“Of course not,” Murphy says dryly. “And as for what comes next. Death was too good for that man. We’ll make him pay for his sins.”
“Is that your grown-up Christmas list or do you have a plan?”
“A question for after the holiday. Happy Thanksgiving, Special Agent Love.” And with that, the asshole hangs up.
I rotate to face Kane, who hasn’t moved, the very stubbornness of his position in denial of any withdrawal on his part. He never gave up on me. Ever. And when he put this ring on my finger and I said yes to marrying him, I made a decision to do the same with him. I’m still pissed at him but to hell with fighting. I step into him. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can be alone where we can fight this out properly, and I can win just as properly.”
His eyes darken with approval and his arm slides around me as we head to the chopper.
Soon we’ll be in the Hamptons, and no doubt, so will Pocher.
CHAPTER TWO
Kane settles into the chopper seat next to me and I don’t miss the flex of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, that has nothing to do with our tense words. It’s about pain that he would voice, the result of the wounds created by the two blades shoved into his shoulders by Roger, meant to paralyze his arms, still only a week old. He yanks his seatbelt across his chest and I catch it and insert it for him. I might still be fuming a bit over our conversations, but I will protect him. I would kill for him. And we both know it. I used to think the problem for us was his ability to kill for me. Now I lean toward my ability to kill in general being a problem. The fact that it often doesn’t feel like a problem is an even bigger problem.
That part of me, the killer I’ve believed I could be since that night on the beach years ago, is becoming colder and more comfortable, freer. That’s exactly why I lean in and press my lips to Kane’s. I need to feel something. I need to be human right now. He cups my head and kisses me the way only Kane can kiss me, and thank God, emotion stirs inside me, all the emotions a girl should feel when a man like Kane Mendez kisses her. He pulls back and stares down at me, knowledge in his eyes. He knows me. He knows what I’m battling but he hasn’t forced me to talk. I’m back to him knowing me. I need conversation like I need a hole in my head right now.
And when the kiss is over, and he’s firmly reminded me that yes, I am still human, I do still have emotions, he settles back in his seat. And so do I. I lower my head to the cushion when another time I’d pull out the cold case files that are part of my job. Murphy told me to pick my case, but what he meant was to look for cases that connect to the Society. I’m just not sure that really gets us anywhere, and I’m not exactly a spin-my-wheels-for-nothing kind of agent.
But my mind is on murder. Oh yes, it so fucking is.
The swoosh of the chopper blades and the hum of the engine lifting us off the ground transports me back to the moment when I’d launched myself at Roger and started stabbing him. Over and over, I stabbed him. And then he was dead. He is dead, there is no coming back from that, and the blood is still warm on my hands. He’d stabbed Kane. He’d bragged about killing all those innocent victims. He’d bragged about killing my mother at the direction of the Society, which means Pocher. And he’d assured me I was a killer like him. I’d happily proven him right.
My mind goes to my father, and his reaction to me being raped. “At least they didn’t kill you.” He knows the Society killed Mom, I know he knows, that statement tells me he knows, and still, still, he’s with them, using them for power and political office. I think of her beauty, her kindness, her goodness, that was too good for him, and me. I’m like him and he’ll know that soon when I make him pay for his part in all of this.
I’m not sure how much time passes before Kane squeezes my leg and I jolt awake, instantly aware of his warning me of the imminent landing. It’s not long before we’re on the ground, deboarding, and heading inside the airport together. There was a time when I’d have been concerned about the gossip we stir, but that time isn’t now. I still can’t say that Kane and I are good for each other, but I simply don’t care anymore. We fit together. I always knew this, of course, from the moment I met him, but that was the problem. I saw my addiction to a man as notorious as Kane Mendez as a judgement on my character. Back when I wasn’t willing to take responsibility for who, and what, I am.