At least not to him. With him she’d always told him the truth. Unfortunately what he’d chosen to believe of that truth had ultimately caused the destruction of their affair.
“Lilith, what aren’t you telling me?”
She stopped at the door, startled. “I’m not telling you a whole hell of a lot. You see, when you call a girl a freak and then bolt out of her bed as if the sheets are on fire, you pretty much lose your right to be a confidant.”
Ouch.
“I deserve that,” he admitted.
“Damn straight you do!”
“I’m sorry.”
Lilith opened her mouth, stopped, then popped her lips closed.
Mac shoved his hands into his pockets. Those words, hard as they were to say, were woefully overdue.
For a split second her gaze softened. But before she could respond, his office door banged open, nearly knocking her against the wall.
“What the fu—”
The mayor, the newly elected Perkins Dafoe, gave her a quick and startled glance, then dismissed her. Okay. So she didn’t exactly look like a typical voter. Not with that bloodred lipstick and pentagram charm dangling between her generous breasts. But Lilith didn’t cotton to blatant disrespect.
Oh, the man was going to be sorry.
“Mancusi, what the hell kind of operation are you running here? This is the twenty-first century, man. Al Capone and Eliot Ness no longer work here.”
Mac pressed his lips together to smother a smile when Lilith muttered, “What a moron.”
The mayor turned toward her again, his eyes narrowed.
“Excuse me?”
Lilith’s grin could have cut glass. “Capone never worked here. He was the criminal. And Ness was a fed, not Chicago PD.”
The mayor’s face was stone until his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrow cocked over keen blue eyes. “And you are?”
Lilith stepped fully into the man’s personal space. “A friend of the detective’s who doesn’t appreciate being run over by politicians on power trips.”
Yeah, this was helping.
Mac cleared his throat. “And what can I do for you, Mr. Mayor?”
With reluctance, Dafoe turned away from Lilith. “You can pack up your things,” the politician declared.
“What?” Lilith yelped.
Mac held up his hand. “Mr. Mayor, I was told by the chief that the matter would be adequately reviewed before any action was taken.”
“One look at Boothe Thompson’s face is all the review I need. You’re out of here. Two weeks. Maybe more if I hear one whiff of you interfering in any police matters during your suspension. I can’t have my police officers beating up on my defense attorneys.”
“I had no idea you personally owned the justice system of Chicago,” Mac retorted.
Dafoe’s bloated face reddened. “This is a new administration, Mancusi. An iron fist is what I promised my constituents, and that’s exactly what I’m going to provide.”
Mac’s throat burned from the exertion of keeping his mouth shut. He’d walked right into this one. Common sense had told him to let Goins go when it was clear the information he may or may not have possessed wasn’t forthcoming. Instead he’d called Lilith and pushed the boundaries of good police work.
But it still stank.
“There’s still a shipment of drugs out there, Mr. Mayor. The distribution could be transpiring as we speak.”
The mayor’s jaw tightened. “That’s no longer your concern.”
Lilith grabbed the mayor’s sleeve and spun him around. Mac couldn’t react fast enough. Not with the desk in the way. A split second later, a security guard had Lilith’s face pressed against the wall, her arms tight behind her back.
“Back off, you oaf!” she demanded, striking backward with her head and knocking the guard in the chin.
“Lilith…” Mac warned, his body burning from the inside out in his efforts to remain still. The last thing any of them needed was a free-for-all. Especially when more than one person in the room was armed.
The mayor had been shuttled to a corner by his handlers. Through the dark sleeves, he could see the man’s sweaty face.
“Call off your man,” Mac insisted.
The mayor stuttered, “Sh-she attacked m-me!”
“I barely touched your arm. Boy, won’t the press love to know how you react when a woman merely touches you? Your wife must be so—”
“Lilith,” Mac said, his volume low and his tone dire.
Surprisingly Lilith quieted, the obvious insult to the mayor’s masculinity hanging heavy and acrid in the air.
Mac turned to the mayor, whose skin had turned the color of boiled beets. “I’ll pack up my stuff with no comment to the press if you allow…Ms. St. Lyon…to leave, as well.”
Two aides whispered in the mayor’s ear. He nodded.
“No comments to the press from her either?” the aide verified.
Mac waited for Lilith to agree. After a tense minute, her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, am I allowed to speak now?” She twisted so she could eye the security guard still holding her tightly. He made no move to release her. With a sigh, she agreed to the terms.
The aides shuttled to the door. The mayor straightened his jacket, then marched out behind them, stopping at the threshold. Once certain his security guard had planted himself directly between Lilith and the politician, he cleared his throat to speak, punctuating his words with jabs of his finger. “Not a word from you, Detective Mancusi. If one quote appears in black and white attributed to either you, your representatives or this…this…woman…you’ll turn in your badge for good.”
With that, he left. Ten seconds later, the room cleared out entirely. And yet Lilith remained by the door. Almost immediately her naturally pale skin went entirely white. Mac vaulted around his desk to catch her before her knees buckled.
“Lilith?”
Her lids drooped over her stunning eyes but didn’t entirely close. He was immediately struck by the scent of her perfume and the spiked fringe of her hair striking against his neck like a thousand matchsticks. She kicked her feet and shook her hands, mumbling unintelligibly. Whatever had come over her, she was fighting to remain conscious.
With a curse, he lifted her into his arms just in time for her to mutter, “Holy sensory overload,” against his cheek.
“You’re joking?” he snapped. “This is a joke?”
She groaned. “No…joke. Put…me…”
The demand trailed away. He set her down in the nearest chair, pressing his palm against her clammy cheek. “Are you sick? Should I call someone?”
Lilith shook her head gingerly. “No,” she insisted, pushing him aside. “Give me a minute.”
Mac backed away, realizing after he had some distance that his chest was sore from the pounding of his heart. “What are you doing, Lilith? Trying to manipulate me the old-fashioned way now that you’ve quit being a psychic?”
She’d put her head