Murder Notes (Lilah Love #1)

“Parked on the road across from your car.”

“Stay here,” I order and don’t wait for his compliance. I start walking and to his credit, he has the common sense to listen. He stays behind the way common sense says I should have fought to stay in Los Angeles and even welcome Rivera pushing me aside. But there are too many links between me, a secret I need to ensure stays buried, and these murders for me to ignore. And one of those links is Kane Mendez.





CHAPTER FOUR

Ready to get this homecoming with Kane behind me, I follow a line of four vehicles in my path, mine being the fifth. I cut between my front bumper and the rear of a pickup, and I stop dead in my tracks when I bring Kane into view. As expected, he’s parked his sporty black Mercedes on the opposite side of the road, across from my rental, letting me know that he knows it’s mine. He doesn’t see me, and I watch him, assess him, and take in the sight of him in his suit, gray and custom-fitted to his long, leanly muscled body. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, and he has one foot over the other. Cool. Casual. Seemingly relaxed, but there is an air of a predator to him—a beast waiting for dinner, waiting for me. Or so he thinks. It’s my job to make sure he knows dinner is not served.

His attention shifts in my direction as if he senses me watching him, and that’s when I feel the punch in my chest, the familiar awareness for this man that I don’t want to feel. Emotions explode inside me, ones that I refuse to name and fiercely reject. He’s a tall drink of poison that I’ve already swallowed and felt the repercussions from. I’m not stupid enough to take another drink. And me standing here, staring at him, is a blink he could read in a million ways that I can’t afford for him to read.

I start walking, and his eyes, which I know to be intelligent and so dark brown they are nearly black, track my every step. He’s watching me the way he’s always watched me, the way he watches everyone. Like they’re all that matters. Like he cares about nothing else. It’s the way he seduces people. It’s the way he destroys people, but everyone who destroys eventually gets destroyed, as proven by the murder of his father. I don’t walk quickly. I walk slowly, steadily, and completely calculated. I don’t let myself feel anything. Finally, then, I stop in front of him, close enough to say I’m fearless, but far enough to stay out of his reach, to ensure he doesn’t touch me.

I expect him to push off the vehicle, to tower over me and attempt to intimidate me, but he doesn’t. “Agent Love,” he greets me, his voice refined, the smallest hint of an accent to his words. “Still in the murder business, I see.”

“I hear the same might be true of you.”

“If you’re inferring that I’m my father’s son,” he says, “you of all people know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’m not him any more than you are your father.”

“Why are you here, Kane?”

“You know why I’m here.”

“Because your tenant, and employee, is dead,” I state.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

He’s here for me. I pretend he’s not. “What can you tell me about—”

“Nothing,” he says. “I don’t know her. My leasing agent handles my property management.”

“She’s an attorney at your company.”

“Who I’ve never met.”

“You know I’ll find out if you’re lying.”

His lips quirk. “Of course you will, Agent Love, but I have never lied to you. I’m not going to start now.”

“You just don’t tell me what you don’t want me to know.” It’s a reference to the past, to my secret, our secret, that’s out before I can stop it, and I swallow the dryness in my throat.

He knows it, too, of course, and his eyes narrow, darkening. “Ask a question if you want an answer, Lilah.”

Lilah. Not Agent Love, but Lilah. And again, here we are talking about the past, not the present, and it has to stop. Now. This moment. “How did you know to come here tonight?”

“How did I know you were here or how did I know there was a murder?”

“Both.”

“The police contacted my real estate agent, who called me about the murder,” he says. “And I always know where you are.”

“That’s fucking creepy, Kane.”

“Creepy?” He laughs. “You do have a way with words, Lilah.” He pauses, his mood shifting, darkening, something in his face I can’t quite read before he says, “This is where you belong, Lilah Love. You’ve been gone too long.”

“This is not where I belong.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. It’s not. And right now, I have a murder to solve, Kane. I need the contact information for your real estate agent.”

He reaches into his pocket and produces a card, which he holds up and then offers me. I stare at it, aware that if I take it, he’ll touch me. “I don’t bite unless you tell me to bite, beautiful. You know that.”

I reach forward and take the card, but he catches my hand, and a charge rolls up my arm, but his words, and his eyes staring into mine, are what hold on to me. “I handled it. Let it go.” He releases me, and I cut my gaze, shoving the card into my pocket, my hand trembling when my hand never fucking trembles.

“Where were you this afternoon?”

“In my office.”

“Which, I assume, can be corroborated by half your staff.”

“And a camera.”

“Of course. A camera. Don’t leave town until we’re done questioning you.”

“You’re here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I force myself to look at him. “I’ll be in touch.”

I turn away and start walking, feeling the weight of his stare, and just when I’m about to disappear between the vehicles again, he calls out, “You still have a nice ass.”

I cup my hand behind me and shoot him my middle finger. He laughs, a low, deep, taunting laugh that fades into the wind, even though he refuses to fade out of my life. I quicken my pace, placing much-desired space between him and me, and finding Shirley waiting on me at the gate. Ignoring him in hope of avoiding conversation, I pass him by, step onto the sidewalk, and charge toward the porch.

“I heard you used to date him,” Shirley says, falling into step with me. “And they called you Marilyn and Pacino, you know, because Kane was born into a crime family and your mother was a famous actress who once played Marilyn Monroe and was married to the mayor. And then your mother was killed and—”

“Bringing up my dead mother is in very bad taste,” I say, stopping to face him, his face reddening in response, but I’m not done teaching him a lesson. “And since you seem to be getting fed gossip on me, let me just give it all to you. Did you know I slept with Keanu Reeves, too?”

“You did? Was it the Matrix Keanu or the older John Wick Keanu?”

I never have time to watch movies and have no idea what he means by John Wick, but I just go with it. “Both,” I say, “but the John Wick version was older. Wiser. Better in bed.”

He holds up his hands. “That’s more information than I needed to know.”

“You’re right. It is. That’s my point. Holy fuck, Shirley. You aren’t from here, are you?”

He blanches, looking quite confused. “No. Connecticut. How did you know?”

“Because gossip is an outsider’s fodder. And if you believe I slept with Keanu Reeves, or Kane Mendez, with nothing to back it up but words, you will never be anything but someone else’s babysitter.”

I give him my back and climb the stairs back into the house. Rivera is waiting for me in the doorway, one shoulder on the doorframe, one laced-up loafer over the other, his eyes cold and calculating. “What’d you find out?”

“Nothing. Not one damn thing.” I try to walk around him.

He steps in front of me. “I don’t believe you.”

He’s close, his spicy, overused cologne misplaced at a crime scene and irritating my nostrils. “Step aside, Rivera.”

“You’re done here.”

“On what grounds?”

Seconds tick by, his eyes glinting with a mixture of hate and lust that, while familiar, never becomes tolerable.

“On what grounds, Sergeant Rivera?” I repeat.

“Conflict of interest.”

“What conflict of interest?” I press.