Page 56 of Murder Notes

I turn to spy the van and look at him. “I can’t be filmed flying off to Manhattan with you, Kane. It’s bad enough I got into your car.”

“At this point, that’s irrelevant. Woods is Chief Love’s man.”

“For now,” I say. “That’s subject to change at any point.”

“Regardless,” he says. “You have proof of my alibi.”

“That alibi doesn’t exclude you from hiring a hit man.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Lilah. Now I’m stupid enough to hire a hit man to kill someone in my own town?”

“That’s not the point. The point is me remaining objective, and I don’t even do you any good in this if I’m not seen that way.”

“Tell them you’re milking me for information,” he says, tapping a contact on his phone, “which we both know is your intention.” He places the phone to his ear. “I have reporters following me. Take care of them.” He ends the call.

“Take care of them? Who is taking care of them and what does that even mean?”

“They’ll run them off the road and hope that no one dies,” he says, turning us into the airport.

“Kane—”

“Look behind us, Lilah.”

I rotate to find several security vehicles now blocking the entrance. “They’ll keep coming,” he says, as I settle back down in my seat. “Especially now that they have a piece of you on the morning news.”

“Damn it,” I say, grabbing my purse and digging out my phone. “I didn’t even think about warning Andrew about this.” I punch in his number and, of course, get voice mail again. “Now look who doesn’t answer his fucking phone,” I say to his voice mail as Kane pulls us into a parking spot. “Reporters cornered me this morning,” I add. “I thought you’d want to watch me on the news.” I end the call.

“You still have a way with words, Lilah,” Kane says, killing the engine.

“Believe it or not,” I say, glancing over at him, “I’ve learned to tamp down on that since I left.” He arches a brow. “For small windows of time,” I concede.

He laughs that damn laugh again and glances over at me. “Very small, I bet,” he says, opening his door and exiting the car. Not about to allow him to play gentleman, I quickly gather my things and do the same. And sure enough, by the time I’m outside, he’s towering over me, all six foot three inches of him in his custom suit, this one blue. Way too close, the sense of him being near way too familiar. I don’t like how it feels, but if I turn away, he’ll know he made me blink.

“We both know you don’t really believe I’d run those reporters off the road,” he says.

“I was in the moment.”

“The same moment you’ve been in for two years.”

“I’m done pretending you aren’t what you are, Kane. We’re enemies by trade.”

“I run a corporation, not a cartel, Lilah.”

“If you don’t run your father’s business, who does?”

“My uncle, Miguel.”

“Insulation,” I say.

“Distance,” he counters.

“Semantics,” I reply.

The air crackles between us, seconds ticking by. “Let’s walk,” he says.

“Yes. Let’s walk.”

We turn at the same time and start moving toward the building, that charge still between us, and yes, it’s sexual in part—it always is between us—but there is anger there, too, his and mine. It’s too raw, too intense. Too us. It’s driving me freaking insane. He is driving me insane, which is why I met him at the Cove where the energy is the place, not what is between us. It churns between us, both of us all about control, and I know he hates that he has absolutely none with me anymore. I can almost feel his determination to change that, and I am sure he can feel mine to ensure he continues to fail.