Murder Notes (Lilah Love #1)

“Ha ha. You are so funny.”

“I am, aren’t I?” he asks, and I can almost hear his bright-white smile through the phone. “You remember tonight is date night. Me looking hot in a tuxedo. You looking hot in a sexy red dress.”

“Why red?”

“I like red. Wear red. I’ll wear a red tie.”

“I’ll see if I have one here at the house.”

“You do. I remember a dress.”

“I’ll see. Do you happen to have a guest list for the party?”

“It would be easier to list who won’t be there. It’s a who’s who of the elite. The New York City mayor will even be there.”

“Hmm. Okay. Well, the food had better be good or you’re buying me dinner afterward.”

“I’ll buy you dinner whenever you like, Lilah.”

I roll my eyes. “We are never going to date, Lucas. We’re family. But I love you.”

“Okay. This isn’t Lilah Love, is it?”

“I love you, you asshole.”

“Okay, now you sound like you. Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”

“I’ll meet you.”

“You have to walk in with me as my plus-one to get in the door.”

“So we meet in the parking lot.”

“Fine. Red dress. Seven. Later, darlin’.” He hangs up before I can tell him I’m not his darlin’.

I sit there a minute, thinking about the who’s-who event, and I find it very interesting that no one but Lucas has said a word to me. They don’t want me there. They don’t want me here. They’re afraid, and while that could be just about scandal, it could be about Woods. What I want to do is go balls to the wall, shake them all up a bit, and claim jurisdiction. But the minute I do that, my gut says that Woods ends up captured, evidence stacked against him, or worse, dead. No. I need to make sure everyone believes I’m convinced it’s Woods, something I haven’t done well. The more secure they are, the more their guard will come down. I’m about to make them feel like they are riding on rainbow-colored clouds, that things are going so wonderfully their way.

But first, I need information. I dial Greg and once again get his voice mail. “I need you, Greg. Give me something.” I end the call and hit Tic Tac’s number. “Romano. Detective Moser. Mendez. Woods. Talk to me.”

“Because it’s not seven a.m. on Saturday,” he says. “And I don’t have a hot chick in bed with me.” He doesn’t give me time to reply. “Moser works private security for Blink Security as a side job. After doing some checking, I found that Mason Party Planning handled three of the six events he worked in the past three months. And guess who owns Mason Party Planning? Olivia Mason, who is the niece of one of the big Romano brothers.”

“So now we have a connection between Moser and Romano,” I say. “You officially rock, Tic Tac.”

“As my reward, I request you do not call me for two hours.”

“Fine. Two hours.”

He hangs up, and I throw off the blankets, thinking about those rainbow-colored clouds I need to create. I let out a dramatic sigh despite no one being around to appreciate it and dial the NYPD. “Detective Moser,” I tell the operator, and way too fast, Moser is on the line.

“Lilah Love. The first FBI agent with a hooker’s handle.”

“I sound like a hooker, but from what I hear, you are one. Turning tricks for all the bad boys. Talk to me about the Emerson case.”

“High-end trader who I suspect made the wrong trade for the wrong person. We’re working through his client list.”

And Woods is going to be on that list. Damn it. “Save us both the pain of a meeting. Send me the case file by e-mail. [email protected].”

“What is this about?”

“I have a couple of cases we thought might be connected, but new developments seem to point in another direction.”

“Fine. I’ll send the file.”

“And that client list you’re working on.”

“I’ll send it.”

“When?”

“Today.”

“Make sure it is today.”

“Right. Of course, Agent Love.”

I roll my eyes at his emphasis on “Love” and hang up, dialing Tic Tac. “Two hours, Lilah,” he reminds me.

“Our New York City victim.”

“Emerson.”

“Right. He’s a Wall Street guy. Did you pull his list of clients?”

“Yes. No dots connected.”

“Keep an eye on it. Woods will show up there soon.”

“Hold on.” Keys click and seconds pass. “Still not there.”

“Check it when your two hours are up. It starts now.” I hang up and climb out of the bed, shove my phone in my pajama-bottoms pocket, and rush out of the bedroom, planning to make my way to Purgatory, then note the horrible taste in my mouth. Good God. I need toothpaste or mouthwash. Or better yet, Cheetos. I hurry to the kitchen and grab an entire bag, but decide I need coffee, too. I stick a pod in the Keurig, and my phone rings.

I pull it from my pocket and glance at caller ID before answering. “Director Murphy,” I greet him.

“Agent Love. I’ve started the wheels turning on Detective Harrison, and we’ve found some interesting activity surrounding his case.”

“Interesting how?”

“I’ll let you know when I know more. For now, you know, it’s in process.” I open my mouth to push, but he never gives me the chance. “Moving on. Locals here are getting pressure to close these cases. And after giving your assassin theory some thought, I pulled the FBI database, with nothing impressive to show for it.”

I grab my coffee and start adding sweetener. “So it’s someone new to us. That’s not surprising considering how clean the crime scenes are.”

“My thoughts exactly, which reminded me of a guy I heard about while I was in the army. A sniper they called the Ghost. No one knew who he was or who he worked for. Turns out he’s not in the FBI database.”

“Who is he?”

“Still unknown, but over the past fifteen years there have been seven incidents, half overseas and half stateside, attributed to him. The one link to all is the way the victims are killed.”

“A bullet between the eyes and a clean crime scene.”

“That’s exactly right. But he doesn’t undress them, which still rings true of a serial killer taking a trophy.”

“It could be a client request.”

“Which means if we want to be the ones to catch the Ghost, we need to find out who that request came from.”

“I’m already on it, but just an FYI: the locals are continuing to push on Woods. I’m going to let them think I’m on board.” I think of Kane’s warning. “I want the real killer out in the open, not in the shadows.”

“Good plan. Keep me informed.”

We disconnect, and I decide against the coffee, grabbing a diet Sprite and my Cheetos, and head back to Purgatory when my gaze catches on the blanket on the floor. The one my mother made and that I’d wrapped myself in last night. I walk to the living room and set my breakfast on the coffee table, picking up the blanket and folding it, my eyes landing on the camera under the pillow.

Great. It’s pointed right where Kane and I undressed. I’ve made a sex tape and didn’t know it. I set the blanket on the chair, thinking I don’t need a sign that says, WILL WORK FOR FOOD but rather, WILL SCREW FOR INFORMATION I DON’T GET. A sudden thought hits me, and I grab my food and hurry down the hallway toward Purgatory. Once I’m there, I grab a marker, and on the left side of the board I write: POCHER

ROMANO

On the right side I write:

KANE

Kane shut down Pocher. Romano is his enemy. This makes Pocher and Romano allies. Whatever it is, something went wrong in some way, and they needed to do damage control, hence hiring the assassin. Kane’s employee must have been working for them and became a liability they couldn’t afford. It’s got holes, but it’s a working theory. I circle the name Romano, and I realize, then, that I have power. I like power. I sit down at the desk and remove my phone again, this time dialing Kane.

“Agent Love,” he greets me.

“The Ghost,” I say. “I know who the assassin is, Kane.”

“Then you know you don’t just contact him. It takes time.”

“If you can’t, maybe Romano can? I’m pretty sure he’d be happy to help your ex just because I’m your ex.”