Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“Yeah, that’s a hell no. I heard what it was like in there. I don’t know how you do it.”
I know he expects one of my fucking beautiful smartass remarks, but I don’t have one to offer. I don’t even have a bad version of one to offer. I don’t have much of anything in me in this moment. And I don’t know what Jay sees on my face but he sees something I don’t want him to see, because he says, “Kane checked on you. He’s close.”
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.