Her use of the word “well” several times indicates awkwardness that doesn’t sit well. “I think a lot of things, DD. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hang up and look at Kane. “It’s pig’s blood. She says she tested it.”

He arches that dark brow again. “She says?”

“It will be interesting to find out if she really went into work today.”

“And if she did?”

“I still don’t trust her.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Gluttony is a sin for a reason.

Food makes you feel better, if only until you step on that fucking scale.

It solves a lot of problems, at least in the moment, just not murder. However, when the doorbell rings just moments after the DD call, signaling the arrival of our chef and mac ‘n’ cheese, gluttony calls to me, my new best friend.

Kane heads upstairs to greet him. I head to our room to shower. Instead, I end up standing in the bathroom, where I find myself staring in the mirror without really looking at myself, replaying that conversation with DD. Specifically her comment about the jar of pig’s blood: It feels like a challenge though, don’t you think? It could have just been morbid curiosity on her part, or a desire to play detective, which I’ve seen in a few ME’s, but it doesn’t sit right.

My mind tries to connect the dots.

I killed Roger a week ago.

Jamie may or may not have been seeing Emma for over a week but those messages sure read as if it was a long-term connection. The fiancé was, of course, a long-term relationship. In other words, if this is about me, just about me, the killer wasn’t someone close to Emma—at least no one I know about as of yet—nor is it someone completely unknown to the investigation.

Kane appears in the doorway. “He made a strawberry pie.”

“My God, I love you,” I say. “For a million reasons that include strawberry pie.”

“Feel free to list them all off.”

I laugh and close the space between us, wrapping my arms around him. “You’re trying to give us a normal holiday when nothing about our lives is normal, a family holiday. And you’re tolerating my brother and Lucas. And for those reasons alone, I need to set this case aside long enough to enjoy this day.”

“That’s not who you are, Lilah. Be you.”

“A million and one reasons,” I comment softly. “I need a shower. Do you need a shower?”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Do you need one?”

“No, but I waited a long time for you to be here, beautiful. Ask me anyway.”

And so, I do. “Will you shower with me, Kane Mendez?”

And so, he does.

We don’t talk about the unfinished conversation or fear.

I’m not afraid of him anyway. He has to know that. I’m afraid of myself.