Page 12 of Murder Notes

“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.”