Murder Notes (Lilah Love #1)

“For now,” I say. “That’s subject to change at any point.”

“Regardless,” he says. “You have proof of my alibi.”

“That alibi doesn’t exclude you from hiring a hit man.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Lilah. Now I’m stupid enough to hire a hit man to kill someone in my own town?”

“That’s not the point. The point is me remaining objective, and I don’t even do you any good in this if I’m not seen that way.”

“Tell them you’re milking me for information,” he says, tapping a contact on his phone, “which we both know is your intention.” He places the phone to his ear. “I have reporters following me. Take care of them.” He ends the call.

“Take care of them? Who is taking care of them and what does that even mean?”

“They’ll run them off the road and hope that no one dies,” he says, turning us into the airport.

“Kane—”

“Look behind us, Lilah.”

I rotate to find several security vehicles now blocking the entrance. “They’ll keep coming,” he says, as I settle back down in my seat. “Especially now that they have a piece of you on the morning news.”

“Damn it,” I say, grabbing my purse and digging out my phone. “I didn’t even think about warning Andrew about this.” I punch in his number and, of course, get voice mail again. “Now look who doesn’t answer his fucking phone,” I say to his voice mail as Kane pulls us into a parking spot. “Reporters cornered me this morning,” I add. “I thought you’d want to watch me on the news.” I end the call.

“You still have a way with words, Lilah,” Kane says, killing the engine.

“Believe it or not,” I say, glancing over at him, “I’ve learned to tamp down on that since I left.” He arches a brow. “For small windows of time,” I concede.

He laughs that damn laugh again and glances over at me. “Very small, I bet,” he says, opening his door and exiting the car. Not about to allow him to play gentleman, I quickly gather my things and do the same. And sure enough, by the time I’m outside, he’s towering over me, all six foot three inches of him in his custom suit, this one blue. Way too close, the sense of him being near way too familiar. I don’t like how it feels, but if I turn away, he’ll know he made me blink.

“We both know you don’t really believe I’d run those reporters off the road,” he says.

“I was in the moment.”

“The same moment you’ve been in for two years.”

“I’m done pretending you aren’t what you are, Kane. We’re enemies by trade.”

“I run a corporation, not a cartel, Lilah.”

“If you don’t run your father’s business, who does?”

“My uncle, Miguel.”

“Insulation,” I say.

“Distance,” he counters.

“Semantics,” I reply.

The air crackles between us, seconds ticking by. “Let’s walk,” he says.

“Yes. Let’s walk.”

We turn at the same time and start moving toward the building, that charge still between us, and yes, it’s sexual in part—it always is between us—but there is anger there, too, his and mine. It’s too raw, too intense. Too us. It’s driving me freaking insane. He is driving me insane, which is why I met him at the Cove where the energy is the place, not what is between us. It churns between us, both of us all about control, and I know he hates that he has absolutely none with me anymore. I can almost feel his determination to change that, and I am sure he can feel mine to ensure he continues to fail.

We reach the entrance and he opens the door for me. I don’t look at him. I walk through and he is almost instantly by my side again, a man in a black suit motioning us forward. Our path leads straight to the tarmac where Kane’s familiar private luxury chopper waits, complete with Mendez Enterprises’ logo on the side. At the steps, he motions me forward, and I climb the short staircase, greeted at the top with the same four leather seats, two on each side, that were here all those times I used to make this weekend trip with him in the past. We’d been inseparable, even sharing his Manhattan apartment during the week. And while I’d like some of the distance from that past right now, I choose the window seat on the right, as I always did, because really, fighting the norm that once was is wasted energy at this point.

I remove my coat, drape it over my seat, and settle into the cushion, grabbing my cell phone from my purse and then placing it and my briefcase beneath my seat. I’m just buckling up when the phone rings, and I glance at the number to find Andrew on caller ID. “Now that the press is involved, you call back?” I demand, watching the door for Kane, who has yet to arrive.

“I was asleep when you called last night. What happened with the press?”

“I was pretty clear on voice mail. They cornered me and I told them I did you a favor, since I was in town.” I change the subject before Kane is here and I can’t talk. “That wasn’t a confession. And why did he call Alexandra? Does she know him?”

“I have no indication that she does.”

“That message directed to her does not fit, unless she does.”

“I’ll find out.”

“I need her to call me. I left her a message. Was there DNA in the victim’s house to match Woods?”

“No.”

“If he was dating her there would be DNA. Do you have any proof the victim even knew Woods?”

“We’re questioning neighbors. Looking for eyewitnesses.”

“That’s a no on DNA or evidence against that man.”

“The call—”

“Nothing he said on that transcript made sense to me.”

“Lilah. The man is crazy. He’s talking crazy.”

“Are you a profiler now and I don’t know it? I came here for a reason and actually, why haven’t you asked me for more details about my cases?”

“I’ve been a little busy trying to actually catch the killer.”

“He doesn’t fit the profile.”

“Then let’s nab the copycat killer and you can have a clear view of the rest of the case.”

“Copycat?” I demand, as Kane steps into the helicopter, his eyes meeting mine, a brow arching to indicate he not only heard me, his reaction is about the same. “Again with this?” I demand of my brother. “I could claim jurisdiction right now. Even with Woods as a suspect.”

“We both know you don’t want to make a public announcement about a serial killer unless you have to,” he says while Kane claims the seat next to me and buckles up. “I do not want my community scared,” he adds.

“And if there’s another murder? How scared will they be then?”

“Look,” he says. “Lilah. Sis. Give me seventy-two hours to try to find Woods. If we can’t do it, I will humbly ask for FBI assistance.”

I inhale and let it out. “Fine. Yes.”

“I’ll call you.”

“Wait—”

He hangs up and I start tapping my fingers on my leg. Kane grabs my hand to still it. “Her fury does reveal itself. Deep breaths, beautiful. I don’t want you punching me or the wall. He’s responding to the pressure of the spotlight.”

The door slams shut, alerting me that I have about three minutes before we can’t speak without a headset and the pilot overhearing. I yank my hand from his and face him. “How dirty is my family?”

“Your father is Pocher’s puppet.”

“What does that mean?”

“Lilah—”

“I need answers, Kane. Do you know if my family is just reacting to political pressure to avoid bad press or are they in this deeper? Are they dirty?”

“You know I don’t know that answer yet.”

“I know? How do I know when we both know there’s plenty you’ve kept from me?”

“What exactly have I kept from you?”

“Tell me about the tattoo.”

The engine roars to life and I reach for my headset, determined to talk in code if necessary but finish this conversation, but I never get the chance. Kane’s hand is suddenly on the back of my head, his cheek is pressed to mine, his lips to my ear. “My turn to ask questions. My turn to need to know. Tell me about the note on your car.”