by Julie Miller
“Then maybe you should start answering a few, so she doesn’t have to.”
“Blame me if you want for whatever difficulties Elaine is going through right now. Because, even though you’ve yet to prove anything, in your book, apparently, I’m guilty of every wrongdoing in this city.” He twisted the signet ring on his left pinkie finger, then casually adjusted his cuffs and cufflinks. “Just think, if something was to happen to your detective friend right now, you’d probably accuse me of hurting her, too. But look...” He opened his arms, gesturing to the guests inside by the gift shop and filtering through the glass doors to the parking garage. “I have hundreds of people who can verify where I am, and that I had nothing to do with it...including you.”
A chill ran down Gabe’s spine. “Nothing to do with what?”
“Just giving an example of how wrong you are about me. This interview is over, Mr. Knight. Dominic?” Leland’s bodyguard led the way to the limo and opened the back door for his boss. When Gabe caught a peek inside the tinted windows of the long black car, he saw the young man on his cell phone, staring right back at Gabe as he relayed some kind of message to the caller at the other end of the line.
What the hell? Gabe read the threat between the lines—Asher’s calm demeanor, the cryptic words, maybe even the twist of his ring—it all meant something. He didn’t bother chasing Asher to his limo and demanding straight answers. For once, he didn’t try to make sense of all the details. There was just one glaring fact that mattered. He and Olivia must be getting close to uncovering the truth.
So what were Asher and his cronies willing to do to stop them?
Gabe slapped the departing limousine out of his way and ran down the parking aisle to his SUV. He pulled out his phone and punched in Olivia’s number before unlocking the door and getting inside to start the engine.
The number rang and rang. “What kind of cop doesn’t answer her phone?” Gabe’s stomach knotted as tightly as it had when he’d seen her plunge beneath that twisted stair railing toward the fire beneath them. But he couldn’t just reach out and save her this time. “Come on, Liv. Pick up.”
He glanced behind him, seeing the vehicles of departing guests starting to line up. He shifted the Chevy into Reverse and backed out of the parking stall, then sped as quickly as he dared toward the nearest exit before he got blocked behind traffic.
When the call finally went to voice mail, his warning was brief. “It’s Gabe. Leland Asher is up to something. Be careful, love—Liv,” he corrected before disconnecting the call and dropping the phone into the console beside him. He swung out into the street, flipped on his headlights and stepped on the gas. Let one of Kansas City’s Finest try to stop him now.
What difference did it make if he’d let it slip that he had feelings for Olivia? If she was in danger and he couldn’t reach her, what difference did anything he said or did make at all?
* * *
OLIVIA PUT HER PHONE on speaker mode and set it on top of the papers spread across her desk. Picking up Chinese takeout and changing into yoga pants, tennis shoes and an old flannel shirt she’d inherited from Duff were the only concessions she’d made to going off duty and relaxing at home. But the work hadn’t stopped. Since she was taking a break from poring over Ron Kober’s schedule for the past several months, she stood up beside the oak desk and did some of the stretches her physical therapist had recommended to speed the healing of the sprained muscles in her shoulder and side. “Hey, Niall. What’s up?”
“Hey, Livvy.” The least chatty of all her family, Olivia’s middle brother skipped any small talk and got straight to his reason for calling. “I finished my autopsy on Ron Kober. I’ve sent a copy of the report to Detectives Kincaid and Hendricks, but I know you were curious about a couple of things, too.”
Olivia smiled when she heard that he’d remembered her request. “Cause of death?”
“Blunt force trauma to the head. Blood and brain matter on the trophy the CSIs brought in confirm it as the murder weapon.” Her smile became a grimace of eeuw at the details her brother discussed so casually. “I’m not the one who pieces together the clues, but it couldn’t look any less like a professional hit.”
Feeling a combination of gross-out and disappointment, Olivia gave up on the multitasking and sank onto the leather desk chair. She hugged her knees to her chest. “So you believe his death was a crime of passion, not anything planned or carried out professionally?”
“Like I said—I just look at what the body tells me. He had bruising on his knuckles, too, so there may have been some sort of struggle.” What struggle? Kober’s office had been as neat as a magazine picture, other than the body, the murder weapon and the bloodstains beneath him. “The killer probably grabbed the trophy as a weapon of opportunity to defend herself.”
“Well, somebody had time to clean up. What do you estimate as the time of death?”
“Somewhere between nine and eleven that morning.”
Olivia shuffled through the papers on top of her desk to find Sawyer’s initial report. Kober’s secretary, Misty Harbison, had called 9-1-1 shortly after one that afternoon saying she’d discovered his body. The police had arrived by one-fifteen. Three or four hours was plenty of time to set the private office to rights. But why hadn’t anyone seen or heard an argument? And why would Leland Asher, or anyone he might hire, create such a messy crime scene, and then have to spend time there cleaning it up? The risk of being discovered was too great.
“Wait a minute.” Olivia dropped her feet to the floor and leaned closer to the phone. “You said herself?”
Niall chuckled. “I wondered if you picked up on that. Don’t worry. I’ve already passed on the UNSUB details to Detective Kincaid. Mr. Kober was struck three times. The first blow might have made him dizzy, but wouldn’t have rendered him unconscious. He was still fighting. The second blow took him down, and the third finished him off. Whoever was swinging that trophy didn’t have the upper body strength to deal a single killing blow. Plus, the angle of the first two wounds indicates Kober’s assailant was slightly shorter than he was.”
Olivia thought of the young man in the gray hoodie who’d been so desperate to sneak out of that building and avoid the cops. What was his name? She flipped to another page in another report. Stephen March. “Niall, could his killer have been a short, slightly built man?”
“It’s possible. But even wiry guys, unless they have some kind of handicap, would be stronger than these blows indicate.”
She thought of the knife wound on Gabe’s forearm. Although the wound had been deep enough to require stitches, the ER doctor had said it could have been much worse. Olivia had dismissed Stephen March as a hesitant attacker, a man more interested in getting away than in inflicting harm. But could March have some kind of physical impairment that weakened his strength? She flipped to a clean sheet of her notepad and jotted a reminder to do a medical background check before Max and Trent brought March in for his interview tomorrow.
“You still there, Livvy?” Niall asked. “Or are you putting a puzzle together?”
“You know me.” Although she suspected Niall’s autopsy report would be of more use to Kincaid and Hendricks in solving Ron Kober’s murder, she wasn’t giving up on the idea that this crime would lead her to answers on Danielle Reese’s murder. Gabe was so certain the two deaths were related that somewhere along the way he’d convinced her, too. “What about the other thing I asked you to check?”
“You were right. I did find a small wad of torn-up gray paper in the victim’s stomach.” She heard a few clicks on a keyboard and suspected Niall was calling up the information on his computer. “I didn’t find signs of trauma to the mouth or throat, so I’m guessing he ate it voluntarily.”
Probably an impromptu effort to hide the note from his attacker. “I don’t need any gross details about the acidic properties of stomach cont
ents, but was there any message on the note?”
“The only thing I could make out on the paper was a name. ‘E. Zeiss.’” She copied down the name Niall spelled for her. “They were on two separate strips of paper, with one fitting above the other, so there may have been more to the E and the rest of the message, but that’s all I could recover.” Niall’s sigh was either a yawn or a stretch, an indicator that his workday had been as long as hers. “Is that enough information to keep you busy for the rest of the night?”
He knew her far too well. “Thanks, Dr. Watson,” she teased.
“Not a problem, Sherlock. Are you feeling better today?”
“I am after talking to my favorite brother.”
Niall laughed. “You say that to all of us, don’t you.”
She laughed along with him. “Maybe.”
“Love ya, kiddo.”
“Love you.”
Olivia hung up to find she had a missed call and message from Gabe. And though the idea of hearing that deep, sexy voice stirred a warm flutter of anticipation inside that no longer made her feel as defensive as it did even a few days ago, she wanted to finish compiling the circumstantial and forensic evidence she’d gathered. She wanted to be prepared with answers to the follow-up questions she was certain he’d ask when she called back to share these new developments on the investigation.
She went back to the photocopies of Ron Kober’s appointments the morning of his death. It looked as though two appointments and a staff meeting had been canceled. Plus, he’d given Misty, his assistant, the morning off. The man had cleared his schedule, cleared his entire office that morning except for the appointment penciled in at nine o’clock.
“Zeiss.” Olivia read the word out loud, then turned on another lamp over her desk and pulled the phone book from the top drawer. “Z, Z, Zeiss. Hmm.”
There were only two Zeisses in the Kansas City directory, but neither one had a first name that started with an E. Avoiding a random search through the yellow pages, Olivia picked up her phone to run an online search.
“Zeiss Security.” Now that was interesting. Based in the KC area, the Zeiss Security website offered private security and investigation services. “An empty private office with no chance of being interrupted.” And Kober’s building already had a team of security guards.
Ron Kober had hired a private investigator. But who or what was he investigating? Whatever he’d learned at that meeting might have been the thing that had gotten him killed. Whoever met with Kober should at least be questioned as a potential suspect or witness. She wrote down the company’s phone number and made a mental note to call them as soon as they were open for business in the morning. Since their client was dead, they might ignore any confidentiality agreement and share their information without having to get a subpoena.
With a buzz of renewed excitement humming through her veins at the forward progress she was making on the case, Olivia called her voice mail and put Gabe’s message on speaker phone while she straightened all the paperwork on her desk. Way to kill the buzz.
“Leland Asher?” Had Gabe had a run-in with the reputed crime boss?
“Be careful, love—Liv.”
“You be careful,” she warned the inanimate phone. But was it Gabe’s urgent tone or the slip of the tongue endearment that made her emotions snap?
Olivia scooped up her phone to call Gabe back and remind him he had neither the authority, the proof nor the secure backup to accuse Leland Asher of anything. What was that stubborn, determined man thinking? By reopening the investigation, they were bound to stir up old secrets and make a murderer who’d been living free for six years decidedly uncomfortable and therefore unpredictable. If Asher was up to something, shouldn’t the man who’d been accusing him of murder for six years be the one who should be worried about some kind of retribution?
Olivia pulled up Gabe’s number, grateful for his concern, yet frightened that he didn’t seem to practice the same caution about his own safety. “If you don’t answer this phone, Gabe Knight, I’m going to—”
A thump against her front window stopped the complaint and the call. Olivia turned toward the picture window behind her couch, catching her breath and going on alert when she saw a blur of a shadow dancing across the sheer curtains there. She might have dismissed it as the streetlamp across the street shining through the branches of the sugar maple in her front yard. A breeze could have stirred the branches and startled her.
But the lamp and the tree were permanent fixtures, and that shadow had disappeared.
The hackles at the back of her neck shivered with a clear warning.
Someone had moved past her window.
With the lamps on over her desk, the peeping Tom would have been able to see her in here working. He’d have at least been able to see her silhouette in front of the desk and track her movements. Was that the threat Gabe had been so cryptic about? Did he think Leland Asher was coming after her?
Without wasting a moment to think of all the possible motives for being spied on, Olivia leaned over the desk and killed the lights. She dropped her phone into the chest pocket of her shirt, picked up her keys and headed through the dark house to her bedroom where she opened the closet and pulled the lockbox that held her gun and ammo off the shelf.
Once the box was unlocked and she was armed, she pressed the safety off her Glock and crept through the remodeled 1950s bungalow, scanning each window for signs of curious eyes until she ended up back in the living room. When she peeked behind the edge of the curtain, there was no one outside. She knew she hadn’t imagined that shadow. Maybe the pervert had startled himself when he’d hit the window and run away.
“That’s right, pal,” she whispered, moving toward the front door. She knew she wouldn’t be able to drop her guard and rest until she saw with her own eyes that the threat had vanished or been neutralized. “You picked the wrong lady to spy on.”
After unhooking the security chain and dead bolt, Olivia slipped out onto the porch. Keeping her ears alert to the sounds of running footsteps or a car speeding away, she moved down the steps and across the yard, with her gun firmly gripped between both hands. The neighborhood was quiet. Other than the two streetlamps on the block, and the glow of a few late-night lights through curtains and closed doors, there wasn’t anyone stirring inside or out. So either the peeping Tom had run away or he was still here somewhere, hiding in the shadows, holding his breath.
Olivia turned her back on the shadows for a cautious moment to squat down between the shrubs and her front window. She touched her fingertips to the impressions in the soft dirt there. Definitely not her imagination.
Those were footprints, man-size and deep enough to suspect that her spy had been there a long time. Watching. Waiting to see more than her silhouette through the drapery sheers. The flower buds broken off her forsythia bushes indicated he’d tripped over them in his haste to get away once discovered.
A shiver of uncomfortable awareness raised goose bumps across her skin and Olivia turned. Someone was still watching. But from where?
With her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the late spring night, she didn’t bother retrieving a flashlight to aid in her search. With a quick look around the landscaping, and even up into the tree, she determined the yard was clear. But she couldn’t account for every yard and every house or the smattering of cars parked along the curb. Keeping her gun pointed down at the concrete, Olivia quickly moved to the end of her driveway to gain an unobstructed view of the small suburban homes up and down the street. Other than the flickering lights of television sets through closed curtains, there was no activity at all. No trees or bushes stirring except with the rhythmic sway of the breeze. There were no neighbors out for a late-night walk with their dog, no teenager sneaking home from a party, no signs of movement at all except...
A shift in the shadows farther do
wn the street darted past the corner of her eye. Trusting her instincts more than her vision right now, Olivia turned.
The black car.
“You son of a...” The engine turned over and roared to life. The driver knew he’d been spotted.
Forget stealth now. Besides, she was in the mood to let Marcus Brower have it for freaking her out like this.
“Marcus!” she shouted, raising her gun and walking into the middle of the street so he could see her and the Glock and know she meant business. “Get out of the—”
The headlights flashed on, straight to high beams, blinding her. Squinting her eyes against the painful shock to her retinas, she averted her gaze and fired up her temper.
“Damn you.” She didn’t have her badge, but no one could doubt her authority as she marched down the street. She aimed her gun at the closest headlight. “KCPD! Get out of the car right now.” The motor revved and Olivia cursed the driver’s defiance. She arced her path toward the opposite curb, still trying to get a bead on the man behind the wheel. But the lights were too bright. “Marcus, turn off the engine and get out. Now!”
But just as the loathsome man rolled down the tinted window to give her a glimpse at his face, she heard a shout. “Leave the dead alone!”
The powerful engine roared into overdrive. The car swung away from the curb and barreled toward her. Olivia braced her feet and aimed at the lights. But she was in a residential neighborhood, firing blind, so she lowered her weapon and backed away. But the lights grew large, like angry eyes, and the car chased her down like a giant predator charging its prey, forcing her to turn and run.
Olivia dove into the neighbor’s yard across the street, tumbling over the sidewalk, wrenching her bruised shoulder. She heard the bang of the car jumping the curb and felt its heat bearing down on her.