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“Uh-huh,” I say, and add, “I’d let you stay behind but then Kane would have to kill you.” I grab my door and exit and it’s only now without the prior adrenaline rush of guns pointed at me do I realize I’m in a skirt and blouse and my coat is back at the hotel. It’s January in New York City. Not the kind of night you want to dress like me and not cover up.
Kane follows me outside the vehicle, claiming his ground, which I expect. He’s in hover mode, though I’m not sure that’s really something new. He’s Kane. He doesn’t exactly take no and goodbye for an answer. Though he did when I went to LA and for too long. I twist around to face him. He’s staring down at me with dark, determined eyes.
“I saw a coffee shop two blocks down. I’m going to wait on you there. And before you argue, think about how you felt when I went down in that chopper. That’s how I felt when I saw you standing there with Miguel, and his men pointing guns at you.”
“Your men,” I correct. “Not Miguel’s. They let me pull that knife with his back to me. Not one even blinked when I acted.”
“And yet, they pulled weapons on you, Lilah.”
“I’m fine. I’m surrounded by badges, Kane.”
“As if I ever trusted any man or woman just because they wear a badge.”
“Jay will be with me.”
“Jay, who you think is too nice to work for me?”
“Jay, who took a bullet to try and protect me.”
“Andrew was with you tonight, and all he did was become a target. I’ll be close.” He steps into me and kisses me. “Wife.” With that, he slides into the SUV and shuts the door. It’s a simple enough exchange that some might think is romantic but it’s not romantic at all. It’s possessive and protective.
I’m just not sure if he thinks he needs to protect me or everyone around me these days. Because it wasn’t me who almost died tonight. It was Miguel. I’m back to thinking about the killer I’m hunting and the escalated timeline, which isn’t completely hard to believe. Because that’s the thing about killers. Once they’ve killed, it gets easier to kill, especially if there’s a justified reason.
For me, it’s to kill my enemies, but the term “enemies” can be subjective. Maybe I’m not so different from this killer at all. Maybe, in his eyes, his victims are his enemies, as well.
Chapter Eight
Kit pulls the SUV with Kane in the backseat away from the crime scene and I’m left with Jay standing in front of me. Jay is not my enemy, but I’m pretty sure we’re all his. Horror movie fan or not, he’s a good boy, and good boys don’t survive in a dirty girl’s world. And that’s me. The dirty girl with a knife in her hand and a bad boy for a husband. And while some might say a little good does the bad and dirty right, that’s not how real-life works. Kane doesn’t understand that truth, or Jay wouldn’t be with me right now.
As if proving my point, he slides out of his jacket. “For you.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Jay, you just keep on showing me how wrong you are for this job.”
He frowns. “Because I offered you my coat?”
“Because you’re too nice. You’re cold, too. Wear the coat. I can’t wear it inside anyway.”
“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“Yes, well your mama and mine would approve, but I do not. Do that for the girl you want to marry. Or sleep with.”
His brow furrows. “I still don’t see why this makes me bad for the job.”
“Because it tells me you’d still take a bullet for me.”
“Isn’t that my job?” he challenges.
“Only if it’s necessary.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“That means we haven’t ruined you yet.” I motion to the uniform standing guard at two wooden stands that represent the entryway to the crime scene.
“You and Kane confuse the fuck out of me, Lilah,” Jay murmurs.
I ignore him and stop in front of the uniformed cop—a youngster who is tall and lanky, with red hair and freckles—and with an ironic twist with a name tag that reads, “Murphy”. I flash my badge at him and motion to Jay. “He’s with me.”
“Agent,” he greets. “Be warned. It’s gruesome in there.” He swallows hard. “I was one of the first responders and I’m not proud of it, but I lost my lunch.”
