“The assassin is real. Buckle down and protect Dad until I call you back. I’ll explain the rest later.”
“Explain now. What the hell does that mean? Is Dad a target?”
“I’m being cautious. Eddie isn’t with you, is he?”
“No. Why?”
“Was he with you?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “He left about an hour and a half ago. He said he was going home.”
“Is Pocher with you?”
“Yes. Again, why? And I repeat, what the hell is going on, Lilah?”
“I have a tip that the assassin is coming for Eddie. I also believe that Pocher’s organization is behind it, but that’s a conversation your punk ass is going to have with me later. Watch your back. And Eddie is not at home and his phone is off.”
“He and Alexandra have been fighting a lot. He’ll go to his boat at Halsey’s Marina. That’s where he goes when she kicks him out. I’ll meet you there.”
“No,” I say as Kane pulls into the dark parking lot of the marina where Eddie’s boat is parked. “Stay with Dad,” I say. “Protect him. Lock down.” And I say the words again. “Promise me.”
“If I stay here, I’m going to send two patrol cars to the docks.”
“No,” I say. “Don’t trust anyone.”
“I trust my men.”
“Trust no one, Andrew.”
“You can’t go after an assassin alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Kane,” he says.
“Yes, and that’s better than your patrol cars.” I hang up before he argues, but I do so with the realization that he didn’t ask why anyone would want to kill Eddie. I don’t like where that thought could take me, but Kane pulls us into a parking spot and I set it aside for now.
Neither of us speaks. We scan the harbor, which houses at least forty boats and is well lit with lantern-style lights in some places and dark in others. Kane and I look at each other. “The Gamer has already shown interest in you. You’re a target. He’s not the average asshole. He’s not even the exceptional asshole. He’s a hundred times better. We’re better together.”
“Agreed,” I say, and we share a quick nod before exiting the vehicle.
We meet in front of the hood, both of us doing another scan of the area. The night is eerily quiet. The signs of life, invisible. The moon and stars are now covered with clouds, and there’s muffled thunder in the distance. Kane motions us forward, but I hold up a hand and then squat down, removing the knife inside my boot, along with the leather case, but leaving the ankle strap in place. Standing, I shove the knife under my jacket and into the waistband of my jeans.
I nod, and Kane and I start walking, following a sidewalk to a boardwalk. My gaze lands on a sign with dock numbers, and I point to it and then to the right. We cut in that direction, and side by side, we walk through the path of boats, some small but most medium and large yachts. Since Alexandra did not have a boat when I lived here, I assume that it’s a toy she bought for her boy, and that is as manly a term as Eddie gets from me. The walk is long, the dock numbers passing us by until we are at the very end of the row of boats. And The Rivera turns out to be a rather large yacht with the lights in the enclosed lower level glowing through the glass.
Kane and I both pull our guns and we climb onto the deck, weapons aimed in front of us. The glass door leading to the main cabin is tinted too dark to see beyond it. I motion to the right and Kane points left, and we sweep the top of the yacht, returning to the door to stand in front of it. He points to himself and the door to tell me he’s going first. I’ve learned that no matter how kick-ass I am, no matter how big my badge or attitude, men do this macho thing. And later, when I save their asses, they are really damn glad I do it just as well.
So I let him go first, but I’m a gentlewoman—I open the door for him.
He enters and curses. I follow him inside and do the same, stepping to his side, both of us holding our weapons in front of us, while Eddie is facedown on a glossy wood-laminate table, blood all around him. Both hands are positioned with palms facing up, wrists slit. “I’ll clear the cabin,” Kane says, moving forward, while I do the same, but I head straight for Eddie and press my fingers to his neck. There is no pulse.
Kane returns from the back room, weapon lowered. “We’re clear.”
“And he’s dead,” I say, “and aside from that sucky news, the Gamer got away.” It’s at that moment that there is a loud plop on the outer deck. Like someone jumping from the top of the boat, where Kane and I did not check.
“It could be a trick,” Kane says. “Lock the door.” He heads toward it and I follow. I’m not letting him walk into a trap without backup.
Weapon ready, he exits the door, and I am right behind him. As soon as I’m outside, by his side, the sound of footsteps running catches our attention. “Lock yourself inside,” Kane shouts at me, and he launches himself off the boat and onto the walkway. He takes off running, and nothing about this feels right. I turn around and study the exterior of the boat, listening for any movement. There is nothing but the soft swish of water and a few creaks of the boat. I consider searching the boat again, but while I go left, someone could go right or underneath. And I need to protect myself and the crime scene.
I open the door and enter the cabin again, looking for a lock. It’s broken, and it looks to me to have been shot off the door. I harness my weapon and move toward Eddie. Maybe I’ll feel emotion later. Maybe I won’t. But I feel none now. I am in that place I go: the Otherworld, where bodies are just part of the crime scene. I am not bothered by the body, even Eddie’s, but I am not fond of blood, and right now, red and thickening, it’s dripping off the table onto the tan-colored carpet.
I walk toward him, my shoes squishing with the blood that has spread even closer than I suspected. I don’t react. I focus on the body. I do not have my field bag with me, and that limits my ability to touch anything, but I need the proof that this is a murder. My instinct is to study the scene from directly in front of the body, but I cannot risk my back to the door. I walk around him, placing Eddie’s back to my front, and I look at the scene as if I were him. There is an open, empty bottle of pills by his head, which will be blamed for his decision to kill himself, as will the fight with Alexandra. Suddenly, that fight appears really damn well timed. And knowing that Eddie was a part of a coup, remembering the fear I sensed in him, I now wonder if Alexandra is really as removed from the Society as I was starting to assume. After all, she was with me the night of my attack.
For now, I set her and her potential guilt aside. Eddie has my attention more now than he ever did in life. Perhaps I should have pulled him aside, talked to him. Tried to get him to talk. But guilt and self-doubt are as useless as fear. I don’t need them. I don’t use them. They don’t get to use and abuse me.
Eddie is dressed in the short-sleeve version of his tan uniform. I stare at his arms, his wrists both faceup. I imagine him cutting his wrists, and unfortunately, I can also imagine a drugged version of Eddie holding them as they are now, to watch himself bleed out. I squat down and scan the floor, looking for a clue. The door suddenly bursts open and footsteps rush toward me. I yank out my weapon, and the moment I have it in front of me, the Gamer is there, too. He’s close, behind the desk with me, and his gun is pointed at my head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I want to take the Gamer alive, to force him to confess to the murders, to show the Society they cannot hide. He holds his gun on me, his hand steady, his stare just as steady. He expects to intimidate me. He fails, and he can thank his employer for his failure. Thanks to the Society, I’ve been here, done this, with a Blood Assassin. I know how to get to the other side.
I’ll arrest him if I can, but he dies before I die.
“Put the gun down and come to me, Lilah Love,” he says, his voice a low purr meant to be seductive, which shows he’s a really fucking sick bastard.
“Let me think about it,” I say. I pause for two
seconds. “Okay. I thought about it. Fuck you.”
“Give me the gun,” he orders, his purr more a growl now.
“You want my gun?” I challenge. “Come and get it, but word of advice: pray really hard before you do.”
“I can kill you before you ever get a shot off,” he says. “That’s how good I am.”
“People who are good don’t need to tell you they are good. They show you. And we both know that you aren’t that good. We also both know that you got greedy. You wanted a two-for-one night with a big payoff, but you didn’t think it through. If you kill me here, Eddie’s death won’t look like a suicide.”
“You’re right. It will look like you did it.”
“To blame me, I’d have to be dead,” I say. “And I can’t kill myself from where you stand, and you aren’t getting any closer.”
“I paid a guy living in his boat down the way to say he heard a scuffle and walked in on you killing Eddie. Of course, he shot you.”
I laugh. “Really? You did that in the five minutes after I showed up? We both know you didn’t expect me, so that is some skill you got there. And Kane is here. He’ll be back. He’ll know what really happened.”
“Kane is dead.”
I blink with the shock and pain of those three words, and it’s the blink that gives the Gamer an advantage. He moves toward me, but at that same moment, a thud hits the boat as someone jumps onto the yacht. The Gamer blinks this time, and I shoot him in the shoulder. The bastard must be drugged up or just crazy, because that bleeding hole in his body doesn’t stop him. He turns toward the door, gun aimed at whoever has entered the cabin. I step in to him and somehow retain the sense to try to keep him alive. I ram a hard knee into his groin, and he gives a guttural groan and starts to fall, but damn it, he drapes himself on top of me.
“Lilah!”
The sound of my brother’s voice reaches my ears a moment before I’m on my back, the bloody, wet carpet soaking me, the weight of my would-be assassin on top of me. Andrew shouts my name again, and a wet stickiness soaks my face. The Gamer’s blood is pouring all over me, while his breathing is shallow and rough. Kane is dead, I think, and that thought delivers anger. Deep, uncontrollable anger, a rage like I have felt only one time before: when I knifed a man to death. It’s in that moment of absolute fury that history repeats itself. Someone lifts the Gamer off me, but the Gamer finds a surge of energy and elbows the person at his back and then rolls, taking me with him and placing me on top of him. Using me as a shield.
I reach for my knife at my back, and even before I see the gun in the Gamer’s hand, I drive it into his chest. His eyes shut on a pant of heavy air and he drops his gun. I roll off him and fall backward, squishing in the carpet as I do. Suddenly, Kane is by my side, kneeling.
“I see you still know how to use a knife.”
Relief washes through me. “You’re not dead. He said you were dead.”
“I can’t die before we finish that conversation we started in the car. But now you have to agree to have it with me.”
“Are you really negotiating with me now? You really are an opportunistic bastard. You are—”
He stands up and takes me with him, blood dripping off me, the heavy, sticky dampness of my clothes making me crazy. “Punish me when we’re alone.” He softens his voice. “Are you okay?”
“Right now. Yes.” And that’s the truth. Right now.
Suddenly I have EMS techs surrounding me, checking for injuries, while my brother steps in front of me. “He confessed,” I say as a blanket is placed around me. “He killed Eddie,” I add, “and intended to make it look like I did it. And he killed the victims you pinned on Woods. All of them.”
“All of that matters but not now. You first. Let the techs fully look you over.”
“I’m fine. Move on.”