Love Me Dead Page 9

  “I’m the chief now,” he says, settling his hands on his hips under his blue jacket, “that makes every office my office,” he adds. “And that makes every office, and case, mine.”

  “You’re a young chief,” I comment, pretty sure that he’s not more than forty. At least that’s where my brain wants to place him, and the mildly present lines by his eyes and barely defined nasal folds framing his mouth, seem to confirm.

  “I worked hard while you were gone, much, it seems, like you did, Agent Love. This isn’t an FBI office. Why the hell didn’t you come to me before taking over my case?” His voice is now a snap, hard with demand, that wasn’t there before now.

  “Aside from the fact that your detective ran a shit show of a crime scene, and she’s now a no-show to the investigation?” I challenge. “I personally bagged evidence that’s now missing.”

  “What the hell does that mean? It’s missing?”

  “No one here seems to know it existed, and yet, I handed it off to Detective Williams. I have a responsibility to take control in a case of utter fucking incompetence and multiple deaths.”

  “I’ve been in this role cleaning up for six months. You couldn’t come to me first and give me a chance to make this right?”

  “I had a woman on the ground who’d just died in my arms after I’d been on that shit show of a crime scene, so no. I did what the moment demanded.”

  “You already used the shit show line. Get a new money line.”

  I give a fake laugh. “Haha. Aren’t you a clever one?” My lips press together. “You want to handle your own staff? Find my missing evidence,” I say. I move to pass him and exit the room, but I stop beside him on my way to the door. “And get rid of people like Nelson Moser,” I add, Nelson being a dirty detective who I recently linked to the Society. “As long as you have people like him close to you, I will rip your cases from your hands, often and freely.” I step forward.

  He catches my arm. “Don’t make me an enemy, Lilah.”

  “Hmmm. A subtle threat. I love that shit, especially when you lay hands on me. The main place my mind goes is really delightful. Your gun. My gun. Should we play or are you going to let go of my arm?”

  “Fuck, Lilah.” He grimaces and lets go of my arm. “That wasn’t a threat.” He scrubs his jaw and moves, giving me space. “That was frustration. I’m trying to clean up. I’ll clean it up.”

  “Good,” I say, handing him my card. “Now you have my number. Text me your number.”

  “Doing it now,” he says, and I watch him type it in and then ping my phone. I have nothing else, so I say nothing else.

  I exit the office and then this Godforsaken place, happily, too, the same way I was when I left here the first time. Back when I said goodbye to Roger with a plan to never look back. Suddenly, I wonder if all of this was a plan to get me back in the building, an idea as ridiculous as the one that had Detective Williams as Umbrella Man.

  I step out of the station into a cool fall breeze, which feels damn good, because that office was hot and sticky, a miserable affair from start to finish. I pause at the side of the door, focused now on my investigation and where to next. I quickly decide that I want Mia’s boyfriend to feel scot-free, even to think that he’s not on the murderer radar. That means he needs this worthless crew working for Detective Williams questioning him, not me. On the other hand, I need eyes on him. I believe the same proves true of the security team for the morgue and its owner. There’s a connection there. I need to know what it is. I have an office of people at the station who I could have follow these men, but the problem is that I don’t trust any of them. I don’t trust anyone, but I retract that mental statement quickly.

  I trust Kane. I have always trusted Kane. It’s me I don’t trust. It’s him I want to blame for that reality. All of those thoughts bring me to his Fifth Avenue office location. I’m going to ask Kane for another favor. The question is: what will he want in return?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I walk into Mendez Enterprises to find it unchanged from the last time I was here years before, but why wouldn’t it be? It’s straight up luxury; the way Kane wanted it, the way Kane dictated that it be, and with reason. This is his castle, his creation. He made Mendez Enterprises one of the largest oil companies in the world.

  Did he do it with drug money? Maybe.

  But he took the money that his father invested, and no matter how much I might press him about his involvement in the cartel, I know this place is his baby. I know he really does pride himself on what he’s created. It’s why I’ve always defended him, it’s why I always got so damn pissed off at everyone’s whispers about his father. It wasn’t until that night that I hit a wall, and the other side of his two-sided life became an issue for me.

  I cross the shiny tile floor of the lobby with a reception desk that matches its gray marble. There are sleek, high-back, brown couches and chairs to my left with an abstract tan rug beneath them and a dozen dangling bulbs above. I step to the front desk and wait for the pretty blonde behind the counter to disconnect a call.

  She waves at me excitedly, because Cindy Newman is not only beautiful, she’s a sweetheart. She’s beautiful that someone else might be concerned she’d have Kane’s eye, but I really don’t have time to fret over such things, and I’m not insecure that way. If Kane wanted Cindy, he would have Cindy. He just wouldn’t have me.

  “I can’t believe you’re finally back,” she says when she’s free. “Kane told me you might come by.”

  “Did he now?” I ask. Obviously, Kane isn’t insecure either.

  “He did. Is this—you know—are you back together?”

  “Kane and I are many things. We are,” aware of the camera behind the desk that Kane watches a bit obsessively, I look at it, meaning him, and I add, “complicated.”

  She laughs. “I’m sure he heard that answer, and you definitely made sure he knows you did. You two are something else.”

  She has no idea. “That we are. Where is he now?”

  “In his office. I’d suggest I buzz him, but we both know you’re going to go on back. He’d expect nothing less.”

  Her phone rings, and I round the desk to a foyer that leads to a set of stairs. Kane likes to have a level of stairs between him and any enemy. I know this for a fact. He’s told me as much. He doesn’t like to have an elevator that could become his prison. His words, not mine. Because, of course, he’s his father’s son, and even if he were 100% legit, and we both know that’s bullshit, he is always a target. He was always his father’s son. The death of his mother proves that to be a valid concern. I don’t like how valid. I don’t think about Kane as vulnerable, but every once in the while, I remember that he’s human, even if I don’t feel that I am.

  I reach the top level of the stairs and turn right to follow a hallway. His secretary here in the city is not at her desk, and I’m again reminded that I know Kane. This is by intent. That man is trying to clear a path and make me feel like I own this office, the way he owns this office. That I belong here and with him. And damn it, it’s working. I missed the sense of this place being an escape, even if he wasn’t here, because this place was him. I missed all the times I’d come by here and beat up the details of some investigation I was on while he listened, and he did listen.

  I don’t knock.

  I open his door and enter his office to find him standing with his back to me, facing a window that overlooks the city, his expensive gray suit fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders. This place, in all of its professional wonder, fits Kane perfectly, and yet, somehow running a cartel does as well. But the truth is, that air of danger that radiates off of him, that he wears like a second skin, only makes him all the more appealing to me. It always has. On some level, he knows this. I know this. You cannot love Kane Mendez and reject that part of him.

  He turns with my entry, his phone to his ear, a glint of surprise in his expression that quickly turns to pure heat and satisfac
tion. He didn’t see me on the camera; he didn’t know I was on my way up, but he wanted me to show up here today. And I gave him what he wanted. I don’t seem to care either. He speaks to his caller in Spanish, and I pick up enough to know he’s dealing with a problem, and he’s not pleased.

  I shut the door, cross the room and by the time I’m in front of him, he’s ended the call. “Problem?” I ask.

  His eyes narrow slightly. He’s still surprised when I read what no one else does in him. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he says, but he doesn’t reach for me. That tells a story. He’s withdrawn, that wall between our worlds present and pissing me off. That wall always pisses me off. It means the cartel is in business, and he’s in the cartel’s business.

  I press my hand to his chest, removing the invisible barrier he’s placed between us. “Tell me,” I urge softly, my eyes meeting his, and what I find is what I expect: the man who cannot escape being his father’s son. “Kane—”

  “This isn’t one of those things we talk about, Lilah.”

  “I don’t want it to be that way. It’s not that way.”

  He arches a brow. “Isn’t it, Agent Love?”

  Anger comes at me hard and fast, and I poke his chest. “Not that long ago, I threw away this badge. You convinced me to put it back on. I guess I know that something changed that night and now you feel like you need that layer of separation. Well, you have it. I should go. You’re clearly busy.” I try to turn away.

  He catches my arm and pulls me to him. “If I told you the cartel killed someone and I’m dealing with the aftermath, then what?”

  “If you told me? Is this a damn test, Kane? Is that where we’re at?”

  “Answer, Lilah.”

  “I’d ask what I need to do to protect you and then I’d make it happen. And then I’d beat your ass for being involved at all.”

  He releases me, his hands settling on his hips under his jacket. “Fuck.” He turns away from me and faces the window, tension rolling down his spine. This is a man of control and power, and he’s tormented right now.

  “Talk to me, Kane,” I say stepping to his side.

  He scrubs his jaw and faces me. “You know I have a connection that I can’t break.”

  “Family,” I say.

  “Yes, beautiful, family. I don’t want this shit on my doorstep, and I damn sure don’t want it on yours, but I was born a Mendez. I will always be a Mendez.”

  “I know who you are. You can’t protect me from that.”

  “The hell I can’t. I am.”

  “Correction then: you can’t protect me from that connection and us do us again.”

  He catches my arm again, stepping into me, aligning our legs, his voice softening. “Is that what we’re doing, Lilah? Doing us?”

  “I don’t know what we’re doing.”

  His eyes glint hard. “Then I’ll handle my own problems.” He releases me. “My own way.”

  “And that means what?”

  “You know what that means. You know what I do when things go wrong. I fix things, Lilah.”

  He’s not talking about the cartel. He’s talking about burying that body for me. “Fix it with me.”

  “When you decide you’re with me, Lilah, really with me, let me know. Until then, I’ll fix it on my own.” His cellphone rings, and he snakes it from his pocket. “I have to take this.”

  I stand there and listen, and damn it, he doesn’t just speak in Spanish. He speaks in code. I start thinking about the reasons he doesn’t like elevators near the office. I start thinking about him being human. He disconnects, and I step to him, my hands on his hips under his jacket. “Who shot who?”

  “Lilah—”

  “Damn it, Kane. Don’t shut me out. People die in your family. Your father was murdered. Has it ever occurred to you that’s what rips me to shreds about your damn namesake? Not who or what you are, but that you could die.”

  “You chase killers, Lilah. Do you think that’s easy for me?”

  “Don’t turn this back on me. Tell me what’s going on. Don’t make me punch you to find out because I will and—”

  He shuts me up by kissing me, and well, literally leaving me panting when he says, “No one gets to kill me but you.”

  “That’s not enough. Talk, Kane.”

  His jaw tenses. “There’s a hit out on my uncle, and if he dies—”

  “You inherit the cartel.”

  “It would be complicated. I need to take care of some things now without you, to protect you.” He strokes my hair. “What’s happening with Umbrella Man?”

  “That’s it? What’s happening with Umbrella Man?”

  “Let it go, Lilah.”

  “No.”

  “What happened with Umbrella Man?”

  Damn it, he’s shut me out. Cold. Hard. Absolute. I have to let it go because I know him. Pushing now will get me nowhere and I need to focus on the one place I can get results. “Umbrella Man,” I repeat, letting him know that I’m conceding and changing topics. “I don’t trust anyone in law enforcement for obvious reasons. Can I borrow Jay and a few men to do some surveillance?”

  “I’ll text you Jay’s number, so you have it in your phone. Where do you want him now? I’ll get him to come to you.”

  “I’ll handle Jay.” I grab his tie. “You just fucking stay alive.”

  “You’re back home, Lilah. I told you. I’m not going anywhere.” The air punches with our history and we lean into each other but his damn cellphone rings again.

  “Take it,” I say flattening my hand on his chest. “Make this problem go away.”

  He kisses me. “I am. I will.” He declines the call and sends a text that pings my phone. “That’s Jay’s number.” Already his phone is ringing again.

  I motion for him to take it, and I head for the door. “Lilah,” he calls out as I reach for the knob.

  I turn to find him holding his hand over the receiver but he doesn’t have to ask his question. I know what he wants and I answer before he even speaks. “I’ll be in Purgatory.” Purgatory—my workspace in his apartment. His eyes heat with this knowledge. “And I am back, Kane.” With that, I open the door and leave.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I meet Jay at the coffee shop on the corner, at a table, also in a corner. “Agent Love,” he greets, sitting down with me. “I hear I take orders from you now, but your safety comes above all else.”

  Kane. That fucking man. “His safety comes first. What the hell is going on with him?”

  He leans in close. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You fucking know. Don’t make me grab you by your damn hair and yank you over this table.”

  “He tells you what he wants you to know.”

  “I’ll arrest you.”

  “He’ll kill me,” he counters. “I’ll take the cuffs.”

  “Kane won’t kill you.”

  “If you don’t believe that man will kill me, you don’t know who you’re fucking.”

  “He won’t kill you for talking to me,” I amend.

  “No,” he agrees, “but for endangering your life he would, and for involving you in his business endangers your life. Anything you know, you know from him, not me.”

  “Look, asshole—”

  “Call me what you want, Agent Love, but I’ve seen you work and as such, I know why you two fit. I also know that if anything happens to you, he’ll be far worse to answer to than his uncle.”

  Far worse to answer to than his uncle. It’s not exactly what Kane said to me last night, but close enough. That this man sees it, too, tells me what I’ve always known. Kane is far more dangerous than he’s ever allowed me to see. “You keep him grounded,” he continues. “And I’m going to keep you alive for all of our sakes.”

  I lean in closer. “If you get in my way or fuck up my investigation, I’ll kill you myself. And I’m no two-trip bitch. I’ll get it right the first time.�
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  His lips curve, and he laughs. “You really are a bitch. I heard that about you. I like it. I like you. What do you need from me?”

  “Surveillance on a couple of suspects.” I talk to him about the boyfriend and the employment offices of both women as well as the entire staff at the security company. “I need this done now, tonight. I’m going to need to get interviews done on these people. I like to watch them squirm a bit before that happens.”

  “And what keeps Detective Williams from beating you to the punch?”

  “She’s missing,” I say. “I’m working on an electronic trail on her. More on that later. Go. Handle this.”

  “I go where you go.”

  “You go where the killer goes.”

  “It seems to me that’s the same thing. You go where he goes.” He stands up. “You won’t know I’m there and neither will he. Until he’s dead.” He heads for the door.

  He’s right. I go where the killer goes but only because the killer leads me there. If that’s true, and I believe it is, he’ll kill again soon and make sure I’m there for the show. I have to find him first. I consider that a few moments. Will me making a show of hunting for him challenge him or drive him into hiding? I think of all the killers that I’ve investigated and captured of which there are many. They all wanted attention. They would all do whatever necessary to get that attention. As much as I want to go to Purgatory and think, I need to give Umbrella Man some attention before he demands it by killing someone else.

  And so I ask myself: what does he want from me now?

  That answer comes easily.

  He wants me to look for Detective Williams. I dial Tic Tac. “I’ve called you three times,” he says. “Why is it that you can ignore me, but I can’t ignore you?”

  “Do you say things like that to Mike? Because if you say that to Mike, you’re going to look desperate, and he’ll dump you. What does Mike do for a living?”

  “All you need to know about Mike is that he isn’t rude. He calls me back. You do not.”