I grab my phone and dial Jay. “Lilah.”
For some reason, people don’t just say hello to me, but whatever. “Where is the lockbox? A bank?”
“Some mail center. I have the address.”
“Text it to me and Kit.” I hang up and dial Kit. “Can you get into a mail center and break into a lockbox?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Jay is sending us the address. The minute you have whatever is inside, call me.”
“I’ll handle it.” I disconnect and I call Jay back.
“Lilah,” he says again.
“Where is Marilyn?”
“In her room. I’m in the living room, Why?”
“This is me setting Marilyn up. We’re going to get into the lockbox ourselves tonight. Tell Marilyn the DA called and they won’t release the immunity agreement unless she takes a lie detector test. She may or may not know it won’t end up in court but the idea that it might put her in the hot seat as a suspect should freak her out. The goal here is that if she’s lying to us, she’ll try to run, and we follow. And if she’s the killer, she tries to kill you and we arrest her, case closed.”
“Are you fucking serious, Lilah?” he whisper-shouts.
“Yes, so sleeping is a bad idea. Don’t eat, drink, or sleep. I’ll get you backup in a few hours. You can do this,” I say tightly, giving it my best at the cheerleading act, but it falls flat. I tried.
I hang up and call Kit back. “You do know I need more than five minutes to make this happen, right?”
Men. Always drama queens. I ignore his bitching. “Jay needs backup in a few hours. I just set-up Marilyn. She might try to kill him. I can’t risk him falling asleep.”
“Mary, mother of Jesus. I’ll send someone.”
Kane appears in the doorway, that crackle of power he carries with him charging the air. My eyes meet his and my anger collides with his arrogance. The challenge between us is instant.
“Anything else?” Kit asks.
“Nothing now.” I hang up.
“I see Queen Mendez is taking charge in all kinds of ways tonight.”
That sets a fire inside of me, oh yes it does. The battle is about to begin.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Queen Mendez?” I challenge. “What am I the Queen of, Kane? The cartel?” I’ve already closed the distance between us. We’re in the center of the room, facing each other, close enough to wage war in hundreds of ways. “I am not the fucking queen of a cartel.”
He catches me and pulls me to him, his hand pressing me close, flattening between my shoulder blades. “You’re my queen, Lilah.”
“We are not going to fuck this away, Kane,” I snap, pressing on his chest.
“Who said anything about fucking?”
“Damn it, Kane,” I bite out. “This is what made me leave you. Don’t push us there again.”
He walks me backward and presses me to the desk. His hands settle on my hips. “Who’s trying to push us there, Lilah? Me? Or you? More cold feet? Is that what this is? Another reason to back out of marrying me? You back out this time, Lilah, I’m done. I’m not your damn yo-yo.” He shoves off the desk and turns to walk away.
“Who’s manipulating who here, Kane?” I call after him.
He stops walking, but he doesn’t turn, his spine rigid, shoulders knotted.
“Who’s manipulating who?” I demand again. “Because I didn’t say I was leaving, and you know I didn’t. And I didn’t say I didn’t want to marry you. I’m trying to stop us from going down the same path that destroyed us in the past.”
He turns to face me. “What path is that, Lilah? Because based on my memory, I saved your life and then you stabbed the guy to death. But when I buried a body for you to save your job, you blamed me for corrupting you.”
“I told you that I was wrong in all of that. I said I was sorry. And I am. But you know that wasn’t ultimately what destroyed us. You weren’t honest with me about who and what you are.”
“And who and what is that?”
“You know I didn’t know a lot of things back then that I know now.”
“And yet, now I’ve told you everything there is to tell, and here we are,” he counters.
That pisses me off all over again, and I’m right there in front of him, in his face. “You were in charge out there tonight, not him. Not your uncle. You.”
“Funny, it seemed to me like you and your badge you don’t give two fucks about were in charge.”
I force myself to calm the fuck down. “You were in charge,” I say, my voice low, terse. “Miguel was nervous around you. The men listened to you, not him. If you’re the head of that cartel—”
“I am not, nor will I ever be, the head of the cartel.”