Her Deadly Secrets

by Griffin, Laura

  “What’s with the power trip?”

  He didn’t look up. “I need food. So do you. You look strung out.”

  She barked out a laugh. “I look strung out? Have you seen a mirror lately?”

  He glanced up, and his brows furrowed.

  A waitress walked over. She had bleached-blond hair and a brisk manner that said she didn’t appreciate time wasters. She wiped down their table and tucked a tip into her apron pocket.

  “Get y’all some drinks?”

  “Coffee, please,” Kira said.

  “Water.”

  The waitress walked off, and Jeremy slid his menu behind the condiment bottles.

  “I had Trent drop off your car at your house,” he told her.

  “Who’s Trent?”

  “The other half of your detail. He was in the meeting you skipped.”

  Kira sighed. “And how does he know where I live?”

  “It’s in your file.”

  Great, they had a file already. It probably included her office address, along with a bunch of personal information about her.

  “You need to get your car looked at,” Jeremy continued. “Trent says it sounds like a transmission problem.”

  “I’ll add it to my list.”

  The waitress returned with their drinks.

  “What do you recommend here?” Kira asked her.

  “Breakfast or lunch?”

  “Either.”

  “Space City Hash. Best thing on the menu.”

  “Done,” Kira said.

  “Same,” Jeremy said.

  She jotted their orders and was flagged down by a cop at a neighboring table. Half the people in the place were cops, which made Kira hopeful about the coffee.

  She tore open a sugar packet and looked at Jeremy.

  She didn’t like that a team of strangers had a file on her. It was her own fault for agreeing to all this, but still. She didn’t want a constant escort, especially one who was a stickler for rules. She had to bend rules occasionally to get her job done.

  “Listen, Jeremy. I appreciate Brock Logan’s concern for his team’s safety, and it’s generous of the firm to hire you guys. But this arrangement isn’t going to work for me. Not without some changes.”

  Jeremy watched her.

  “I have to fly under the radar in this job,” she said. “That’s going to be hard to do with a supersized bodyguard tagging along behind me all the time.”

  His face remained blank.

  “Hello? Do you have a response?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “This is not a relevant discussion.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “Are you always this rude?”

  He looked at her, and she caught a flicker of remorse in his eyes.

  “Sorry.” He rubbed his chin and sighed. “I’m jet-lagged. Haven’t slept in forty-eight hours.”

  That piqued her interest. And his roadkill look made a little more sense now.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  “Working.”

  “Where?”

  He watched her, as if debating whether to reveal more, which was ironic considering he had a freaking file on her.

  “Spent the last three weeks in Southeast Asia with a client,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah?” She sipped her coffee. It was hot and strong, just what she needed. “And what kind of clients do you guys have? I don’t know the first thing about you.”

  “It varies. We get politicians, celebrities, business moguls.” He leaned back against the booth and seemed to loosen up, although he continued to glance at the door.

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “Not usually.”

  “So was this client a celebrity or—”

  “Tech CEO.”

  “Anyone I’d know?”

  “Doubtful.” His gaze drifted over her shoulder, and she got the feeling he wanted to change the subject, which made her determined to pursue it.

  “Try me. What’s he do?”

  Jeremy sighed. “You ever heard of Cloud Corp?”

  The name rang a bell. She’d read something in the news recently.

  “Oh, my God, that guy? Leo What’s-his-name? Rollins?”

  “Roland.”

  “Didn’t someone kidnap him or something in Kuala Lumpur? I saw something about it online.”

  “Attempted kidnapping.” Jeremy’s tone was grim. “They didn’t succeed.”

  She watched him expectantly, but he didn’t say more, even though it had been all over the news. She’d have to hunt down more details online.

  The waitress reappeared and set down two huge platters heaped with hash browns and veggies, plus two strips of bacon and a steamy fried egg on top.

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “No, thanks,” Kira said as Jeremy shook hot sauce over his food.

  Kira dug in. The potatoes were crisp and golden, and she realized she was famished. For several minutes, they focused on eating, and she went over what she’d learned.

  A few hours ago, this man had been halfway around the world protecting a tech billionaire from armed extremists. Now he was sitting in a greasy-spoon diner with an underemployed PI who’d just drained her bank account to get her car out of impound. Kira had always thought her work was unpredictable, but a job like Jeremy’s would give her whiplash.

  She watched him eat, wondering about his background. Was he ex-military? Secret service? Despite his scruff, the way he carried himself made her think military. She’d find out. If there was one thing she excelled at, it was digging up intel on people, whether they wanted her to or not.

  Jeremy looked at her over a bite, and she was struck by how blue his eyes were.

  “Tell me about last night,” he said.

  Her throat suddenly felt tight. She forced herself to swallow. “What about it?”

  “I want to know what happened.”

  He was watching her intently, and she sipped coffee to stall for time.

  “Did you see the police report?” she asked.

  “I was briefed on it.”

  “It happened really fast,” she said, pretty sure she could get through an abbreviated version. “We were in the kitchen at Logan’s. The doorbell rang. I heard a crash. Next thing I knew, Ollie was on the floor.” She looked down at her plate. “There was so much blood everywhere. Then the paramedics were whisking him away.”

  “You left out a few parts. Like when the killer took a shot at you?”

  She thought of the vase exploding beside her head. Her hands felt sweaty again, and she tucked them into her lap.

  “Yeah, well. He missed.”

  He stared at her, clearly expecting more. But what else was there to say?

  A chime sounded from inside her bag. She reached for her phone, welcoming the interruption until she saw her mother’s number.

  Shit.

  She took a deep breath. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Kira, thank God. Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Why?” she asked, although the tone of her mom’s voice told her everything she needed to know.

  “I just got off the phone with Ruth. She saw on the news that Oliver Kovak was murdered last night. Isn’t that the private detective you work with?”

  “It is.”

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  “Well, what happened?”

  “The police are still investigating.”

  Her mom apparently didn’t know that Kira had been at the scene, and she wasn’t about to enlighten her. She looked at Jeremy, who was eavesdropping as he pretended to focus on his food.

  “Those people are dangerous, Kira.”

  Those people.

  “I can’t really talk right now. I’m taking over some of Ollie’s cases, so things are really busy.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

  “It’s fine. Insurance work, mostly. Let’s catch up tomorrow, okay? I have to run.”
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  “Well, be careful.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  Kira put her phone away and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to hell for lying to my mother.”

  Jeremy winced. “That case, we’re probably all going to hell.”

  She looked at him, taking in his lean face and muscular build. He came across as such a badass, and she couldn’t imagine him having a regular mom.

  He pushed his plate away. “So what’s the issue?”

  “She hates my job.”

  “Why?”

  “Too fringe.” She drained her coffee. “PIs are right up there with repo men and bounty hunters, as far as she’s concerned. She thinks I should get a real estate license.”

  The corner of his mouth curved. It was the first hint of a smile she’d seen from him, and she felt a warm pull in the pit of her stomach.

  Kira turned to look for the waitress so she wouldn’t stare at him. Jeremy was hot, no question. Yet another reason this bodyguard thing was a bad idea. Brock had handed her the case of a lifetime, and she couldn’t afford any distractions. Or limitations.

  A man stepped into the restaurant and peeled off his sunglasses. Tall, business suit, military-straight posture. He zeroed in on their table and walked over.

  “Ms. Vance, I’m Liam Wolfe,” he said, offering a handshake.

  Kira darted a look at Jeremy before shaking the man’s hand.

  “May I?” Liam asked. “Sure.”

  He pulled a chair from the table beside them and sat down.

  “We didn’t have a chance to meet earlier, and it’s important you be briefed on the security arrangements.”

  Kira sighed, once again regretting having skipped that damn meeting.

  “We’ve found things go smoother when the client has a clear understanding of what’s going on.”

  “I bet,” she said. “Although I’m not really your client, because I’m not paying you.”

  He nodded. “Technically, you’re considered a protectee.”

  She looked from Liam to Jeremy and decided she was done trying to wiggle out of this. These guys were here. They were serious. She needed this job, and the best she could hope for would be to establish some boundaries.

  “I’m all ears,” she told Liam. “Tell me how this works.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  KIRA’S BODY language was defensive, and Jeremy could tell Liam picked up on it. She didn’t want protection, and they’d had clients like that before.

  “The law firm has requested round-the-clock surveillance for Brock Logan and everyone on his team,” Liam was telling her, “as well as an agent on each of you whenever you venture out.”

  “Venture?” She arched a pretty eyebrow. “My whole job is a venture. This isn’t the kind of thing you do from behind a desk.”

  “Understood.”

  “And what exactly do you mean by ‘surveillance’?”

  “We’ll have an agent monitoring your home and your place of business. And accompanying you when you go off-site.”

  “That’s fine, but they can’t get in the way. Which means they can’t be visible,” she said. “Most of what I do requires me to keep a low profile, and you guys look like the Avengers.”

  Liam darted a glance at Jeremy. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Our agents are used to keeping a low profile. Most of the time, you won’t even know they’re there.”

  Kira crossed her arms and looked skeptical.

  Of course she’d know they were there. Yes, Jeremy and his men were trained to be discreet, but this woman wasn’t your typical civilian. She was a PI. A good one, too, judging by how determined Logan had been to get her on his team. And if she was any good at what she did, she’d spot her detail’s every move, even if they tried to stay in the shadows.

  Liam walked her through the logistics, including the security system that would be installed at her house and monitored remotely. To Jeremy’s surprise, she didn’t push back on that at all.

  Kira Vance was an odd mix. Quiet one minute. Opinionated the next. Her body language was all over the map—open, defensive, friendly, evasive. He got the feeling she was hiding something, but he didn’t know what.

  Whatever it was, he’d find out.

  Liam shot him a look, and Jeremy knew he’d picked up on it, too. Despite her seeming cooperation, Kira wasn’t on board with this plan, and that made her a wild card.

  “And what about you guys?” she asked Liam.

  “What about us?”

  “You’ve got a whole crew of people covering us, round-the-clock surveillance, rolling shift changes. Are you guys local, or is this a traveling assignment?”

  “We’re based about a hundred miles north of here in Cypress Springs. You know it?”

  “I’ve driven through,” she said. “Not much to it.”

  “We’re headquartered there, and we’ve got room to spread out. Simulations, firearms training, whatever we need to do. We’re on the road about forty weeks a year, and the rest of the time we’re training.”

  “That’s a lot of travel.”

  “Our agents are used to it,” Liam said. “In this case, we’ve got a block of rooms at an extended-stay motel near downtown.”

  “Extended-stay.” She looked at Jeremy. “So does that mean you all will definitely be covering us through the Quinn trial?”

  “Under the current plan, yes,” Liam said.

  She didn’t look happy with this news, but she was done resisting. At least openly.

  “That about covers it.” Liam checked his watch. “Do you have any more questions?”

  “No.” She smiled. “Think I’m all set.”

  “Good. Then I’ll leave you to it.” Liam stood and gave Jeremy a warning look before walking away. It was subtle, but Jeremy caught it because he’d been working with Liam for years.

  Kira watched him go. Then she turned to Jeremy as he pulled out his wallet.

  “Thanks for the ambush,” she said.

  “Anytime. You ready?”

  She wasn’t ready for any of this, but it looked like she was going to fake it.

  “Absolutely.” She grabbed her bag. “Let’s go.”

  Hunan Court was a narrow storefront between a lash studio and a high-end dog groomer called Mud Puppies.

  “How do you want to play this?” Diaz asked. “You want me to go in there and ask for him?”

  “Let’s wait,” Charlotte said, pausing by the grooming place. The window display featured an array of frosted dog treats that looked far more appetizing than the protein bar she’d had for lunch. “We need him away from his boss, so he’ll feel free to talk to us.”

  She glanced up and down the sidewalk. At one end of the strip center was a dry cleaner, and at the other was a boutique coffee shop.

  The restaurant door opened, and Ryan Conyers emerged. He held a pair of brown shopping bags in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

  Diaz stepped forward. “Mr. Conyers.”

  The kid glanced up, startled. His gaze jumped to Charlotte.

  “Us again.” She beamed a smile at him. “Hope you don’t mind if we talk for a minute.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not supposed to—”

  “We insist.” She stepped between him and the little blue hatchback with the delivery sign on top. “This shouldn’t take long. Let’s grab a seat over there.”

  She and Diaz corralled him to the coffee shop, where they snagged a table under a red umbrella. Ryan looked uneasy as he set his bags on the table.

  “I really have to get this delivery out.”

  “We understand.” Charlotte sat down and pushed a chair toward him, and he gave her a wary look as he sank into it.

  Ryan had long blond surfer locks, which went well with his sun-brown skin and faded Rip Curl T-shirt. Diaz was looking him over, probably noticing the pipe-size bulge in the pocket of his cargo shorts. He took a chair next to the witness, scooting it just a little too close fo
r comfort.

  “We checked out what you told us,” Diaz said. “According to your manager, you left the restaurant at six ten to make a delivery to three ninety-two Stone Brook Trail in River Oaks. The time’s printed on the order receipt.”

  Ryan drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair. “That’s right.”

  “You had a delivery before that.” Charlotte took out her notebook and flipped it open. “Three eighty-eighty Lark Street, one block over, correct? James and Lisa Macey.”

  The kid paled under his tan.

  “You remember who answered the door?” Charlotte asked.

  “Uh, the woman who placed the order? Mrs. Macey?”

  “Do you remember what time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You told the officer last night that you went immediately from that delivery to the Logan residence on Stone Brook,” Diaz said, “and that there were already police cars on the street.”

  “Uh, I—”

  “An officer saw you pull up at six fifty-two. That sound about right?”

  He glanced from Diaz to Charlotte, total deer-in-the-headlights.

  “We’re just curious about the timing,” Charlotte said. “Say it takes five minutes to get from here to River Oaks. Call it ten in traffic. That puts you at the Macey residence about six twenty.” She shrugged. “Seems to be a chunk missing in there.”

  He swallowed.

  “How long does it usually take you to make a delivery?” Diaz asked.

  “About, I don’t know, ten minutes.”

  “Ten? Really?” Charlotte tipped her head. “Even when a woman invites you inside?”

  He looked at Diaz for help, but the detective just stared at him.

  “Look, Ryan.” Charlotte leaned forward. “We don’t care what you and Mrs. Macey were doing in her bedroom—”

  “It wasn’t her bedroom!” His voice cracked on the last word. “I swear. We were out by the pool.”

  “Wasn’t it raining?” Charlotte looked at Diaz.

  “Think so.” Diaz shook his head. “That doesn’t really add up, Ryan.”

  “No, I swear. She has this big patio. She offered me a joint, and what was I supposed to do? She’s a good tipper.”

  They watched him, letting his words hang there.

  “Why’d you lie to us?” Charlotte asked.