Her Deadly Secrets

by Griffin, Laura

  “Ollie’s office is in the two-story brown building. See?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can park here on the right.”

  Ollie’s building was the next one down, a 1970s walk-up, and his office was directly above a Korean restaurant. No signage anywhere because Ollie didn’t believe in advertising. He got his business purely through referrals.

  Jeremy sailed past the building, and Kira looked at him.

  “Why didn’t you stop?”

  “It’s under surveillance.”

  “What?” She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Gray Taurus. One block south.”

  He was right. Kira saw a man’s silhouette behind the wheel of the car. How had she missed that?

  Jeremy braked at a stoplight, and Kira checked the side mirror.

  “Looks like a cop,” she said.

  “Maybe.”

  A black car slowed in front of Ollie’s building. It was an unmarked four-door with a spotlight mounted to the windshield—clearly a police unit. The sedan parked in front of the building, and a pair of detectives got out, along with a uniformed officer holding a long black tool that looked like a crowbar.

  “What do you want to do?” Jeremy asked.

  “Keep going.”

  The light turned green, and Kira watched in the mirror as the cops filed up the metal staircase to Ollie’s office.

  She felt a surge of outrage. “Are they going to break down the door?”

  “Maybe they have a warrant.”

  Kira looked ahead, picturing them jimmying open Ollie’s door and going through his things. Just the thought of it made her irate.

  “I have a key,” she said.

  “Want me to go back?”

  “No. I’ll come back later.” She glanced at him, not sure why she’d told him that. Not sure why she trusted him at all.

  All she knew was that she didn’t want to go in with the cops there. When she went through Ollie’s belongings, she didn’t want police looking over her shoulder. Or trying to prevent her from doing it. Yes, she had a key to his office, but her name wasn’t on the lease, and she wasn’t officially his business partner. Legally, it was a gray area. Kira encountered those a lot, and she’d learned it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

  “How’d you get into this?”

  She looked at Jeremy. “What, PI work?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was a court runner while I was in college at U of H. It’s like a bike messenger, running docs around town between the law firms and courthouses. I met Ollie at one of the firms.”

  “So you knew him a while?”

  “Six years. We’ve been working together the last three.” Her chest tightened. It seemed like ages ago, but it really wasn’t such a long time.

  Ollie had spotted her when she’d been at loose ends and frustrated, in a dead-end job that paid the bills but barely allowed her to keep her head above water. Kira had once planned on going to law school, but the more lawyers she saw up close, the more she realized she didn’t want to be one. Ollie had noticed she had an eye for detail and a knack for talking herself into places where she had no business being. He told her she’d be good at detective work.

  Kira looked out the window as the buildings whisked by. She checked her watch. “I’m definitely going to be late now.”

  Jeremy didn’t comment, and she snuck a glance at him again. His eyes were squinty behind the sunglasses, and his mouth was set in a firm line. He looked to be in dire need of some sleep.

  They pulled into the police station at two twenty. He swung into a visitor’s space, then reached into the back of his truck and rummaged through a duffel bag, pulling out a gray flannel shirt. To conceal his holster? Probably. It was ninety-five degrees out, so that had to be it. He slid his arms into the sleeves, and she watched his long fingers move deftly over the buttons.

  Jeremy scanned their surroundings as he accompanied her across the lot to the building. When they entered the lobby, Kira stopped to let her eyes adjust to the dimness.

  “Where to?” Jeremy asked, peeling off his shades.

  “My interview’s on three,” she said. “And FYI, they’re never going to let you up with that gun.”

  “I’ll wait in the lobby.”

  She glanced around. The visitors here covered the spectrum, with people in everything from cutoff shorts to business suits, plus an array of cops from various jurisdictions.

  She turned to Jeremy, who was watching her closely.

  “Well, I should be plenty safe here.” She smiled, but he didn’t smile back. “You can probably take off if you’ve got stuff to do.”

  “I’m not taking off.”

  “Really, it could get tedious. I was here for five hours last night.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  She left him by the door and crossed to the front desk, where she checked in and was directed through security. She rode the elevator up, thinking about Jeremy.

  He didn’t fit her idea of a private bodyguard. For one thing, he had a boulder-size chip on his shoulder about something. She didn’t get the sense that it had to do with her, but who knew? Maybe he’d wanted to be assigned to a hotshot like Logan, who worked in a luxury office and went out for martini lunches. Any danger that arose would likely be directed at him. His house had been targeted last night, and everything indicated that this threat, whatever it was, had something to do with his case.

  Which Kira was now working on.

  She pictured Ollie’s colorless face as he lay bleeding on that floor. She felt a wave of queasiness and tried to shake it off as the elevator slid open.

  Detective Spears stood waiting by a row of chairs, arms crossed. She wore a black pantsuit and heels, giving her several inches on the detective beside her.

  “Ms. Vance, so glad you could make it,” she said pointedly. “You remember Detective Alex Diaz.”

  “Hi.” Kira nodded at the detective, who wore a dress shirt and a tie today instead of the jeans and golf shirt he’d had on last night.

  Spears led the way down a familiar hallway and into an interview room. It was a different one from yesterday but furnished the same, with a laminate table and cheap plastic chairs.

  “Can we get you some coffee? Water?” Spears checked her watch.

  “No, thanks.”

  Everyone sat, and Diaz pulled out a file folder. Kira looked the detective over. Short dark hair, clean shave, no rings. He was probably five years younger than Spears, which made him late twenties.

  “We’ll get straight to it,” Spears said. “Our investigation is still in the preliminary stages, but everything indicates this was not a typical armed robbery.”

  Kira suddenly wished she’d asked for that water.

  “We’re treating it as a targeted hit,” Diaz said. He opened the folder in front of him and leveled a look at her.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” Spears commented.

  “Brock told me,” Kira said. “That’s why his firm hired security.”

  “Yeah, we heard about that.” Spears looked at her partner.

  “You think he’s overreacting?” Kira asked.

  “No, as a matter of fact, it’s not a bad idea, given the circumstances.” Spears tipped her head to the side. “You don’t agree?”

  “Seems overboard to put security on the whole team. But whatever. I’m not paying the bill.”

  Spears watched her, and Kira could tell she wasn’t buying her nonchalant act.

  Diaz flipped open a notebook. “We want to know if you’ve noticed any suspicious persons hanging around lately. Maybe near your home or office?”

  “My office? No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about phone calls or messages?” he continued. “Any suspicious vehicles following you?”

  “No. Why?” She looked at Spears.

  “Ollie’s office was hit,” she said. />
  “What do you mean, ‘hit’?”

  “Ransacked.”

  “Someone trashed it,” Diaz said. “They were looking for something, and we don’t know whether they found it.”

  An icy trickle of fear slid down Kira’s spine. “When did this happen?”

  “We just learned about it,” he said. “We don’t know when it happened, but we’re checking with nearby businesses to see if anyone heard or saw anything.”

  “It leads us to wonder,” Spears said, “if Ollie might have been the true target of last night’s attack. Not Logan, as we originally thought.”

  Kira stared at her. She’d assumed this was all about Brock Logan. He was the one whose name was in the news all the time.

  “We think maybe Ollie Kovak had something, or maybe he knew something . . .” Diaz trailed off, as if he expected Kira to fill in the blank.

  “Something that got him killed,” she stated.

  Diaz nodded.

  “Any thoughts?” Spears asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Did he have any enemies that you know of? People who’d threatened him or might have a grudge?”

  “Sure,” Kira said. “Try every cheating husband he ever tracked down.”

  “I thought he did criminal defense work,” Spears said.

  “He does now, but he started out with domestic cases and insurance fraud, like most of us do. Still works a case like that from time to time if he gets a special request.”

  Diaz flipped a page in his notebook. “Ms. Vance, back to the shooter. Can you be sure he isn’t someone you’ve seen before? Maybe while going about your normal routine?”

  “I told you. I didn’t recognize him.”

  “We’d like you to sit down with a sketch artist,” Spears said, “and see if we can get a more detailed description.”

  “I keep telling you, I barely saw the guy. Caucasian, sunglasses, hoodie. That’s all I saw. Any sketch is going to look like the Unabomber.”

  Spears nodded. “Nevertheless, we’d like to try. We have confidence in our artist.”

  “You’ve known Ollie, what? Five or six years?” Diaz asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “And he personally mentored you after you got your PI’s license, am I right?”

  “What’s your point?”

  He shrugged. “Just that I’d think you’d want to help us catch the person or persons responsible for his homicide.”

  His copspeak was starting to grate on her nerves. And she didn’t appreciate the guilt trip.

  Kira closed her eyes and took a deep breath. They were doing their jobs, and it wasn’t their fault her nerves were raw today.

  “Of course, I want to help however I can,” she said. “I just don’t know what you want me to tell an artist. The guy was jogging in the rain, and I really only saw him for a second. But if you think it might be helpful—”

  “We do.” Spears pushed her chair back. “We’ll set it up and get back to you with a time.”

  “Wait.” Kira reached for her messenger bag. She pulled out Ollie’s cell phone and slid it across the table. It still had blood smears on it, and the detectives were instantly riveted.

  Spears leaned closer. “Is that—”

  “Ollie’s phone,” Kira said.

  “I thought it was stolen. Logan told us their phones were taken from the kitchen with the laptops.”

  “That was probably a burner,” Kira told her. “Ollie kept a bunch of phones. He was always juggling numbers.”

  “Why?” Diaz asked.

  “PI work. You don’t always want someone to know who’s on the other end.”

  “Why didn’t you give us this last night?” Spears asked.

  “I forgot I had it.”

  Her gaze narrowed with suspicion. “Do you have the passcode?”

  “No.”

  The door opened, and a uniformed officer leaned her head in. “Diaz, the captain wants to see you.”

  He shot a look at his partner and left the room.

  “Did you try to unlock it?” Spears asked.

  “I told you, I don’t know his code.”

  Not really an answer, and she could tell the detective noticed.

  “Well, thank you,” Spears said. “This is potentially very useful.”

  The detective stood, clearly eager to end the meeting so she could get the phone to some techie who might be able to crack it.

  “We’ll call you with an appointment time,” she said. “It’ll probably be this evening.”

  Kira shouldered her bag, thinking about the report she’d promised Brock. He wanted an update on Ollie’s big break, and Kira still knew absolutely nothing about it. She didn’t relish the prospect of dancing around questions with a veteran trial attorney.

  “This evening’s no good. I’m slammed,” Kira said. “It’ll have to be tomorrow.”

  “Early, then. The sooner the better.” She gave Kira a sharp look. “In the meantime, be careful.”

  “I will.”

  “And I wouldn’t turn down that security detail if I were you.”

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  DIAZ CAUGHT up to Charlotte as she left the squad room.

  “Where are we headed?” he asked.

  “To twist some arms,” Charlotte said. “What did the captain want?”

  “Ballistics came back on the Kovak murder. The weapon is a Beretta nine-mil, but no hits from those shell casings.”

  Charlotte stepped into the concrete stairwell. It smelled like BO, but she’d learned to ignore it. She’d been taking the stairs lately in an effort to squeeze in extra cardio because she never seemed to find time to get to the gym.

  “Not surprising the gun’s not in the system, right?” Diaz said behind her. “Guy used a suppressor and wore a ski mask, so sounds like maybe a pro.”

  “I’m not sure about that. Four shots and only two hits? Half our rookies could beat that.”

  They reached the ground level and cut through booking before stepping outside, where a wall of hot air hit them. Charlotte’s silk T-shirt was damp by the time she reached her car.

  “What do you think of Kira Vance?” Diaz asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

  “I don’t trust her.” Charlotte waited impatiently for a couple of uniforms to pass and then shot backward out of the space. “She’s dragging her feet on the suspect sketch. And I don’t like that she kept the vic’s phone overnight.”

  “Maybe she really didn’t realize she had it,” Diaz said.

  “Or maybe she wanted a chance to wipe something she didn’t want us to see.”

  “If that was it, why’d she give it to us at all?”

  Charlotte looked at him. “You just like her because she’s pretty.”

  He rolled his eyes, and Charlotte could tell she’d nailed it. Kira Vance was totally his type. The sexy long hair, the attitude. Plus, she was shorter than he was, and Diaz was self-conscious about his height.

  “She said she didn’t know the code,” Diaz said.

  “She could easily be lying.”

  He shook his head. “That wasn’t my read. And why are you so cynical?”

  “Fifty percent of the stuff people tell me is bullshit. That’s why.”

  “So, what, you think she’s a suspect?”

  Charlotte shrugged, mainly to irritate him.

  “Get serious.”

  “She didn’t pull the trigger, but that doesn’t mean she’s not involved. I happened to notice she’s the only one who got out of there last night without taking a bullet.”

  Diaz shook his head, and she could tell she was getting on his nerves. Which was good. He did better work when he was trying to prove her wrong about something.

  “Speaking of liars, we’re headed to the Hunan place,” Charlotte informed him. “The delivery kid is due back at work at four.”

  Diaz pulled a notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. “Ryan Conyers, eighteen years old. He was a block fr
om Logan’s house at the time of the murder but claims he didn’t see anything.” Diaz looked at her. “You don’t think he gave us a straight story?”

  “Not even kinda.”

  Jeremy didn’t say a word as they left the police station, which was fine, because Kira didn’t feel like talking. Ollie’s phone had been the best lead she had, and she’d willingly handed it over to the police, who probably wouldn’t even be able to open it. What a waste.

  She cast a glance at Jeremy as he pulled out of the parking lot. She couldn’t believe she was riding around in a truck with a perfect stranger who was armed and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds.

  He had an intensity about him, and his movements and posture signaled years of training. Simply put, he looked dangerous. Not to her, specifically, but to anyone who threatened him—although why anyone would was a mystery. You’d have to be crazy. Or have a death wish. In his line of work, he’d probably encountered people from both camps.

  She wondered what sort of clients he protected. Rock stars? Actors? Famous athletes? If so, this assignment was going to bore him to tears. He’d probably already figured that out.

  Jeremy shot a look at her but didn’t talk. More of that cheery attitude.

  “I need to go by my office,” Kira told him. “It’s on McKinney Street, south of—”

  “I know.”

  He shifted lanes, but instead of turning at the next light, he kept going. Half a block later, he swung into a restaurant parking lot.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Food stop.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “We’re stopping.”

  He got out, and Kira huffed out a breath as she pushed open her door. Space City Diner, according to the sign. The building was long and silver, designed to look like an Airstream camper.

  Jeremy led her to the entrance and held the door open. Kira stepped into the narrow restaurant that had two rows of booths on either side of an aisle packed with tables. Ignoring the PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign, Jeremy touched her elbow and steered her to a booth behind the cash register, where he slid into the seat facing the door.

  Kira stood beside the table for a moment before scooting in across from him. He rubbed his hand over his unshaven face and reached for a menu.