“Oh, come on. You’re you, Kane. You knew. You always know. And since it involves my brother, tell me next time. I’m not jealous of that witch.”

“Fair enough. And before you invite someone to Thanksgiving dinner, you talk to me. It’s our dinner.”

“Fair enough. Okay. I’m sorry.”

His brow shoots up. “Sorry? Did you just say sorry, Lilah Love?”

“Why do you say that like I never say I’m sorry?”

“You don’t.”

“Neither do you,” I counter.

“I guess we both need to work on that.”

“Yes,” I agree. “We should. And as per your comment. Bottom line. I’m sure Andrew told Samantha we’re engaged, so the whole damn town knows by now.”

“Then you’re dealing with a serial killer,” he says simply.

“Technically he’s only killed one person that we know of. That’s not a serial killer. But he’s not done. And neither am I. He wants my attention. He’s got it.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I stop by the kitchen for a few essentials and then head to my workspace.

Purgatory.

Neither heaven nor hell, where there is no rest for the wicked or the righteous.

That’s where I feel every victim lives until their killer is brought to justice. That’s why my workspace is my version of Purgatory until I solve each murder I take on as my own to offer justice.

Purgatory here in the Hamptons is a workroom off the bedroom that Kane built for me before we ever got back together. That’s how certain he was I’d come back, and while I don’t like being predictable, I don’t believe I was as predictable as much as he was stubborn. And I ended up where I belong. The room, almost identical to the one off of our bedroom in our New York apartment, is complete with a heavy wooden desk framed by walls of whiteboards and pinboards. It’s well-stocked with notecards, chocolate, ink pens, and push pins. There are also two leather chairs against a wall, one for me and one for Kane. No one else is allowed in my workspace.

Inside my Purgatory.

Or my personal hell, which is an entirely other story.