I could whip out a comeback about being a girl who needs a boy—not—but I’m not feeling it. And I don’t need Kane to protect me. That doesn’t mean I’m not human enough to want him nearby. The problem is, I worry about him being too close to be safe. “Is someone with him?”
“Kit.”
“Good,” I say and with that, I point toward the elevator.
I start walking and he falls into step beside me, “Now what?”
“I talk to Rollins, and we get out of here—” There’s a familiar voice that has me turning to find a familiar uniformed cop I haven’t seen since I worked for the NYPD holding a powwow with the cop who’s been at the door since I arrived. Jessy is six-foot-five, fit, and in his forties, and should be a detective. He always had a natural investigative instinct, but he was also hot-headed. For anyone who might point a finger at me and say the same, I’m not hot-headed. I’m simply a realist. I tell you how it is when you deserve to be told, and I’m not a coddler. I’m not going to be gentle. It’s not an anger thing for me but it is for Jessy.
He must sense my attention as his gaze lifts and lands on me. He heads in my direction. “Lilah fucking Love. I’d ask how it’s going but I’m pretty sure I know. I haven’t been inside the apartment thus far, but I heard enough to not want to go in.”
Speaking of me telling it how it is, I say, “It’s a fuck show and the entire investigation is a fuck show, too. And I’d ask why you’re still in a uniform but I know your answer. It was a fuck show.”
“Yeah, well, I made detective. I’m being punished. So, yes, it’s a fuck show, the bend-you-over-with-no-Vaseline kind of fuck show. Tonight, I’m something in between a beat cop and a detective. I’ve been playing liaison between departments and people,” he informs me, “directing productive actions where I can. What do you need to know?” In other words, he doesn’t want to talk about what he did to be punished. Which is fine, but I can’t trust someone hiding something. And he is.
“Did the neighbors hear what was going on in there?” I ask.
“The left is vacant. The tenant who lives to the right is out of the country.”
“What about below or above?” I ask. “Did anyone hear anything?”
“Word I got from the guys doing interviews is no. No one heard anything, which is damn near impossible. It’s the buzz of the entire investigative team.”
“Any camera footage for the building?”
“Yeah, but there’s a door at the back of the building with no cameras. And a service elevator right beside it.”
“And this floor?’
“No cameras and so far, we haven’t found anyone who saw anything strange—like a chainsaw being carried in and out. Detective Rollins is cracking a whip. He’s even got a team out in the crowd, interviewing people.”
“I’m going to need all of your consolidated notes.”
“You want to give me your number and I’ll send you a file link?”
“Email me.” He pulls his phone out and I give him the email address and then leave him to do his job.
I start walking and motion Jay toward the elevator again. This time, we really are going to find Rollins, and get this shit show back on track before we blow this joint. And I’m going to step on that elevator and leave the bloody river behind me now and forever. With this idea driving me, the minute it’s possible, I punch the call button for the elevator. The doors don’t open…and don’t open. I punch the call button again. Ten minutes pass before the doors finally open.
I step inside the car and Jay follows. The doors shut, and I don’t know what the hell happens. I’m suddenly reliving the night that changed me forever. The night I killed for the first time. The night I almost died on the beach in front of the cottage I inherited from my mother. The night Kane buried a body for me.
I’d been at a bar having a drink with Alexandra, my good friend, but suddenly I wasn’t right. I was drugged. I knew I was drugged. I barely remember how I left the bar. I was just on the beach outside my house. I remember that I went down hard on the sandy ground with a heavy male body on top of me, and big, muscular arms caging me. One of his beefy forearms had been etched with a tattoo, moving and flexing with his flesh while he assaulted me. A tattoo of the Virgin Mary, bleeding from her mouth. Praying to her or anyone else did nothing to save me.
Until it did.
Suddenly, he was pulled off of me and I’d scrambled to my knees to find Kane—who was supposed to be out of town—holding the man who’d been on top of me. My eyes had landed on the knife lying in the sand and I dove for it. In my drugged, angry, hysterical state, I’d known nothing but survival. And that meant I died or that man died. I started to stab him and I didn’t stop until Kane pulled me away. Over and over, I’d stabbed him.
I blink and shake myself, only to realize I’m squatting on the floor and to my shock, Jay is at eye level in front of me.
“Lilah?” he asks, concern in his voice and etched on his face.
“What are you doing?’ I demand.
“Trying to protect you. You lowered yourself down the wall, and just kind of slid. I halted the elevator to give you a minute. I mean, after what you just saw, I thought even you, Lilah, might need a minute. Are you okay?”
I’m shaken to realize I’ve just all but blacked out and dove deep into the brutal past. It had nothing to do with the man that was dismembered in this building tonight.Unless it does,I think. I’m going there for a reason. My mind problem solves and it’s trying to tell me something, but I have no idea what. And I owe Jay big time for sparing me what could have been an embarrassing public display of weakness. For now, though, the very idea sets me into action. I push to my feet and say, “Minute’s up. I need to talk to Rollins and get home to Purgatory.”
He pushes to his feet and studies me, hesitating as if he thinks I need another moment but in his best interest, he punches the button and restarts the car. But he’s not done with me, I am certain. And I’m apparently not done with the past, or it with me.