I don’t remind him that I have a rental parked here at his house. There is just something so immensely satisfying about picturing Kane Mendez in that piece of shit, and driving his car delivers a message I want to deliver. I take his keys and head for the door, my answer in my actions. Once I’m inside and I’ve started the engine, Kane’s words come back to me, my words: There are no coincidences.
Last night, everyone’s phones being turned off was a perfect storm. I hope like hell my brother wasn’t involved in setting up Eddie last night. That thought cranks up my cranky. Murphy with his meeting at the graveyard better not be part of this, too, or I swear I’m on a roll: I might just cut the man.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I arrive at the cemetery to find a nondescript white rental car, a twin of the one I left with Kane, parked close to my mother’s gravesite. Murphy is leaning on the hood, and gone is his standard suit, replaced by dark jeans and a collared shirt that I suspect has some sort of FBI logo on it. I park next to his rental, real close, and I do so to drive home a point: I’ve traded in the FBI for Roadsters and revenge. Sanity for sweet insanity of the best kind. I no longer have boundaries.
Exiting Kane’s Roadster, I round the hood, noting absently that the day is cooler than most, telling of a winter soon to approach. The month is September. I think. Who cares, really. I stop in front of Murphy, and it turns out that I’m right: his shirt is navy blue and the logo is a yellow FBI emblem. His hair is thick and salt and pepper, more salt than pepper. His build is fit and his eyes an intelligent cool gray. “Nice car, Agent Love,” he says.
“Just Lilah. I quit, remember?”
“I won’t let you quit. Remember?”
“Why are we here?”
“I knew your mother.”
I blanch. “What?”
“Before your father and you. She was already famous. And once upon a time, she had a stalker. I was actually in private security and her personal bodyguard.”
“Are you telling me you fucked my mother?”
“I had a relationship with your mother, yes,” he says, unfazed in his demeanor.
“You did fuck my mother. You. My boss. Ex-boss.”
“I cared about your mother.”
“And yet you were not together. Why?”
“It was complicated, as are most relationships, but we stayed close friends. Right up until her death.”
Up until her death.
“Why haven’t you ever told me this?”
“Knowing would have impaired your objectivity about why I hired you. And then some other lucky bastard would have snagged you and your skills instead of me. And I’m also arrogant enough to believe that your talent is better developed under me than someone else.”
“So let me get this straight: I’m skilled. You wanted me on your team. But still, you felt that I was so small-minded and stupid enough that I would have had impaired thinking if I had known you fucked my mother?”
His jaw tenses. “Stop referring to my relationship with your mother that way.”
“She was a movie star and a notch on any man’s belt.”
“Your father’s, yes. Not mine.”
“My father married her,” I argue. “You did not.”
“I’m not going to give you the private, intimate details of my relationship with your mother.”
“Then why are we at her grave?” I ask. “And why did you tell me at all?”
“Reverse order on those questions with answers. Why did I tell you at all? I don’t like lies or secrets, while sometimes, as you know, they are necessary. Going forward, you and I cannot afford such things between us. As for why we’re at her grave: to make a point. And that point is that people die. You can die just like her if you go off the deep end.”
“You really are ridiculously arrogant to believe that if I choose not to work for you, I’m going off the deep end.”
“You think that transferring to the New York division under a director you know is not only corrupt and dangerous but tied closely to your family is smart? It’s not. It’s a good way to get killed.”
“So is this job in general, and who says the New York director is tied to my family?”
“Stupid doesn’t suit you, Agent Love. But if that is how you want to play this, I can tell you that he’s tied to Pocher. And Pocher is tied to your father. You are not working for him.”
“Block me. I don’t need the job.” I start to turn away.
“I want what you want.”
I face him again. “Which is what?”
“The wrong people, who are in power, out of power.”
“You have a problem with the New York director.”
“You’ll work for me but live in Manhattan. You’ll be part of a task force that I’m being assigned to head up. Together we’ll solve cold cases around the country, but you’ll be assigned to the New York State region, since it’s your home turf. You’ll consult locally and still travel to aid other regions if your skills are needed.”
“And this does what for me and you?”
“In time, that will be clear. For now, you keep your badge and my protection, but you’ll reside and work in New York State.”
“You mean the badge I threw away?”
“You mean the badge you lost during your physical altercation with the Gamer?”
“Right,” I say dryly. “That one.”
“I’ll handle the badge. And I’ll be sending you three cases to look at next week. As part of your new role, you’ll have the unique ability to review all cold cases across the entire country. I’m sure you will find corruption is often buried until the right person looks. And now, I’m going to the city to have dinner with my counterpart there.”
“The one you hate and want to take down?”
“Yes. Him. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. An old saying but a good one. Remember it. Make the local director feel that you are on his side. Make them all feel that you are on their side. Your family included. And you tell me everything. You listen to me. I will guide you and keep you alive.”
I tilt my head with that statement. “Enemies closer,” I repeat. “You said Kane is everyone’s enemy but mine.”
“His enemies want to control him, but only you can. That makes you a very powerful person.”
“I won’t lie to Kane, and I won’t use him.”
“Good. Make sure you hold me in the same regard.”
“I won’t tell you everything. Not yet. I don’t trust you enough.”
“Good again. You shouldn’t. I haven’t earned it. But then, neither have you, Agent Love. It will be interesting to see where this new relationship goes, once we clear the trust barriers.” He pushes off the car. “Communicate.” He walks toward his driver’s side door.
I glance at my mother’s tombstone and then back to him. “You think she was killed, don’t you?”
He turns to me, looking at me over the open car door now. “Did I say that?”
“You just did,” I say, smart enough to know what that reply infers: she was murdered.
“Time will tell a story, Agent Love. Time has a way of doing that.” He starts to get into his car and pauses. “Rich is working a task force in Paris. He’s radio silent.”
He doesn’t explain his sudden turnaround on Rich. He simply gets in his car, and I have the distinct impression that Rich was an unknowing part of some test Murphy was giving me.
I watch his car pull out of the lot, and once he’s disappeared, I walk to my mother’s grave and stare down at it. “I’m going to find out your story, Mom. That’s a promise.”
I dial Kane. “Come here.” I hang up and I sit down under the willow tree and replay the conversation with Murphy, and each time I do, little tidbits of the conversation lead me to new conclusions. I’m on my fourth replay when Kane pulls up, and somehow the man makes my rental car look like a Roadster. It’s carriage. It’s style. It’s confidence. And it’s a lesson to me about myself. I have to own my next mo
ves. I have to convince everyone that I am here and committed to my father’s campaign. Maybe even that I was scared into submission. Okay. No. Never mind. No one would believe that. Not for a minute.