by AJ Nuest
Somewhere along the line, they’d skipped a piece. “Where’s the dude now?”
“The CEO?” Molly’s eyebrows rose and she rolled back to her second computer. A quick search for his records, and she laughed, shaking her head. “Okay, check this out. He filed bankruptcy a couple months after leaving the company. Evidently, he invested his entire portfolio in some get-rich-quick scheme and got cleaned out.” She smirked, crossing her arms. “And people say there’s no such thing as karma.”
Adrenaline jabbed Kelly’s gut. “Come again?”
“You know.” She dipped her chin toward the screen. “The jerk got what he deserved for stealing that money from all those hardworking people.”
He nodded, his gaze narrowing as the threads of the case started meshing. “How much did he get taken for?”
Molly’s lips turned down in a shrewd frown as she rechecked the file. A sharp gasp hiked her shoulders, and she rolled back to her third monitor. “Shit, Riordan.” She spun to face him. “The amount he stole from the pension fund and the money he lost in the scam are an exact match. Down to the penny.”
Coincidence? Not likely. Kelly cocked a brow. “Seems a little too convenient, don’t you think? What’s the name of the company the CEO invested in?”
She twirled back to her computer. “INR, Ltd.” A couple clicks, and she shook her head. “No listing on file.” She scrolled down the screen. “No mention of them anywhere except in the bankruptcy report.”
He grunted. “Sorta like our friends with the untraceable phone number?”
“You think INR, Ltd. and Dirty Deeds are one and the same?”
Turning away, he paced the length of the table, tugging his bottom lip. “I think the only person who can answer that is Howard Weaver.” He chugged the remains of his coffee and lobbed the cup toward the trash. It landed dead center in the wastebasket. “Pull up Image-Tech’s employee records and see if any of them had large deposits made to their accounts in the months following the CEO’s bankruptcy. In the meantime, keep working on the algorithm and let me know if anything hits.”
Striding toward the door, he tossed a wink over his shoulder. “Time for me to book an appointment with our favorite CFO.”
“Detective Riordan? Mr. Weaver will see you now.”
Kelly tossed the magazine to the end table and stood, nodding toward the secretary waiting outside Howard Weaver’s office.
A pretty blush tinted her cheeks as she stepped aside and opened a flat hand toward the door. “Can I bring you anything? Coffee or a sparkling water?”
“No, thanks.” He smiled and her eyes widened before she dropped her focus to the floor.
“Very well, then.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll be right outside if you change your mind.”
He nodded a second time and eased past her into Weaver’s fortieth floor corner suite. Evidently, those eight hours he’d caught in the sack followed by a long hot shower had done a good job of removing the funk from the previous day.
If only earning Weaver’s cooperation promised to be as easy as inciting his secretary’s blush, this meeting should go off without a hitch. Unfortunately, the preface to coming here made that proposition highly unlikely. Yesterday afternoon, when Kelly had called to schedule the appointment, he’d had to threaten showing up with a financial records search warrant before Weaver would agree to see him. Chances were, talking with him face to face wasn’t about to go much smoother.
The only good thing? This meant Kelly was on the right track. Nine times out of ten, the more people resisted speaking to the police, the more they had to hide.
Image-Tech’s CFO stood before a bank of windows that spanned the eastern wall of his stately office, shoulders stiff, one hand resting in the slash pockets of his dark blue slacks. Beyond the glass pane, the angry roll of Lake Michigan mirrored the tension simmering around the room. The lights of Chicago’s downtown skyline blinked on in an effort to beat back the approaching darkness of the early October evening.
The door slipped into the lock, and Howard Weaver turned, his other hand holding a crystal tumbler bottomed by the amber hue of a double-malted liquor. His brows rose, and he dipped his chin toward one of the silver-armed leather chairs stationed opposite his desk.
“Thank you for coming in after hours, Detective.” He swung his glass toward the door. “Lessens the office gossip.”
So they were starting out civil, were they? Sounded good by Kelly. “It’s the least I could do. I should only need a few minutes.”
He crossed the several feet to the desk, but waited for Weaver to claim his high-backed leather seat before joining him. Reaching inside his jacket, Kelly tugged a small notepad and pen from his breast pocket. “I’m wondering what you can tell me about Dirty Deeds, Mr. Weaver. I think it’s fair to say we both know you recognized that business card when I showed it to you at the crime scene. After learning what happened with Image-Tech’s former CEO, and factoring in how my victim was found outside your home, I gotta ask myself if the three are somehow connected.”
Weaver leaned back from his desk, rocking his chair, and pinned Kelly with a narrowed gaze. “And you’re hoping I can fill in the blanks.”
“Oh, I know you can.” The entire thing soured Kelly’s gut. If INR, Ltd. and Dirty Deeds turned out to be one and the same, there was no denying Ruby had shown up holding a critical piece that directly linked Howard Weaver to the case. What sucked is how that same evidence also pretty much dismissed him as a possible suspect. “The only question is whether or not you’re going to save me the trouble of proving it.”
Weaver huffed a laugh. “Yes, well, I could see where that would cause you some grief.” Lifting his drink, he eyed the level in the glass. “Life’s unfair, isn’t it, Detective? Hell, in your line of work, I’m sure you recognize how unfair it can be better than most.”
He knocked the drink back in one swallow and his chair creaked as he sat forward to place the empty glass on his desk. “Take that poor young woman on the beach, for instance. Whatever her lifestyle, I’m sure she didn’t deserve to die the way she did. Damn shame, having to suffer like that.”
True enough, but the guy was getting off point. “Then answer my question, Mr. Weaver. I’ve dedicated my life to making sure people who break the law get what they deserve, but I can’t do that without your help. If you’re withholding information, now’s the time to tell me.”
Weaver smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that girl’s murder. Just like I told you on Monday. How she got there and why doesn’t have anything to do with me. What I can tell you is you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
Kelly studied the guy from the corner of his eye. Bad news was, he believed Howard Weaver. He hadn’t been involved in Ruby’s murder. Generally speaking, only complete psychopaths held on to a dead body. Weaver didn’t seem the type, and unless he was an absolute idiot or the unluckiest son of a bitch alive, he never would’ve risked tossing Ruby in the lake only so she could wash up outside his front door. There was too high a probability Kelly would connect the dots back to him.
Still, that didn’t mean he hadn’t inadvertently gotten mixed up with the person who’d ultimately killed her, or that he had the right to tell Kelly how to run his investigation.
“Forgive me, Mr. Weaver, but the only person who gets to order me around is my superior.” And Kelly even balked at that occasional interference. “What about the password? What can you tell me about that?”
One of Weaver’s bushy eyebrows rose. “What password?”
Anger flared in Kelly’s gut. Now that was a lie. The slow burn spread, tightening through his chest, shoulders and up his neck until he clenched his jaw. “I’m not an idiot, Mr. Weaver. Please stop treating me like one.”
The older man leaned forward, locking onto Kelly with a hard stare. “You asked for my help, Detective. That’s exactly what I’m trying to give you. There are certain people involved in the info
rmation you’re after. Some of them very powerful people. The kind I’m certain would rather see you kicked off the force than to let your investigation continue down this path you’ve chosen.” He bobbed his chin. “My advice to you? Stop asking around about Dirty Deeds. That road does not contain the answers to your questions. Focus your investigation elsewhere and back off before you’re in over your head.”
Oh, really? Kelly tightened his grip on his pen until the plastic bowed under his fingers. Now who was circling the wrong tree? “You think you’re the first person to try and intimidate me?” He inched forward, meeting the guy eye for eye. “While I appreciate the effort, I should also warn you it’s a waste of time. That’s the funny thing about the law. It’s blind. And the inside of a jail cell comes one size fits all.” He stood. “Now I’m gonna give you one last chance. Either tell me what I need to know or I promise if I find out you were purposely keeping me in the dark, your name will top the list of all those powerful people I take down with this case.”
Weaver opened his hands over his desk. “I’m sorry, Detective. I’ve got nothing more to say.”
Kelly’s phone beeped with an incoming text, and he tugged it from his pocket. “Then we’re done here. For now.” He turned and strode across the room, thumbing the screen to find a message from DeFranco that Ruby’s preliminary labs would be in sometime tomorrow afternoon.
“You’re after the wrong people, Riordan. I can guarantee, Dirty Deeds had nothing to do with that girl’s murder.”
He grabbed the handle and glanced over his shoulder. “Only one thing wrong with that statement. Innocent people usually have nothing to hide.” Pulling the door open, Kelly stepped from the office and left.
* * * *
The phone rang, and Eden flinched, snapping her focus to Mocha’s face as he answered the call.
“Password.” He met her gaze and winked, bracing the receiver between his shoulder and ear. “Well, hi there. How are you?”
Goddamn it, enough. Eden closed her eyes, pulling a deep breath into her lungs. She had to get over this case of the heebie-jeebies or she was gonna lose her damn mind.
No one was after her. No one had been following her. Or, if they had, whatever they’d wanted hadn’t been important enough to stick around. She’d learned that well enough skateboarding up and down the entire block outside Happy Sunshine Cleaners more times than she cared to count. Her efforts had been a complete waste and her con of dressing as Jett hadn’t amounted to squat.
After freezing her ass off for over an hour, she’d finally headed home, and then spent the remainder of the night trying to convince herself she’d invented the whole thing. More than likely, she just needed a vacation. Someplace warm where she could have uninhibited sex with an actual man instead of a battery-operated device. She’d been alone so long, apparently, her brain had short-circuited and cooked up an imaginary stalker.
“Hold on a moment. I’ll see if she can take your call.” Mocha jabbed a button and hooked the receiver on his shoulder. “This is weird. Howard Weaver’s on the line and he’s asking to speak with you.” He frowned at Eden. “Sounds important. He’s acting all mysterious.”
Eden scowled, chewing the inside of her lip. Yeah, that wasn’t like Howard. He was the epitome of professionalism, more the soft-spoken, father-figure type. Hopefully, he wasn’t experiencing any residual fallout over the case she’d handled for him a few years back. If so, she’d handle it for him gratis. From the start, the only thing he’d wanted was to do right by his employees. She respected that.
She snatched the phone off the base and hit the blinking button. “Howard? I’m so happy you called. What can I do for you?”
“Eden. Thank God.” His heavy sigh gusted through the line, and she frowned. “I was afraid I wouldn’t reach you in time.”
She jerked her gaze to Mocha and he bounced in his chair, smacking his hand to his chest. Eden shook her head. “In time for what?”
“I just finished meeting with a Detective Kelly Riordan from the Chicago Police Department. He was here at my office, asking questions about Dirty Deeds.”
Oh. She slumped. Well, that was no big whoop. It wasn’t like the police had never tried to find her before. Tried and failed, thanks to the timely tip-offs of her clientele. “Don’t worry about it, Howard. I’m sure he was just—”
“He’s investigating a murder, Eden. And he’s convinced Dirty Deeds is involved.”
She froze. Son of a bitch.
Mocha hopped from his chair and rounded his desk, hurrying in her direction.
“Do you know the victim’s name?” Eden dropped her forehead into her palm, scrambling to keep her voice calm, her tone level, even though her heart was prepping to jackhammer out of her chest.
Revenge of that type was a dangerous line. One she and her team made damn sure they never crossed. Most important rule of the business—no death, no dismemberment, no mutilation…regardless of how many Benjamins a woman was willing to part with in exchange for a back alley castration.
She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. Shit, if the victim was one of her clients, she was screwed. Like, pull up stakes and relocate to another city, screwed. Sure, she’d occasionally caught flak from the police, but she’d never stared down something of this magnitude before.
Dammit, she’d need to call Malcolm.
“The Detective didn’t give me a name, but she was a young white woman. A prostitute. I would guess her age somewhere around mid-twenties, red hair.” He cleared his throat. “Eden, when Clarice and I found her, she was holding your business card.”
What? Eden sprang to her feet, grabbing Mocha’s hand as he reached out to steady her. She didn’t know which was worse. The connection to Dirty Deeds or how her friend had been forced to face something so gruesome. “Oh my God, Howard, you and Clarice found the body? Are you okay?”
He sighed. “She was on the beach. Washed up in front of our home.” He paused. “I know this might sound strange, but I’m actually glad it was us who found her. Because you need to be ready. I tried to throw him off the scent, but this detective…he’s like a dog with a bone. Sooner or later, he’s going to be knocking at your door.”
“I understand.” She closed her eyes, sinking back into her chair. “Howard, it’s important to me you understand that I had absolutely nothing to do with—”
“Hell, Eden, I know that. I knew right away you weren’t involved. You and your team…you’re the good guys.”
She placed three fingertips to her lips. “Thank you for saying that. And thanks for the tip. I’ll call as soon as everything’s settled.”
Eden disconnected the call and let her arm drop to her desktop. Life was about to get extremely complicated. But God, calling Malcolm? After all this time? She hadn’t been in touch with him in over ten years. Not since her first solo case when she’d needed his help.
After that horrible mess had been said and done, she’d learned a valuable lesson. One she’d never forgotten. In the revenge business, there was no room to let things get personal. Not if she wanted to protect Dirty Deeds and keep a clear head.
Mocha propped his fists on his hips. “What is going on?”
Twirling away from her desk, Eden chewed her thumbnail. Calling her mentor after such an extensive absence… God knew if Malcolm still had a hand in the business, any contacts or available resources. Besides, he’d earned his retirement. It wouldn’t be fair to involve him until she’d explored all her other options. And if this Detective Riordan wanted information, then that’s exactly what she would give him. She’d worked too damn long and hard to go down without a fight.
The image of that shadowy stranger slithered out from her memories, and Eden gritted her teeth. Dammit, she’d been right. Someone, somewhere was gunning for her, but it would be a cold day in hell before she tucked tail and ran. Not after coming so close to achieving her goals.
“We’ve got some planning to do.” W
agging her finger, she faced Mocha. “Call Tanner in. I need the two of you to handle set up while I do a little recon.” Starting with finding out everything she could about the young woman who’d died on the beach. “We need get ready. Dirty Deeds is about to have company.”
Chapter 4
Entering the antiseptic catacombs of DeFranco’s stomping grounds never came easy. At least, not to Kelly. And after beating his head against that brick wall of a meeting with Howard Weaver, the last thing he needed was another pile of unanswered questions and loose ends. The medical examiner better have found something for them to run with, or Kelly and Archer would be riding their desks for the next twenty-four to forty-eight, rehashing the case while they waited for Molly’s algorithm to hit.
Straight-arming the stainless steel door, Kelly strode into DeFranco’s lab and nodded at Archer, standing near the end of an autopsy table, Ruby’s prone body covered with an opaque plastic sheet. Based on the heavy suitcases under his eyes, Archer hadn’t slept for shit the past couple of days. The lingering anger was also still there, and the sadness.
Kelly ran his hand down his face. This case had hit Archer hard. Harder than either of them would be smart to let on. Doing so would only get Archer removed from the investigation, and Kelly wasn’t about to let that happen. His best friend deserved to be first in line for some serious payback once they’d collared an arrest.
DeFranco pivoted away from his computer and hopped off his stool, lifting a clipboard from the counter. It was anyone’s guess the last time the medical examiner had seen a bed. His pasty complexion remained the same no matter what the day or hour.
“Cause of death was multiple stabs wounds to the chest and torso. Eleven to be exact, with the killing blow aimed directly at the victim’s heart.” DeFranco launched into his report without preamble, walking toward the table. He set his clipboard beside Ruby’s shoulder and plucked a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab coat, snapped them onto his hands and tore the clear plastic sheet back from her head.
