Her Deadly Secrets

by Griffin, Laura

  “When did he tell you this?” Jeremy asked.

  “Tonight. Right before we got off the phone earlier. It’s a good opportunity for me. I’ve never done any jury consulting for him before, so I’d like to do it if we can make it work. But I realize it’s not ideal. Everyone knows when the trial is starting. It’s been in the news for months, so showing up at the courthouse—”

  “Not exactly a low profile.”

  She nodded.

  He blew out a sigh. “We’ll make it work.”

  “Really?”

  “You have a job to do. I get it. I’ll talk to Liam, and we’ll figure out the logistics. We’ll be there anyway for Brock.”

  “Thank you.” She folded her arms, a bit chilled now, and she wasn’t sure why.

  Maybe because now it was official. She was going to venture out in public over the next few days, and she was trusting Jeremy and his team to keep her out of the way of any bullets. But she refused to stay holed up in a hotel suite. She felt suffocated, and she’d only been here a few hours.

  He stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I just . . .”

  “What?”

  “It’s just that I hate this. I keep thinking about Ollie. And about Shelly clutching her damn pepper spray. And I feel like a sitting duck.”

  “You’re not.”

  “It’s all just so callous and calculated. I feel like . . . prey.”

  “Don’t think that way.” His voice had an edge now. “You are not prey. He is. If he gets near any of you, he’s going down.”

  His voice was cold. Resolute. She stared up at him in the dimness, wanting to believe him. She wanted to trust him, but she wasn’t used to trusting other people to handle her problems for her.

  “I mean it, Kira.”

  The light went on, and both of them turned. Trent was back. He set a to-go cup on the dining table and shot a curious look out at the balcony.

  “I need to go.”

  She looked at Jeremy.

  “You’re in good hands with Trent.”

  “Thanks,” she said, not sure what to make of that statement. Or of the sharp disappointment she felt now that he had to leave for the night. Did Jeremy feel it, too? Was he even tempted? He gazed down at her, but his blue eyes gave nothing away.

  “Come on.”

  He slid open the door and ushered her inside.

  Charlotte stared at her screen, and her attention started to drift. She needed to go home. Seriously. She’d been on since this morning, and it was a Saturday, one she should have had off. Plus, it had been five days since her last callout, which meant it was only a matter of time until another case fell into her lap.

  But she still hadn’t solved this one.

  It was a puzzle. She’d been manipulating the pieces for days now, and all she’d come up with was something vaguely resembling an edge. The picture in the middle was still a mystery.

  “What’s your story?” she muttered under her breath. She leaned closer to the screen, trying to memorize every detail of Andre Markov’s face. She studied his eyes, his mouth, the jagged scar through his eyebrow that was probably from a knife fight. She studied the tattoo on his neck—a faded skull with some sort of cryptic writing beneath it that she couldn’t read. She flipped to his rap sheet and read about his past.

  “Tell me you’ve been home tonight.”

  She glanced up to see Diaz walking across the bull pen. He wore a navy Astros jersey and his favorite baseball cap.

  “Not yet,” she said.

  “Damn, don’t you ever take a day off?”

  “I just had seven, as a matter of fact.” She swiveled in her chair to face him and nodded at the ball in his hand. “You catch a pop-up?”

  He grinned. “Yep.” He dropped into a chair nearby and tossed the ball up, then caught it one-handed.

  “I heard we won.”

  “Seven-zip,” he said. “Want to come to Milo’s and grab a drink? I hear some of the guys are still over there, even though the game wrapped up.”

  “I should skip it.” She glanced at her computer.

  “So what gives? You’ve been here all weekend.”

  “Kovak and Chandler.”

  “Shelly Chandler isn’t ours.”

  “She should be. We know they’re connected.”

  He spun the baseball in his hand. “What’s new?”

  “I’m stuck on Andre Markov. What’s his connection to all this? Oliver Kovak was surveilling him the week before he died, and the paperwork he received that day had Markov’s name all over it. It has to be related.”

  “Gavin Quinn have any ideas?”

  “No.” She folded her arms over her chest. The blouse she’d worn to the funeral that morning was beyond wilted, and she really needed to get home. “And his lawyer didn’t appreciate my asking.”

  “How surprising. Bet McGrath didn’t appreciate it, either.”

  “I didn’t ask him.”

  Diaz winced. “Remind me not to be here when he gets wind of it.”

  “He won’t.”

  “What about records on the victim’s phone? Anything come back yet?”

  “I checked this morning. It’ll be Monday at the earliest.”

  Diaz pulled forward and picked up the spiral notepad on her desk. If any other detective had done that, she would have had to stab his hand with a pen. But she and Diaz had no secrets.

  He knew, for example, that she’d spent her week’s vacation here at home instead of cruising the Caribbean, as she’d been planning for months. He also knew that she’d found out her boyfriend was cheating on her three weeks before the trip, which, unfortunately, was too late for a refund.

  Charlotte had definitely wanted a refund. Not just for the cost of the cruise but for the ten months of her life she’d spent with the guy.

  Diaz knew both of these embarrassing details about Charlotte’s life, but he kept his mouth shut, because that was the kind of partner he was, and she thanked her lucky stars every day that she hadn’t been paired with McGrath or Goldstein.

  “Who’s Craig Collins?” Diaz looked up.

  “Gavin Quinn’s deadbeat brother-in-law.”

  “What about him?”

  She shrugged. “It came up in conversation. Thought I’d check it out.”

  “He have a sheet?”

  “Couple of DUIs. In fact, one of them is for the evening of his sister’s murder, so he has an alibi, too.”

  Diaz arched his eyebrows. “Convenient.”

  “Forget it. I looked into it already.”

  “So you’re back to Markov.”

  “That’s right.” She rubbed her eyes. “I feel like I’m chasing my tail here.”

  “Go home. Get some rest.” Diaz stood and tossed the ball into the air, turning and catching it behind his back this time. “With our luck, we’ll get smacked with another case soon, and you’ll be wishing you’d taken the sleep when you could get it.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “I’m out,” Diaz said. “Sure you don’t want to join us at Milo’s?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Catch you tomorrow.” He waved over his shoulder.

  Sighing, Charlotte closed out of the screen she was in and shut down her computer. Diaz was right. She needed to get some rest and come at this fresh in the morning.

  Her phone buzzed on her desk, and she checked the number.

  Damn it.

  “Spears.”

  “Is Diaz with you?” her captain asked. “He’s not answering his damn phone.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, already grabbing her notebook, knowing her work on the Kovak investigation was about to get derailed by a new case.

  “We’ve got a gunshot wound at Ben Taub Hospital. You guys are up.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  JEREMY CROSSED the wooden deck and held the door open for Kira. The scent of grilling burgers wafted out as they stepped into the restaurant. He’d n
ever been here before, but it was fairly crowded on a Sunday evening, so he took that as a good sign.

  “Man, I love this place.” Kira inhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Best onion rings in town.” She turned to look at him, and again he was struck by her pretty hazel eyes. She’d skipped makeup today, and Jeremy liked her natural look. Her hair was down, and all afternoon he’d watched her twisting it absently as she sat in her hotel suite working on her laptop.

  Kira approached the register and glanced at him over her shoulder. “You trust me?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s a simple question: Do you trust me?” When he didn’t respond, she smiled slyly. “Well, too bad. You’re going to have to.” She turned to the woman behind the counter. “Two Burger Daddies all the way, two chocolate shakes with extra whip, and an order of rings.” She pulled her wallet from her bag. “Oh, and two waters.” She glanced at him. “Don’t look at me like that. I worked out this morning.”

  Jeremy was aware that she’d worked out, just as he was aware of practically everything she’d done over the past twenty-four hours. Trent had told him, for example, that Kira had had trouble sleeping last night and spent much of it on the sofa watching TV.

  Kira insisted on paying and then took a plastic number and led Jeremy to a circular booth. He waited for her to scoot in before sliding in beside her and glancing at the door.

  “What time is this guy meeting us?” Jeremy asked.

  “Seven fifteen.”

  He checked his watch. “It’s seven twenty.”

  “He’ll be here.”

  Jeremy scanned the restaurant, cataloging the exits and checking out patrons, while Kira scrolled through her phone.

  “He’s on his way,” she said. “I just got a text.”

  He looked at her beside him. Today she wore a snug black T-shirt and cutoff shorts, and her bare legs were proving to be a major distraction.

  “Tell me about this guy again,” Jeremy said.

  “Emilio Sanchez. You threw him against a wall the other day.”

  “I didn’t throw him against a wall.”

  “You absolutely did.” She sipped her water. “He hears things about people. And he has a steel-trap memory. I think maybe he can help me. Here he is now.” She shot Jeremy a look. “Try to be civil this time.”

  Sanchez spotted Kira, and his look turned wary as he walked over. He nodded at Jeremy. “Hey, chief.”

  Jeremy nodded back, and Sanchez turned to Kira. “You eat yet?”

  “Just ordered.”

  “I can’t stay long.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go meet a client.” He scooted into the booth on Kira’s side. “I checked out that guy for you. Andre Markov.”

  “You come up with anything?”

  “You could say that. I put Guillermo on it.”

  Kira leaned closer. “What did he find?”

  “This guy Markov, he’s unlucky. That’s the word.”

  “Unlucky how?” Kira asked.

  “Horses, sports. Freaking dog racing. He likes to bet, and he doesn’t usually win.”

  Kira glanced at Jeremy. “Okay, so . . . you think maybe he owed people money?”

  “Not so much. He’s got his old man’s money to back him up. Anatoly Markov.” Sanchez leaned back in the booth. “Now, that guy you want to watch out for.”

  “Why?”

  He shook his head. “Serbian-born businessman. Been over here almost thirty years. Started out small-time, and now he’s got some big business on the ship channel.”

  “Xavier Shipping. He imports oil-drilling equipment,” Kira said. “I read up on it.”

  “Yeah, I hear that’s a front for some other imports, you know what I’m saying? Other thing you probably didn’t read about is Markov’s business practices.” Sanchez glanced at Jeremy. “You do not want to cross this guy.”

  “Markov Senior,” Kira clarified.

  “Anatoly, yeah. Word is he’s connected, he’s violent, and he holds a grudge. If you work for Anatoly and you fuck up, you’re liable to take a ride on a barge and never come back.”

  Kira shuddered beside him. “He have an arrest record?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but it’s old. He’s been keeping his nose clean. Or maybe he’s paying people off.”

  A teenage waiter appeared with a tray full of food. He unloaded red plastic baskets heaped with burgers and onion rings, then put two tall milkshakes and two waters in front of them.

  “Anything else?”

  Kira smiled. “We’re good, thanks.”

  When the kid walked away, Sanchez checked his watch. “I gotta go.” He slid to the edge of the booth.

  “Thanks for this.” Kira put her hand over his. “I really appreciate it.”

  “De nada.”

  Kira pulled her hand away, and Sanchez nodded at Jeremy. “Later, chief.”

  “Later.”

  When he was gone, Jeremy looked at Kira.

  “You were right.” She took a deep breath. “A crime syndicate, like you predicted. We guessed Markov was shady, and now we have confirmation. What I still don’t know is why was Ollie obsessed with young Markov’s court case on the day he died? I feel like that’s key to everything, and when I know that, I’ll know why all this is happening.”

  Jeremy watched her, trying to get a read. He sensed that this info from Sanchez bothered her more than she was letting on.

  She plucked the toothpick from the top of her burger and picked it up with both hands.

  “Who’s Guillermo?” Jeremy asked.

  “Emilio’s skip tracer. He’s good.”

  She chomped into her burger and closed her eyes as a look of bliss came over her face. Jeremy ignored the powerful shot of lust.

  He needed to get a handle on this thing with her. Kira was his client. Full stop. She needed him for protection, and he couldn’t get distracted by her legs or her mouth. Or by watching her eat dinner, for Christ’s sake. He scanned the crowded restaurant and tried to rein in his thoughts.

  Kira was right about the food. Everything was good and greasy, and for a while they didn’t talk. Jeremy enjoyed the quiet almost as much as he enjoyed watching her take down a half-pound hamburger, no problem, along with most of the onion rings. Midway through, she paused to scroll through her email and tap out a message to someone on her team.

  Jeremy admired her commitment. She worked days and nights, weekdays and weekends. Since the moment he’d met her, she’d been running full speed. She was driven, and he didn’t know if it was because this case was personal or if she tackled every case this way.

  She glanced up at him and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “What is it?”

  He ate an onion ring. “Do you trust that guy?”

  “Who? Sanchez?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Absolutely.”

  No hesitation. She was certain, and she was a good judge of people, supposedly. A human lie detector. And evidently, Logan thought she was good enough to be his jury consultant.

  Jeremy wasn’t sure why that irked him, but it did. Actually, he did know why. He didn’t like the guy around Kira. The man was rich and successful and manipulative, and Jeremy had clients like that all the time. He hoped Kira was smart enough not to fall for his bullshit.

  She picked up her shake. “Why do you ask?”

  “There’s something off about him.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re being paranoid.”

  Jeremy shook his head. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but that didn’t matter. When it came to people, he’d learned to trust his instincts.

  Kira seemed to read his mind, because she started shaking her head.

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “Sanchez is solid. I mean, yeah, he comes off kind of sleazy, but that’s because of the business he’s in. He’s a stand-up guy. Has five kids and another one on the way.”

  “You ever checked him out?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. He’s clean,
okay?”

  Jeremy nodded. “Glad to hear it.”

  She picked up the last onion ring. “Mind?”

  “No.”

  He pushed his basket away, and Kira checked her watch. “Ready?” she asked, sliding out of the booth.

  They returned to his truck in silence, and he scanned the shadows in the parking lot as he opened the door for her. Dusk was coming early again tonight after an evening drizzle, and the air felt steamy. Jeremy cataloged the various vehicles in the parking lot, taking note of a black Jeep like one he’d noticed yesterday.

  He hitched himself behind the wheel and drove past the Jeep as they exited the parking lot.

  “What is it?” Kira asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s the Jeep Wrangler, isn’t it? I noticed it yesterday.”

  He glanced at her and lifted an eyebrow. She was more observant than he gave her credit for, and she was already tapping the tag number into her phone.

  “I’ll look it up,” she said.

  Jeremy planned to do the same.

  “So where to?” he asked. “The hotel?”

  “I need to swing by Ollie’s first.”

  He pulled up to a stoplight and looked at her. “Home or work?”

  “Work.”

  “Not happening.”’

  “What do you mean, not happening? I need to check something.”

  “What?”

  “None of your beeswax.”

  He looked at her.

  “I need his Rolodex,” she said. “I’m trying to run down that name from his surveillance notes. Someone called ‘LH’? This person’s all over his notes, and I want to find out who it is.”

  “He really uses a Rolodex?” Jeremy hung a right on the street leading back to the hotel, and she glared at him.

  “Um, hello? You agreed not to infringe on my work. Remember that? We need to stop by Ollie’s office.”

  “I’ll go by there.”

  “What about me? We’re together. If you go, I go.”

  “I’ll drop you at the hotel first.”

  “Why?”

  Jeremy took out his phone and sent a quick text to Erik. He glanced at Kira, whose eyes flashed with temper as she waited for an answer.

  “The first time we went by Ollie’s office, it was under surveillance by an unknown person,” he said. “The second time we went there, it had just been ransacked. Ollie’s office is not a safe location for you to be snooping around, and I’m not taking you over there.”