“You’re lying,” I say and add, “I need a full name and address for Jamie now, tonight,” before I step out of the hallway to find one of the CSI guys at the bedroom door. “Yes?”

“There’s something you need to see in the kitchen.”

“I see you already have control established,” North grumbles.

Only I don’t. I haven’t claimed this crime scene and the very fact that CSI is asking for me sets off alarms. I motion the CSI guy onward and follow him down the stairs, to end up in the kitchen where my brother, and Emma, are waiting on me. “Yes, brother love,” I say sarcastically, a tone necessary for proper sisterly queries, but also breathing easier now that I know this is just Andrew flexing his muscle. “What can I do for you?”

North steps to my side, waiting for the answer with me. Andrew eyes him. “We need a minute.”

North scowls and looks to argue, but his newbie status, or wimpy backbone, perhaps both, has him backing out of the room. Now certain this call to aid was more serious than a sibling command, I wait about twenty seconds to give space between us and North, and then ask, “What is it?”

His expression tightens. “You need to see this.” He’s holding the refrigerator door and somehow I’m certain he’s about to ruin my taste for Cheetos or anything resembling food, for at least tonight.

I close the space between me and him, and always the drama boy, he pauses before he opens the door he says, “If you doubted this was about you, doubt no more.” He opens the door and sitting on the top shelf is a jar of blood that has a label on it that reads, “Lilah Love.” Not Agent Love, but Lilah Love. This isn’t just about me. It’s personal.

CHAPTER NINE

“Well, isn’t that polite,” I say dryly, picking up the jar to look for any further markings, and glancing at Andrew. “It’s labeled with my name and everything. There’s a reason they call me Special Agent Love. I guess I really am special.”

“Lilah,” Andrew bites out, his voice low, taut.

“Andrew,” I reply, setting the jar down and shooting a photo.

Of course, the jar of blood is from Pocher. He’s alive. He’s angry. He’s trying to fuck with my head and probably Kane’s as well. And the appropriate response to such a gift would be fear and shock, which he no doubt expected from me. He too easily forgets, or perhaps has yet to learn, that I am not appropriately anything. Ever. It’s not by intention, either. I was just born this way. And so was Kane.

“Damn it, Lilah,” Andrew snaps. “What is this?”