Page 71 of I'm Not in Love (I Promise)

I do a walk-through, checking each room thoroughly and finding nothing out of place. “Blake, you can come in.”

“Everything’s okay?” she asks, worrying her lip with her sharp canines.

“It looks like it.” I peer out into the hallway again before closing the door. Something’s off, I feel it in my gut. The way Leon called to interrupt my time with Blake was so unlike him. “I feel bad that we had to cut our night short.”

“Don’t feel bad. We have the place to ourselves. It’s never this quiet in here.” She arches her brow. “And I’m still wearing my vampire fangs.”

“Does that mean I have you all to myself until sunrise?”

“Maybe,” she teases. “But first…” She dips out of the room and comes back with her cake. “We owe it to Mrs. Langston to try her cake.”

While Blake sets it on the counter and pulls out a knife, my gaze is fixed on the cake. I realize what feels so off. I felt it earlier but now it’s like a neon sign in my face—the silence. Our nightly soundtrack of Mrs. Langston’s soap operas blaring at full volume is missing.

“This looks amazing. Does she bake for you guys a lot?” Blake chats, while she cuts into the dessert.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Without another word of explanation, I grab my pistol and hurry downstairs. She runs out the door to follow me. I should have known she would.

“What’s wrong?” she asks frantically.

I bring a finger to my lips, gesturing that she stay quiet. If she’s going to follow me down, there’s no way I’m letting her get hurt.

We head outside and around to Mrs. Langston’s entrance. I knock on the door with a heavy hand. “Dolores? Are you up?”

After a few seconds of silence, I twist the knob, finding it unlocked. Ushering Blake inside, I gesture to the corner of the living room, near her well-loved recliner. “Can you call Leon while I check the place?” She nods, her eyes full of fear. I don’t let my gaze linger. The pull to comfort her is too strong. “Dolores?” I call again.

At first glance the place looks the same as always, until I reach the bedroom. Dolores is laid out on her back with a bullet hole through her skull. Bile threatens its way up my throat. “Fuck… Blake, don't come in here!”

I double over, letting loose a stream of curses. This is all our fault. We weren’t here to protect her. We did this. I don’t know what to do, but I can’t leave her like this. With blurred vision, I glance around the room and find a hastily scribbled note on Dolores’ side table.

I’ll take what I’m owed with bullets and flesh.

Your move.

Blake’s gasp pulls me to the present. “Oh, my God. Should I start CPR?” Her voice wavers but I can tell she’s channeling her med school training. She rushes to Dolores’ side to check for a pulse. “Sh—she’s gone. Someone killed her?”

There’s no sense in confirming what we both already know. “What did Leon say?”

She stands over her, holding her hand while tears stream down her cheeks. I don’t have time for this, I need to take action. Pulling out my phone, I call Leon. He answers on the first ring.

“I’m trying to get out of here but Falin’s somewhere with that skeleton guy and Jasper is nowhere to be found.” Music filters through the speaker along with the incessant chatter of drunk partiers. “Should I leave them? What’s going on?”

I step into the hallway and lower my voice. “Dolores is dead. They left a note. Just leave them, I need you here.”

“Fuck,” he draws out the word. “Alright, mate. Hang tight, I’ll be there soon. In the meantime, I’ll call Ray.”

“Ray?” I ask. What the hell will he do to help us?

“Unless you think we should get the cops involved, we need him. He has a crew that handles this kind of thing.”

“He’s a fucking cleaner too?” I’m shocked. I guess our ex-detective isn’t so by the book after all.

“Whatever you want to call him. It’ll cost us though.” He curses under his breath. “I’ll need to call my father and get a wire transfer.”

“No, I’m sure we can handle it.” There’s no way I want to involve Leon’s sperm donor. We’ve gone this far without much direct contact with him. Leon gets his monthly stipend and that’s been enough to keep us comfortable, along with the side jobs we take on.

“You got an extra hundred grand laying around that I’m unaware of? This isn’t like the asshole in Palm Cove. Mrs. Langston needs a proper cremation. She deserves that.”

Not only that, but New York lacks the necessary amount of gator-filled lakes. Florida was good for a few things.

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