Her Deadly Secrets

by Griffin, Laura

“I didn’t. We hung out for, like, fifteen minutes, tops. I left before the sirens.”

  Bingo. Charlotte looked at her partner.

  The Maceys’ street backed right up to Logan’s. The shortest driving route between the two houses went straight down Lark Street, which was where detectives believed the killer had made his escape after fleeing through Logan’s back door and scaling the fence.

  “Then what?” Charlotte asked.

  “Then . . . I don’t know. I chilled in my car for a minute and checked some baseball scores and then headed over to Stone Brook. There were some sirens, and when I got there, there were already a couple cop cars in front of the address.”

  Charlotte stared at him, trying to drill a hole into his soul, where she hoped he had some sort of a conscience.

  “Come on, Ryan.” Diaz softened his tone. “Think about the timing. You had to have seen something.”

  Ryan’s shoulders drooped, and Charlotte felt a surge of adrenaline.

  “There was a guy, okay?” He looked at Charlotte.

  “Where?”

  “Down the block. Lark Street. When I came out of the house, he was getting into his car.”

  Charlotte tamped down the urge to jump all over him. Maybe the guy was a valet. Or a neighbor. Or a guest at the party two blocks away.

  “What did this man look like?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. He was walking away from me.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  Ryan sighed and rested his arms on his knees, like he was struggling to remember. “Shorts. And a gray sweatshirt with a hood.”

  Diaz leaned forward. “Did he have a ski mask or gloves on?”

  “What? No!” He looked panicked now. “Nothing like that. I would have said something.”

  “What else?” Charlotte asked. “Race? Hair color?”

  “He was a white guy, okay? Brown hair. He had a gym bag with him. I figured he was going to work out.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t see his face?” Charlotte searched his eyes, but it felt like he was telling the truth now. “Not even from the side?”

  “No.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about his car?”

  He nodded. “Sure, that I could see. It was a black BMW.”

  Kira stood naked in her steamy bathroom, relieved to be away from people for the first time in hours. She wiped the foggy mirror with her hand and checked out her face. Without makeup, it looked worse than this morning. The bruise on her cheek had turned blackish purple, and her cut had reopened, so there was a brand-new scab where she’d caught the chunk of porcelain. She dampened a tissue and cleaned it up as best she could, but there was no getting around the fact that for the foreseeable future, she was going to look like she’d run into a big fat fist.

  Another reason to duck out of seeing her parents this weekend. She’d have to think of a plausible excuse. She also needed to dodge her brother, who’d left a message on her phone this afternoon.

  Kira, it’s me, pick up. What the hell? I heard you were at the scene of a shooting last night.

  Jack was a firefighter with Houston FD and had friends in law enforcement, so his sources were a touch more informed than Ruth Hovis, their parents’ neighbor. Kira needed to make sure Jack didn’t relay whatever he knew to their parents. The last thing she needed this week was a barrage of worried phone calls.

  Kira wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out of the bathroom, letting the steam escape. She crossed the hall to her bedroom and checked her phone on the dresser, hoping for something from Ollie’s mystery caller. She’d dialed the number earlier and left a message on a generic voicemail but hadn’t heard back. She hadn’t heard from anyone, in fact, since Brock had called wanting his update, and Kira had convinced him to give her more time.

  Kira rubbed eucalyptus-scented moisturizer on her arms and legs. She took her wide-tooth comb into the living room and stood in front of the TV, combing her hair as she caught the tail end of House Hunters. A couple was looking at a home in Atlanta, with the wife proclaiming that the countertops were “unbearable” and the entire kitchen needed to be gutted. Kira imagined what the woman would say about Kira’s 1980s appliances and warped linoleum floor.

  Her phone chimed, and she grabbed it. It was her brother again.

  “Hi, Jack.”

  “ ‘Hi’? That’s it? Why didn’t you call me back?”

  “Sorry.” She sat down on the sofa and tossed her comb onto the table. “I’ve been slammed today.”

  “Jesus, Kira. What happened last night? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” But her brother knew her too well to believe that. “Shaken, mostly. And Ollie—” Her voice broke on the word.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “They’re still investigating, but they think it’s related to this trial he’d been working on.”

  “The Quinn murder.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Aren’t you working on that, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kira . . .” He had that protective-older-brother tone now, and she needed to change the subject.

  “How’s Aiden?” she asked.

  “Sick. Emily took him to the doctor today. Another ear infection.”

  “Oh, poor thing.”

  “And you’re changing the subject.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry, but I’m really wiped out tonight. Can we talk about this later?”

  “I’ll try you tomorrow. I’m off through Saturday.”

  “Sounds good. Give Aiden a hug for me.”

  “Be careful, Kira.”

  “Same goes for you.”

  She hung up and stared down at the phone. She and Jack were straight with each other, always had been. He didn’t hound her about the hazards of her job, and she showed him the same courtesy. Their mother gave them both enough grief already, and they didn’t need any more. But Kira knew Jack worried about her. More than a few times, she’d been confronted by an angry husband after she’d uncovered details of an affair. And a deadbeat dad had taken a baseball bat to her windshield one time. She’d never proved who did it, but she knew it was him. So, yeah, her job wasn’t exactly risk-free, but whose was? Her brother put out fires for a living, and he accepted the risks with a stoic nonchalance that Kira admired.

  She crossed her messy living room and parted the blinds to check the carport. Still no Gina, and it was almost eleven, so she was probably at her boyfriend’s tonight. Kira also saw no sign of her security detail, even though Trent had told her he’d be in the area.

  After the diner, Kira’s workday had been a bust. She’d made the rounds by Ollie’s office and his house, but both locations still had police units parked out front, and she’d decided to cut her losses. Jeremy had delivered her home, where they found a Wolfe Security crew parked in front of her house in a black Suburban, waiting to install the new security system. After making introductions and handing her off to Trent, Jeremy had taken off, no doubt to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

  Trent turned out to be the guy from the lobby at Brock’s firm. He gave her a crash course in her new system, which included sensors on every window and surveillance cams for the doors, all of which could be monitored remotely.

  Kira loved it. She’d always been a geek about gadgets and spy tools, and getting her PI’s license had only given her cause to indulge. The trunk of her car was filled with all sorts of cameras and listening devices, but the equipment Wolfe’s crew brought over put her collection to shame.

  Kira peered out the front window now, searching up and down the street again for any sign of a Wolfe agent. They were running a combination of fixed surveillance and drive-bys. Kira had to admit, they were keeping a low profile, which she knew firsthand wasn’t easy to do.

  She checked her watch. It was time. She’d convinced Brock to give her until tomorrow to meet, but if she didn’t come up with somethin
g by then, he’d know she was bluffing and boot her off the job. She was out of excuses, and she needed intel.

  Kira threw on her darkest jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, and some old black boots unearthed from the depths of her closet. She collected a few supplies and zipped everything into a black backpack. Her hair was still damp, and she didn’t want to take the time to dry it, so she scooped it into a ponytail and grabbed a baseball cap on her way out the door.

  Stepping into her carport, Kira popped the locks on her car. Still no sign of Trent, but her phone vibrated as she backed out of the driveway.

  She recognized the number Trent had given her.

  Where to?

  She texted back: Dropping by a friend’s. Won’t take long.

  Would he be content to stay outside? Or would he insist on coming in? Kira very much hoped not. She was accustomed to doing her job solo, and having her movements tracked made her feel claustrophobic. Everything made her feel claustrophobic right now. Emotions churned inside her—sadness, anger, disbelief—but they hadn’t bubbled to the surface yet. She hadn’t cried since Ollie died, and she didn’t know why. Her feelings, like everything else in her life right now, seemed to be on lockdown.

  Kira opened the window to get some fresh air circulating. Hearing her car’s knocks and pings, she felt a wave of uneasiness. Trent and Jeremy had confirmed her suspicion that she needed to get her car looked at. Maybe next week she’d get her head above water long enough to think about it.

  Sure. That would definitely happen. Brock’s trial started Monday, and she’d probably be running around fetching rocks for him all week.

  Unless he fired her before that. Then she’d have all the time in the world to fix her car but no money.

  Avoiding the freeways, Kira stayed at a comfortable forty miles per hour all the way to Ollie’s neighborhood. It was very much like hers. Small lots, big trees, a mix of single- and multifamily homes. Due to Houston’s crazy zoning, it wasn’t unusual to see business and residential mixed together in the older areas, and Ollie’s house was three doors down from a used-book store that offered tarot card readings.

  Kira slowed and surveyed the area. No Trent, so maybe he was keeping himself invisible. Also, no pedestrians out tonight, only a cigarette-smoking man standing on the porch of the bookstore. Kira rolled to a stop in front of Ollie’s and waved at the man as she got out.

  Ollie’s house was a one-story ranch that had a tidy lawn and could have used a paint job. Kira jangled her keys and strode confidently up the driveway as if she belonged there.

  She scanned the garage and the covered breezeway leading to the back door. No sign of forced entry, no yellow police tape. She let herself through the unlocked gate and took a moment to look around.

  It was a small yard, taken up mostly by a brick patio that Ollie had put down himself. Beside a neatly coiled hose was a gas grill protected by a canvas cover that was coated in pollen. Kira peered through the kitchen window, being careful not to touch the glass. Everything looked normal, and she saw nothing to suggest the place had been ransacked like Ollie’s office. It looked as though the police who’d been here earlier had been searching for clues in the homicide case, not responding to a break-in.

  Kira reached under the grill and felt around for the magnetic box. She found it and slipped out the hide-a-key.

  A dog barked. Kira froze.

  The sound was high-pitched, like maybe a poodle, but it was persistent. Kira held her breath and listened. The dog sounded at least one house away, maybe two.

  Kira replaced the magnetic box beneath the grill, then crept over to the garage. She discovered the door unlocked, so she slipped the key into her pocket for later.

  The stuffy garage smelled of dust and grass clippings. Kira stepped around a tool bench and noted the old push mower parked beside the door. Half the garage was empty—just a brown oil stain where Ollie typically parked the Ford sedan that was still being processed by police. The other half of the garage was taken up by the gray Dodge minivan that Ollie jokingly called his cool car because he used it for undercover work.

  The van was a soccer-mom mobile, right down to the BABY ON BOARD hangtag on the rearview mirror. It was versatile, though, and could be quickly transformed into a utility van or a delivery truck, depending on Ollie’s needs.

  Kira walked around the back, casting a glance through the grimy row of windows at the top of the garage door. She stepped into the shadows along the driver’s side and unzipped her backpack. After tugging on a latex glove, she took out her slim jim, wedged it between the window and the rubber seal, and fished around until she heard the telltale click. Then she opened the door and slid inside.

  The van smelled of French fries and Old Spice, and the familiar combination put a pang in her chest. Ollie would never sit here again. And whatever he’d been doing last time he sat here might have gotten him killed.

  She couldn’t believe he was gone. Gone. The gray pallor of his face the last time she’d seen him was ingrained in her mind, and yet she still couldn’t quite believe it.

  Kira switched on her mini flashlight. It emitted a soft red glow, and she swept it over the floor littered with newspapers, food wrappers, and drinking straws. She popped open the glove box and was surprised to find it empty. She would have expected him to keep a map there or an owner’s manual, or his insurance paperwork, at least.

  Kira felt around under the seats and came up with a snack-size Snickers and a receipt for Whataburger. The purchase had been made five days ago in Channelview, which was forty minutes away. Kira slipped the receipt into her pocket and then climbed over the console into the back of the van.

  Ollie had removed the back-row seating to make room for surveillance equipment, which he kept in a long plastic tub so that it wouldn’t attract attention from nosy passersby. Kira scooted over miscellaneous crap: a stack of orange traffic cones, a yellow hard hat, a collapsed tripod. She knelt beside the tub and held the flashlight in her teeth as she opened the lid. On top were several magnetic signs that could be slapped on the side of the van when needed. Underneath an AT&T sign, Kira found a jumble of photo equipment, including a Polaroid camera, a flash, and several boxes of film.

  Beneath the Polaroid was a black nylon camera bag, and Kira’s pulse quickened as she lifted it out.

  Ollie’s Nikon. He loved this camera. It seemed odd that he’d keep it back here, but maybe he’d been using it recently. She unzipped the case and pulled out the camera. Holding her breath, she popped the latch to check for the memory card.

  Nothing.

  Because that would have been too easy.

  Deflated, she zipped the camera back into the bag. The side pocket had a spiral notebook filled with Ollie’s messy scrawl. She flipped through a few pages, then checked her watch and glanced at the garage’s back windows. She needed to hurry. She tucked the notebook into her pocket, then returned everything to the plastic tub and secured the lid.

  The only other place of interest in the van was the tire well. Ollie had replaced the spare tire with a small generator, enabling him to work for hours in the van without running the engine. Kira searched the space but found nothing. She did a cursory search of the rest of the van, checking cushions and seat pockets, but that was it for clues.

  Frustrated, she crawled back to the front and switched off the interior light before sliding from the car.

  “Find anything?”

  She jumped and whirled around.

  A giant shadow loomed behind her.

  “God!” She aimed her flashlight at Jeremy, and his face looked devilish in the red glow. “What the hell? You scared the shit out of me!”

  “What are you doing skulking around here?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” He folded his arms over his chest. “I didn’t just watch you break into a dead man’s car?”

  She jerked back. “I didn’t break anything. And what are you doing here? I thought you were off the clock.”

&n
bsp; “Yeah, well, I’m back on as of midnight. Let’s go.” He took her arm, pulling her toward the door, and she felt the warmth of his fingers through her long-sleeved shirt.

  “What are you doing?” She tripped over a paint can, and he caught her before she did a face-plant.

  “Come on.”

  He opened the door and stepped out ahead of her before towing her with him. His grip was firm as he propelled her down the driveway.

  “Would you wait a minute?” She tried to shake him off. “I’m not finished here.”

  “Yes, you are.” He stopped and tugged the latex glove off her hand, then stuffed it into his pocket. “Trent picked up on the scanner that there’s a possible burglary in progress at this address.”

  Kira’s heart lurched. “Where is he?” She glanced around, but Trent’s Explorer was nowhere in sight. She didn’t see any patrol cars, either, or hear any sirens, so that was a good sign. Still, her heart was pounding as Jeremy pulled her toward the street.

  “Gimme your keys,” he ordered.

  “Why?”

  “I’m driving.” He steered her toward her car as the faint wail of a siren sounded in the distance.

  “Crap!” she said.

  “Come on.”

  “That sounds far away.” She stopped to rummage through her bag. Where were her damn keys? “We’ve got at least a minute or two—”

  “Stop!”

  A spotlight blinded her.

  Beside her, Jeremy went rigid.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  HANDS UP! Police!”

  Kira squinted at the light as she raised her hands in the air. Jeremy’s hands were already up. “Officer, I have—”

  “On the ground!” The voice was panicked now. “Now! Now! Now!”

  Jeremy lowered himself to a knee as the cop rushed forward and shoved him to the pavement. He must have seen the gun.

  “I have a concealed-carry permit,” Jeremy said. He said something else, too, but Kira didn’t catch it because his face was turned away, his cheek flat against the concrete.

  “Hands behind your head!” The cop looked at Kira. “You, on the ground!”