again to find two more missed calls from Rich and one from Lucas. I head for the kitchen and text Rich: Purgatory. Not tonight. And then I dial Lucas because, you know, I’m about to have pie, which feels good, and he’s family.

“Lilah,” he greets me. “You never call or visit and now you do both. What the hell is happening here?”

“You called me.”

“But you called back.”

“Should I hang up?”

“You should answer more often.”

“Did those cameras happen to have working batteries in them?”

“I gave you power cords.”

“Right. I used them.”

“Why are you asking this? Did the cords not work?”

“I have power surges here. I should get batteries.”

“You should get an electrician.”

I have a sudden bad thought and say, “Hold on.” I don’t wait for an answer, rushing to the fridge in hopes my pies are not ruined, yanking the door open. Thankfully, the cold was sealed inside. “Yes,” I say.

“Yes what?” he asks.

I grab one of the pies and shut the door. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell him, heading to a drawer for a fork.

“You said yes. Never mind. My date cancelled on me for Saturday night. You want to have mercy on my reputation and go with me?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, setting my pie and fork on the island counter and returning to the fridge for a soda.

“The Children’s Hospital charity event your father and Pocher are hosting.”

My father and Pocher, the lovebirds themselves. “So they’re hosting an event in the name of a good cause to get a bunch of celebrities together and ask for political donations?”

“You do have a way of cutting to the chase.”

“Yep. That’s me. Right to the nitty-gritty.” My tone flattens. “I hate those events.”

“I do, too. Don’t make me go alone.”

“No one is making you go.”

“There is always business to be done at these things.”

And things to learn about people, my father and brother included. “What time?”

“That’s a yes? Seriously? Where is the Lilah Love I know and love?”