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.
But I have my own story to tell. And it begins now.
Kane sits down next to me and rests his wrists on his jean-clad legs. He doesn’t ask questions. He waits for me to talk. I enjoy the silence. The cool breeze. The willow tree limbs swaying around us. The calm before the storm that is coming. But finally, I tell him everything.
“You’re staying and you’re keeping your badge,” he concludes.
“Yes. I’m staying. I’m keeping my badge and I’m going to find a place in New York City to rent.”
He glances over at me. “You can stay with me.”
“You know I can’t do that and create the trust I need to create with the New York bureau.”
He stares at me for several beats, his expression indiscernible before his gaze shifts forward again. “Sanity, not insanity,” he says.
I think he’s more relieved than he wants to admit. I think Kane needs me to pull him to the middle. Even if it means that the badge is now, once again, between us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Kane and I head to the police station to give our statements after we leave the cemetery. Kane doesn’t hang around after we finish up, leaving at my urging to allow me time for a brother-sister hate/love fest. I begin that process by joining Andrew in his office. “My boss is in town. He knows I’m closing the case, but there’s more.”
My brother stands up and walks to his door and shuts it before he sits down on the arm of the visitor’s chair beside me. “What now, Lilah?”
“I’m moving to New York City. I’m going to be working on a cold-case task force for my boss. I’ll still be reporting to the LA bureau, but I’ll be focusing on New York State. And I took the job because Mom’s grave reminds me that we will all be dead one day. I need to be with you guys. I want to help Dad with his campaign. I want to fight with you in person, all the fucking time.”
We talk for an hour, and this time I get my doughnuts with him. And today, my brother feels like my brother, and that is not a person who would involve himself with the Society if he knew they existed. But for now, it’s better that I leave that topic alone. What he doesn’t know can’t kill him. I hope.
“Have you told Dad?” he asks before I leave.
“We had a fight yesterday,” I say. “I just need to get over that first, but I will. That’s the entire point of being home. Family.”
“Family,” he says. “Remember that. We protect each other.”
And Dad’s version of that is that I get raped and not killed, but I don’t say that. I give a reply of, “Don’t fuck with the Love family,” and leave.
I stay with Kane that night. Murphy lets me know that he’s aware of my sleeping arrangement by express-mailing a new badge to me at Kane’s house. It’s not long after I’ve opened that package that Kane announces he’s leaving on a business trip. The kind of business he doesn’t discuss, and just like old times, I know my badge is the reason. I stay at my cottage, despite his insistence that I stay at his place here or in the city. Of course, I’m certain someone is watching me. I’m still a target for the Society, but even Kane agrees that Eddie will be well buried before they come for me. They have no option. My death, this close to Eddie’s, would bring unwanted attention to them and to my father.
I spend the rest of the day in leggings and a T-shirt, pinpointing rentals in New York City online, and I decide I’m not going to live the way I lived in LA. That isn’t how you fit in, in East Hampton or even in New York City. I rent a place without visiting. I don’t have time for that chitchat, check-things-out-with-the-Realtor shit. I know the locations. I’ve seen the photos.
I’ve just DocuSigned the lease when there is a knock on my door. To my shock, Pocher is standing on my step. I open the door. “If you’re recruiting me to put out flyers for the campaign, I suck at that stuff. I end up cussing people out for blowing me off at their own house. But I can deliver doughnuts to the men in blue and do the whole ‘my father supports law enforcement’ spiel while trying not to eat them.”
“Can I come in?” he asks, his expression and tone troubled, as if he was a real human. Even his dress pants and white button-down appear rumpled and out of order.
I don’t have my gun on me, but he’s a delicate man, and I’m pretty sure I could take him with a knee to the groin. I offer him space to enter and wave him forward, pointing toward the kitchen while unwilling to give him my back. Once we’re in the kitchen, I stop at the island and put it between me and him, and the only refreshments I plan to offer him are my knee and my knee again, not that I have anything else in the house to offer, anyway.
I have to play a little nice. I am, after all, supposed to be playing the part of the cooperative daughter. “I guess you heard that I’m staying.”
“My brother was kidnapped. There is a sizable ransom.”
“Oh,” I say, because that’s about as brilliant as I ever get. “I’ll call the local FBI bureau and—”
“The kidnappers are the rival to the Mendez cartel in Mexico. I need to talk to Kane.”
Murphy’s words come back to me: You are the only one who can control Kane. And that’s power. But I also remember Kane’s vow to make Pocher pay for my attack and force him to turn to me.
“He won’t take my calls,” he says. “Call him.”
“You’re going to have better luck with the FBI. I can take the lead.”
“Call Kane,” he all but shouts at me. “Please,” he adds, softening his voice.
Man, that please must have hurt like a bitch-slap. I pull my phone from the hoodie I have on and dial Kane. He answers immediately. “You’ve decided to move in with me,” he says. “Or Pocher is standing there.”
“Pocher is here. His brother has been kidnapped by a rival cartel, and he seems to believe you can help.”
“Put him on speaker after asking me to do this for you.”
“He’s quite distraught, Kane. Please talk to him for me.”
“Please,” Kane says. “Aren’t you submissive and sweet, Lilah Love. When I get back—”
I hit the speaker button. “Kane is on the line,” I say. “Kane. Pocher is standing here with me.”
“You have my ear, Pocher,” Kane says. “One of them. I have a meeting to get to, so make it fast.”
“My brother was kidnapped by the Rodriguez cartel,” he says. “They want fifty million dollars. I need him back alive.”
“Rodriguez is my enemy.”
“Can you get my brother back?” he asks.
“What’s in it for me?” Kane asks.
“You get the fifty million,” he says. “I’ll wire it to you now.”
“I don’t need or want your money,” Kane says. “The kingpin, Luis Rodriguez, owes me a personal favor that extends beyond the war between our cartels. To call in that favor comes at a price to me. You know what I want in return.”
Pocher looks at me. “She has my protection.”
“You’re getting there,” Kane says. “Go further. Dig deeper.”
“I will ensure that no one from our organization hurts her, but I can’t save her from her own stupidity,” he snaps. “And she stays away from our organization. Agree to that now, or I can’t make this deal.”
“Who are you talking to?” I ask. “Because it sounds like a third party, and if it were me, surely you’d look me in the eyes and speak to me.”
“Give him what he wants, Lilah,” Kane says.
“I’ll stay away from the organization,” I say, already thinking through the creative ways to spin that statement.
“If I get your brother back,” Kane says, “and you break your word, Pocher, I will personally deliver your brother back to the kingpin himself. Do you understand?”
“I get it, Mendez. Get him back.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Kane says. An
d proving he still has someone watching me, he adds, “Now leave her house. Pick up, Lilah.”
Pocher gives me a hard look and then turns and walks away. I pick up the phone and disconnect the speaker. “I’m here,” I say, placing the phone to my ear.
“I have to go, but know this, Lilah Love. He will pay for your attack ten times over. This is just the beginning.” He disconnects.
The day of Eddie’s funeral, I start my morning with yet another call from Pocher, and I give him the same answer I did yesterday: I have not heard from Kane. And it’s the truth, but not a surprising one for me. Kane’s business trips to Mexico are usually in what he calls “dark territory” for cell service. And so I dress in a black dress and black knee-high boots.
I arrive at the funeral home to a roomful of uniforms that do not include Greg, who leaves me a voice mail that goes something like “I’ll be in touch” or some crap like that. From there I decide the rain is the best part of the day. There is my brother with Samantha hanging on his arm, casting me gloating looks. Then there is the encounter with my father just before the service starts. “When were you going to tell me you were staying?”
“At least by Christmas,” I say, and that is pretty much the best part of the exchange before he joins Pocher in the front row of the church. The very fact that Pocher is here proves that the devil does not burn when he steps inside a place of worship.
I claim a seat in the back row, and the service begins, tears and sobs beside me, in front of me, all around me. I’ve never done well with other people’s tears. I don’t like public displays of emotion. I withdraw, clam up. I didn’t even cry at my mother’s funeral, and it wasn’t about an absence of grief. It was about too much of everyone else’s grief suffocating me. Which is why when Pocher gets up and walks to the back of the church, I rotate and watch him leave, then seize the opportunity to leave early and follow him.