Murder Notes (Lilah Love #1)

“Mendez.”

“There is no conflict of interest with Mendez.”

“We both know that’s a lie. I want you off my case.”

I think of Murphy’s urgency to get me here. “And when the FBI claims jurisdiction?”

“Even if they do, you won’t be the agent in charge. I’ll make sure of it. I told you. I want you off my case.”

I narrow my gaze on him, and my first thought is that this situation isn’t what it seems. Rivera’s over-the-top reaction reads as being as manufactured as my confronting Officer Rogers to avoid Kane Mendez.

“Did you hear me?” he demands. “I want you off my case. When your director finds out you fucked Mendez—”

“I heard you,” I say. “You want me off your case.” Maybe a little too much, I think, before adding, “We’ll leave it to the powers that be to decide.”

I turn and start walking, but I’m not going anywhere. Kane’s right. I do belong here, at least for now and until I figure out what this all has to do with me, before someone else does first.



I climb into my rental and dial Director Murphy, who answers the call this time. “What do you have to report, Agent Love?”

“Same MO, different state.” I don’t give him time to ask for details. “How did you know I needed to be here tonight? How did you predict a murder?”

“That was a surprise.”

“But you wanted me here tonight, earlier rather than later.”

“Coincidental politics. Nothing more. Nothing I’m going to involve you in.”

“But I am involved. I’m the one who’s here.”

“And well equipped to do a quick, thorough investigation.”

“I have a history with Kane Mendez.”

“Which makes you the perfect candidate to get into his head.”

“Why do I need to be in Kane’s head?”

“He’s connected to this. Tonight makes that clear.”

“I didn’t tell you that. How do you know he’s connected?”

“I looked up the crime scene address. I know he owns the property.”

“But that doesn’t make him responsible for the murder.”

“That’s true, but anyone else working this case would assume he is because of who he is, and I don’t like the obvious as an answer to anything.”

“Are you protecting Kane Mendez? Is he a part of the politics you keep mentioning?”

“There’s always pressure to close cases and calm the public, and that doesn’t always mean solving the case.”

“You mean creating a fall guy.”

“That’s right. And I don’t do fall guys.”

“But Kane Mendez isn’t anyone’s easy fall guy.”

“You’re right,” Murphy says. “He’s not, but when you appear invincible, you become a challenge.”

My brow furrows. “I really don’t understand what’s going on here.”

“Just go catch me a killer, Agent Love.”

“I will,” I assure him. “But you should know that Rivera wants me off the case. He’s going to be a problem, but I’ll handle it.”

“If you need me to—”

“I don’t. This was just an FYI.”

“Noted. Check in tomorrow.” He ends the call and I start the engine, but I pause as Kane’s words come back to me: I handled it. Let it go.

I’m suddenly not sure whether he was talking about the past and my secret, or the present and tonight’s murder.



I pull onto the highway with one thought: my secret has secrets. It’s that thought that directs my path. I start driving and instead of ending up at the cottage I rented, I find myself in the garage of the beach house I inherited from my mother, while my father maintains what he calls the “Master House.” I never really understood why we had two homes only miles from each other, but I always suspected my mother kept this house to get some much-needed space from my father. Although he tended to follow her, so I’m not certain it worked. Whatever the case, it became my getaway after I left Cornell to recover from her death. And then later it became a weekend getaway from the city when I decided two years of law school was enough and joined the NYPD.

This is also the place.

This is where the man with the tattoo attacked me. Where a strange turn took place that I can’t explain. Something beyond self-defense. Something that now defines who I am. Or maybe it defines who I always was and didn’t dare admit, even to myself.

Whatever the case, if the man from that night is connected to these murders, and I believe he is, then this is where I will find answers and how I will catch a killer. And you don’t catch a killer by hiding from him. You catch him by getting to know him.

Killing the engine, I don’t give myself time to replay the past. I open the door, grab my bag, walk straight to the entrance, key in my security code, and then dial the security service, giving them a password and letting them know that the house is occupied. Entering the kitchen, I flip on the light, illuminating whitewashed cabinets, then pull my bag over my head and toss it on the granite island. My gun I keep, but I don’t scan the house. I don’t even see the house. Not now. I can’t see anything right now but the past. I need to face my fears, and I walk across the tiled floors and go straight to the patio, shoving the curtain aside to open the door, then walking outside, shutting it behind me. A chilly breeze gushes off the ocean, and my stomach knots. But I’m doing this. I’m going to the beach. I’m going to that spot where it all happened. I start walking. And walking. And then running. I run as hard as I can until I’m standing in the place where it all happened. I inhale the salty sea air and hold my hands out, letting my face reach to the sky, the full moon seeming to cast a light on my guilt.

Images flicker in my head but refuse to take form. I’m back in my recurring nightmare, but I’m awake. I look down and blood is pooling at my feet. So much blood. Too much blood. I blink and it’s gone. Now, there is just sand. I sit down. I inhale and then lie back, stretching my arms and hands to my sides, willing the memory of the past to come to me. In it I will find answers, and I realize now that’s what I need. Real answers. But nothing comes to me. I lie there, and lie there some more, and after all the times the past has haunted me, it eludes me now. I don’t know how long I stay there, but finally, I force myself to give up. I stand, scanning the ocean, expecting it to turn to blood, but it simply crashes to the shore.

I turn to the house and take a step, then stop abruptly, a shadow flickering by the house. A shiver runs down my spine. There it is again. Another shadow. Someone is there. It’s then that I flash back to being on this very sand with that tattooed man on top of me. Then that I remember Kane grabbing my arms and saying, “I’ll take care of it.” And I let him, and did so without asking questions, until it was too late to change the outcome. Because I was weak that night, and he was strong. But I am not weak anymore.

I pull my weapon and start running for the house, wind in my hair and face, my heart thundering in my ears, and I don’t stop until I’m staring at the blood splattered all over the patio glass, some kind of note pinned in the center. Adrenaline surges through me, but I am in my Otherworld now. I retain my cool. I walk to the patio door, using the end of my shirt to open the door, and then I systematically search every inch of the house. When I know I’m alone, I walk to my bag, pull on gloves, and then walk back outside, yanking the note off the door. Returning back inside, I lock the door and pull the blinds, and then I open the note. At the top is the alphabet, pasted in paper letters, with an X across the letter A. The note reads: A is for the Apple a day that keeps the doctor away. But a doctor couldn’t help him, could he?

I KNOW.