Page 76 of Murder Notes

W is for Warning.

I don’t like to be taunted.

My lips curve. “No, you don’t, do you?” And as far as I’m concerned that’s a good thing. It’s a sign of a short fuse and a weakness I can manipulate. I just have to decide how. I’m almost certain this place, in this cozy town, won’t have a parking lot security feed, and even if it does, Junior will be covered head to toe. Interesting timing, though. Andrew, Eddie, Samantha, and Alexandra were all here when this happened and in this parking lot, and everyone but my brother is apparently quite angry. Maybe I pissed one of them off enough for them to make a mistake.

And if I haven’t pissed Junior off enough to do so yet, I’m going to soon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I stuff the note in my pocket, peel away my coat, despite what is becoming a cold October day, and get to work on my tire. Or that’s the plan. I have my spare and a jack, and I’ve just squatted down to do the job, when boots crunch next to me. My gaze travels the tan work boots and jeans to lift and find Greg standing there. “Greg?”

“Get the hell up,” he says, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. “I’ll do it.”

“I don’t need you to change my tire. FBI agent, remember?”

“And a chick. Translation. No self-respecting man would let you freeze your ass off and change your tire.” He indicates his navy puff jacket. “I’m armed and ready.”

He’s also combed his hair and his face is clean-shaven, his all-American good looks restored. He even smells kind of Old Spice–like, which isn’t a great scent, but it’s his thing. “Why are you here?”

“Would you believe Moser called me to work security at an event tonight? And I came for a little booty and breakfast with an old flame.”

“Moser? Are you crazy? This has to be some sort of setup.”

“Yeah well, I need the money and the job. Blink Security is top-notch. And who knows? Maybe this is our in to find out what the hell is really going on.”

“I tried to call you yesterday.”

“Yeah, sorry. I was still sleeping off the self-pity. I got nothing helpful right now. Maybe after tonight I will.”

I hug myself against a cold gust of wind. “What about your contact?”

“Still working it. Put your damn coat on.”

I don’t argue. I open the door and grab my coat. “Ah, Lilah,” Greg says as I button up.

I glance down to see him flipping open his Smith & Wesson police-issue tactical knife, which he holds to the slice in my tire, before glancing up at me. “Who’d you piss off?”

“Who don’t I piss off?” I say.

“That’s true,” he says, returning his knife to his belt. “And these are your people here, which means nerves and egos are bruised ten times faster. There’s a reason it’s usually someone you love who kills you.”

Someone I love.

Who kills me.

Six words that mean so much.

Of course, the restaurant had no cameras, and I’m no closer to finding Junior than I was before the tire incident. But I’m determined to find another piece of the puzzle I face before the party. I part ways with Greg by noon, and an hour later, I’m home, in sweatpants, sitting on the bed while thumbing through old case files on my computer. Take Me to Church is playing on the big screen on the left-hand wall, which is proving to be a truly horrific B movie, one Jensen obviously did before he hit it big. It’s giving me nothing to go on, and I’m coming up with nothing on my cases. Neither does the Emerson case file and autopsy report, which confirm the absence of body markings or tattoos, which has me back to reviewing my case files. This continues for an hour before I order Chinese food. I’m on egg roll number two when finally, a plot I thought really didn’t exist happens on-screen. The Church is a group of devil worshippers who silence anyone who crosses them.

I set down my egg roll and hit Pause, considering this idea. Not the devil worshippers, per se, but the idea of a group of people who silence those who cross them. It fits a hit list and an assassin, and despite my father’s career, both political parties rank right up there with devil worshippers to me. Thus why I haven’t voted in well, ever. I’ve never voted. I figure the dead bodies I play house with are my public service.

I sigh and decide this really isn’t getting me anywhere. Romano represents a crime organization, as does Mendez. Pocher is his own kind of nastiness. I already know this. These types of groups eliminate enemies all the time. What I need is a clue to who is involved. I hit Play again and pick up my egg roll, focusing on my case files, and start looking for people who might have clients or relatives who connect to the Mendez or Romano families, or to Pocher himself.

I’ve just finished off my lo mein and set my takeout box aside when I glance at the TV and immediately grab the remote control, hitting freeze-frame on the image of a familiar face. “Laney Suthers,” I say, tabbing through my case files to find her file, not sure why I didn’t think of her before now. Clearly aside from being a high-end Manhattan call girl, she was an aspiring actress. Back when I was in the NYPD, we’d arrested her after several clients gave her up, but she refused to do the same to save herself. We were close to turning her. We never got the chance, though. She was killed in her home while out on bail, and we never found who did it. I inhale a sharp breath. One week after I was attacked. It seems pretty clear. I survived, so she did not.

I pull up IMDb on my computer and type in Take Me to Church, looking for the executives on the film and the casting agents. I compare the list with the guest list for tonight’s party and, of course, I get a big whopping nothing. Another thought hits me, and I do some digging, looking for who funded the movie, with no luck. I get Tic Tac to work on it. Looking for one of three names: Mendez, Romano, or Pocher. And after hesitation over my secret, I dare to get him looking for connections to Laney. The call girl whose life was quite possibly taken instead of mine. I owe her justice.

I don’t get answers about the movie investor before the party. Turns out the party involved is some Chinese operation with a US back door Tic Tac didn’t want to explain. He just wanted space to work. So I do what I do. Promise to give him space and then call him several more times with more questions. Lucas, on his part, calls me four times, to ensure I’m dressed and on time for the party. And so I dress and I’m on time for the party.