Charlotte dug out her notepad and flipped it open. According to Kira’s initial statement, the victim had done some work for Oliver Kovak shortly before his death, so Kira had interviewed her to learn more about it.
“How did you find her?”
Charlotte glanced up. “Me?”
“I noticed you were already here when we arrived,” Kira said, “but another detective’s in charge of the crime scene.”
Sharp girl. And maybe she wasn’t as out of it as she looked.
“We’d been trying to reach her for an interview,” Charlotte said.
“Why?”
“We believe she’s connected to the Kovak case.”
Another glance at the crime scene. “Do you think—” She halted and looked down, like she might get sick. Her face turned a sickly shade of green.
Jeremy eased closer and touched her elbow. “Kira?”
She shook him off and looked at Charlotte. “Do you think I might have led him to her? Whoever killed her?”
Charlotte considered how much to reveal. She sensed she might get more from this witness if she shared some information.
“That’s unlikely.”
Kira’s brows arched.
“We have reason to believe that on Monday afternoon, someone followed her to a mail store, where she sent a package to Oliver Kovak.”
“Post Place, by the courthouse.”
Charlotte frowned. “How’d you know that?”
“She told me.”
Charlotte studied the PI. Clearly, she knew a hell of a lot more about this case than she’d volunteered in her multiple interviews. She was withholding info, and it needed to stop.
“We believe the person followed Michelle Chandler and learned where the package was going,” Charlotte stated, “and then killed Oliver Kovak shortly after he received it.”
Kira stared at her.
“Does that fit with what you have?” Charlotte asked.
A slight nod.
“So what was it?” Charlotte asked Kira. “The package she sent to Kovak? We recovered the envelope at Logan’s but nothing inside.”
“I don’t know,” she obviously lied.
Charlotte stared at her, and it was a battle of wills. Why was this woman so guarded? Was she protecting someone, or was she simply being difficult? Kira Vance had turned up at two murder scenes in less than a week, and Charlotte wanted answers.
“Detective?”
She turned around to see Diaz walking over, notepad in hand. He looked from Kira to Charlotte and seemed to know he’d interrupted something important.
“The ME’s people are wrapping up,” he said.
In other words, she’d better catch them now if she wanted their input without having to wait for official reports.
“Be right there.” She turned back to Kira. “Before you leave, Detective Diaz needs to get an official statement.”
She gave a brisk nod. “Fine.”
Charlotte stepped closer and lowered her voice. “I suggest you share whatever it is you have, Ms. Vance. Keeping investigators in the dark is never a good idea. And it won’t work anyway. We always find out.”
“I know.” Her gaze was steady. “I’m an investigator, too.”
Kira rode in Jeremy’s truck, head pressed against the window, eyes closed, wishing the vibrations would lull her to sleep. They didn’t, but she didn’t mind pretending so she wouldn’t have to talk.
Jeremy smoothly navigated the streets to Kira’s neighborhood, and she pictured a map in her mind’s eye. She tried to visualize every turn and stoplight before it happened. Anything to occupy her thoughts and keep her from puking right here in Jeremy’s truck.
Her stomach roiled, and she squeezed her eyes tighter.
Do not throw up.
His truck was nice and tidy, and she could tell he took pride in keeping it that way, even though there was muck on the floor mats now from their trek through the marsh. Jeremy had lent her a flannel shirt, but Kira’s skin was still cold and clammy under her damp clothes, and the sensation wasn’t helping the nausea.
She kept picturing Shelly. One minute she’d been on the phone, and the next she was dead. Kira had caught a glimpse of her pale foot at the crime scene, and the realization had smacked her: Shelly was gone. Just like that. Just like Ollie. One second she’d been talking to Kira, and then she was dead.
Acid swirled in her stomach, and Kira clenched her teeth, trying not to think about it.
Another turn, right this time. Damn it, she’d lost track. But then Jeremy slowed and made a smooth turn into a driveway, and Kira opened her eyes to see the yellow light of her carport. It was empty. Gina wasn’t home, and Kira’s car was in the shop now.
Jeremy put the truck in park, and Kira reached for her door.
“Wait.”
She sighed as he got out and went around, but she was too tired to protest as he opened her door and accompanied her to the back step.
“I need to do a walk-through,” he said as she dug out her key.
“Sure.”
When they were inside, she tapped in the alarm code and kicked off her shoes, then peeled off her wet socks and dropped them on the floor. She went straight to the bedroom, where she stripped off her damp clothes and got a dry shirt out of a drawer. It was a faded gray Astros jersey, and the softness against her skin brought tears to her eyes.
She was losing it. That was the only explanation for why a ratty old sleep shirt could make her want to cry.
She heard Jeremy in the guest room fiddling with the window lock as she returned to the kitchen. Ollie’s fish was in a pitcher on the windowsill. She gave him a pinch of food and watched him dart around.
Kira felt more than heard Jeremy walk up behind her. He had a knack for stealth.
“Everything okay?” she asked, turning around.
“All good.”
“I’ll wash your shirt and get it back to you.”
He didn’t respond, just gazed down at her. She couldn’t read his expression. The kitchen was dark except for the light under the microwave, and she remembered the look on his face after he’d kissed her in his truck.
Kira’s stomach fluttered. She didn’t trust it, so she stepped to the sink and washed her hands.
“Sorry about earlier.” His voice was gruff.
“It was just a kiss.” She turned around. “Forget it.”
“I meant the op. Taking you down there.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I should have scoped it out first.”
“I wouldn’t call it an ‘op,’ really.” She felt annoyed now for no apparent reason. “Skulking around taking pictures? I do that all the time.”
So he wasn’t sorry about the kiss? Or he just wasn’t saying he was sorry? Her brain was too tired to analyze it.
She rubbed her forehead. “Why were they shooting at us?”
“Not they,” Jeremy said. “One guy with a pop gun, and he was well out of range.”
“A pop gun?”
“A twenty-two pistol.”
“You can tell that just from one sound?”
“I’ve spent a lot of years around a lot of weapons.” He paused, watching her. “Corporate security is a mixed bag. You get what you pay for. Some outfits are trained and disciplined. Some are just yahoos with guns. Some will take potshots at anything that moves, whether it’s an armadillo or a trespasser.”
“You think that was a potshot?”
“A warning shot. He was trying to scare us off.”
Jeremy sounded so sure. Not worried at all. Meanwhile, just thinking about it had Kira’s heart racing. She’d been on countless stakeouts—some boring, some not—and typically she relished a little excitement. But never had she been shot at during one.
Jeremy stepped closer, staring down at her in the dimness. He was a strong, solid presence. Her eyes dropped to the mean-looking gun in his holster, and she had no doubt he was well trained. She thought of how easily he’d put himself between her and a bullet. Why?
Because he was a professional.
She looked up and tried to read his thoughts. Could he read hers? She wanted to pull him into her bedroom. She wanted to peel off his shirt and run her hands over his skin, and she wanted him to replace the disturbing images in her head with something better.
“Erik’s on his way over,” he said.
Erik.
“You’ve met him, correct?”
“Briefly, yesterday.” She stepped back. “But why? I thought you were on tonight.”
“I have to take care of something.”
Lights swept across the window, and Jeremy stepped over to look through the blinds. Kira watched him numbly. What the hell did he have to take care of at this time of night, after everything that had happened?
He reached for the door. “Get some sleep, Kira.”
Yeah, right. No problem. She’d sleep like a baby, just like the past three nights. The mere thought of the restless hours ahead of her made her eyes sting.
“Okay?”
She nodded. “Sure, okay.”
Jeremy left her standing there, still shocked and shaky and looking like she was going to puke. He didn’t want to leave. The desire to stay with her clawed at him, which was exactly why he needed to hightail it out of there.
Erik’s truck was parked on the street. He lowered his window as Jeremy approached.
“Thanks for this.”
Erik nodded. “How is she?”
“Rattled.”
“You think it’s connected?”
“Yes.” Jeremy glanced back at Kira’s house, then looked at Erik. His hair was mussed, and Jeremy knew he’d dragged him out of bed to come here, but it didn’t matter, because Jeremy would have done the same for him.
“GSW, point-blank range,” Jeremy said. “No one heard a gunshot, so they’re thinking he used a suppressor.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly. Cop said she had an unused tube of pepper spray in her hand, so sounds like an ambush. And the victim was working on something with Kovak right before his death, so that’s not good, either.”
“Liam wants to double up agents until the police know more,” Erik said.
“I won’t argue with that.”
“Where you going now?”
“Recon.”
“The ship channel?”
Jeremy nodded. He’d given Erik a brief update over the phone. “Should have done it earlier,” he added. Before letting Kira anywhere near the place.
What the fuck had he been thinking? Jeremy glanced at her house again, where the kitchen light was on now. He hoped she’d go to bed, but more likely she’d be up all night working, because she was too wired to sleep. Jeremy knew the feeling well.
Erik was watching him closely. Too closely. If Jeremy wasn’t careful, he was going to figure out that this client was getting to him.
Jeremy pulled out his keys. “You got this?”
Erik nodded. “Watch your step, man.”
“I will.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
IT WAS a triple-digit day, with a neon-blue sky and wispy white clouds that gave no relief from the sun. Charlotte put on her Ray-Bans as she crossed the church parking lot. Heat shimmered up from the blacktop, and she didn’t envy Diaz in his dark suit. She slid behind the wheel of their car and got the AC going.
“Private burial, correct?” Diaz asked, tossing his jacket into the back seat as he got in.
“It’s tomorrow. And yes, it’s private.”
“Thank God.”
Charlotte watched the doors of the church as the last of the mourners emerged. Kira Vance stepped onto the sidewalk, accompanied by Brock Logan and several other attorneys. Two of their bodyguards trailed behind them, dressed in suits and trying—unsuccessfully—to blend into the crowd.
Brock had chosen a seat beside Kira at the service, and Charlotte had watched them in the pew together, hoping to get a read on their relationship. Despite Kira’s evasiveness, Charlotte was starting to trust her. Brock was another story. Maybe it was simply her bias against lawyers, but she still didn’t feel like he was being straight with her about a number of key issues.
“What did you think?” Charlotte asked as she skimmed the faces. She’d gotten to where she could read people in a heartbeat. Body language was everything, which was why she came to these things.
“Big turnout,” Diaz said. “He seemed to have a lot of friends and contacts for a one-man shop.”
“People say he was a nice guy. Even his two ex-wives came, which tells you something.” She glanced at Diaz. “Anyone strike you as off?”
“No.”
“What about the bail bondsman? Sanchez?”
“He seemed okay. Why?”
She shrugged. “He seemed a little slimy to me.”
“I didn’t notice. And hasn’t he been cooperative? He gave us those surveillance tapes from his office.”
“Yeah, and there was nothing useful on them.”
“Still, we haven’t had any pushback from him.”
Charlotte sighed. She scanned the crowd one last time before backing out of the space. She hated to admit it, but the funeral had been a bust in terms of leads.
“What’s the word on that vehicle list?” Diaz asked.
“Still working it. I’ve got Phan giving me some help.” At her request, Phan had culled through a list of black BMWs registered locally, checking for owners who had a criminal record. “He’s turned up a few leads, but so far nothing that really pops. What about the tape from Avalon Lofts?”
“I’m supposed to hear back from the building’s security company.” He pulled out his phone and checked. “Looks like I missed a call. Hang on.”
Diaz listened to the message as Charlotte edged her way through the crowded parking lot. A white Subaru cut her off, and she muttered a curse.
“Don’t do it,” Diaz said.
“What?”
“You can’t use your horn at a funeral.”
“What, is that written somewhere?”
He shook his head. “You’re going to give yourself an ulcer. Okay, I’ve got a message from the security firm. Guy says he emailed me the files I wanted, including the two-hour window leading up to the crime.”
Charlotte inched her way into the line of cars. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone scouted the scene ahead of time in a black BMW.”
“That’s not the kind of luck we’re having lately.”
“You’re right.” She glanced at him. “We need to interview Kira Vance again. I say we bring her in. Or better yet, show up at her house uninvited.”
“Why?”
“She talked to both victims minutes before they were murdered. Doesn’t that seem weird to you?”
“Yeah, but you just want to show up and hope she’ll talk to us?”
“Why not?”
“Might piss her off.”
“Exactly. She needs a push.”
Charlotte’s phone vibrated with a text. She grabbed it from the cupholder and checked the number. “Hey, get this. It’s her.”
“Who?”
“Kira.” Charlotte skimmed the text. “She wants to meet at her office in one hour. It’s over on McKinney Street.”
“What’s she want to meet about?”
“The case, I guess. I told you from the get-go she was holding out on us.”
Diaz combed his hand through his hair and smoothed his tie.
“You look fine.”
He ignored her and checked his watch. “Let’s stop first. I could use some lunch.”
“You just had a breakfast taco.”
“So?”
“Okay, but make it quick. This girl’s been dodging questions for days, and now she wants to talk. I want to catch her before she changes her mind.”
Kira was relieved to be out of that church. Since the very first hymn, she’d had a knot in her chest. She didn’t know whether it was the sight of Ollie’s casket—the simple pine box his daughter had said he
wanted—or the droning minister or the cloying scent of lilies. Whatever it was, Kira spent the entire service battling a tight, suffocating feeling, like someone was squeezing her heart in a fist, and it wasn’t until she got out of there and stood in the sweltering parking lot that she could breathe again.
“Feel better now?”
She glanced at Jeremy beside her. He’d noticed her acting strangely and steered her to a drinking fountain as soon as the service let out.
“Fine.”
Being in his truck felt better. Now that she wasn’t near funeral flowers or Brock’s cologne, she could take a normal breath. Jeremy’s truck had a simple, earthy smell—probably because of all the mud and grass they’d tracked in last night. Or maybe it was the work boots he kept stashed in the back seat. Whatever it was, she liked it, just as she liked his steady presence beside her. Trent was steady, too, but it wasn’t the same.
She slid another glance at Jeremy. What was it about him? What was it about his long, silent looks that made her feel better? There was something in his eyes when he looked at her, a flicker of something that maybe only she saw. It had been there last night in his truck and again when they’d stood together in her dim kitchen. That look of his put a tingle inside her and made her feel warm all over.
Or maybe she was coming down with a damn fever. Just what she needed this week.
Jeremy looked at her again. “You sure you want to talk to the police right now?”
“I’d rather talk to them on my terms than go back to the station.”
Kira pulled her purse into her lap. She didn’t normally carry one, but her messenger bag didn’t fit with her black linen dress and heels. She found a compact and checked her face. People had been staring at her, and now she saw why. Her bruise was in its final stages of healing and was a hideous shade of green, and her attempts at makeup didn’t really conceal it. Kira dabbed on some powder, then gave up and dropped her purse to the floor.
Jeremy turned onto McKinney. He knew exactly where she worked without having to be told. Evidently, he’d committed her file to memory.
“Park right in front,” she instructed. “The meters are free on weekends.”
Jeremy pulled up to the building. It was a three-story walk-up on the far edge of downtown. The neighborhood was in transition, and she figured she had about six months left until she’d have to look for something cheaper.
Her Deadly Secrets Page 16