Her Deadly Secrets

by Griffin, Laura

  Didn’t sound like he did. Kira crossed her arms.

  “The age would work, in terms of them being friends,” he said, “but we don’t have proof this is the same Craig Collins on Markov’s witness list. Collins isn’t exactly an unusual name.”

  “We’ll get proof.”

  Brock lifted an eyebrow skeptically.

  “I’ll get it.”

  He sank into an armchair. His sipped his drink and looked up at her. “Ollie told me you were like this.”

  “Like what?”

  The corner of his mouth ticked up. “A pit bull when you got hold of something.”

  Ollie had called her a pit bull to Brock? Her heart swelled.

  “Sit down. You look tense.”

  “I’m fine.” She glanced at her watch, wondering what was taking Jeremy so long. She’d expected him back an hour ago.

  “Seems like you could use a drink,” Brock said. “Why don’t you join me? We should relax before tomorrow.” He smiled slightly. “Juries don’t like uptight lawyers. Makes them think we’ve got something to hide.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You don’t agree?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a lawyer.”

  “Yes, but you’re on the team.” He held up his glass. “Sure I can’t talk you into a drink?”

  “Really, I’m fine.”

  Truthfully, Kira would have loved a drink, but something about Brock’s demeanor tonight put her off. He looked like he’d already had a few. He had a certain gleam in his eye, and she was suddenly self-conscious about her cutoff shorts and bare feet. He was attracted to her—she’d figured that out already. But he was her employer, and the last thing she needed to be doing was hanging out in his hotel room, tossing back bourbon. If he wanted to get toasted on the eve of a big trial, that was his business, but she wasn’t going there.

  He was still watching her. She glanced at the door.

  “I need to research this some more, so . . .”

  “Let me know what you find,” he said.

  She walked to the door.

  “Oh, and Kira? We’ve got some pretrial motions in the morning, so jury selection won’t start until after lunch. I won’t need you till then.”

  “Got it.”

  Kira walked out and nodded at Joel in the hallway.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  She opened the door to her suite and stopped short. Spread out on the coffee table was a black trash bag. Sitting on it was the fat Rolodex she remembered from Ollie’s desk.

  Kira walked over and examined it. She ran her finger over the alphabetical cards, as Ollie must have done a thousand times. Beside the Rolodex was a red pocketknife keychain and an envelope with “Lorraine” scrawled across it in Ollie’s handwriting.

  The balcony door slid open, and Erik stepped into the room, followed by Jeremy.

  “You found it,” she said.

  Jeremy nodded. “Yeah.”

  She looked from Jeremy to Erik, then back to Jeremy again. “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone showed up while I was there,” Jeremy said. “I think he planned to break in.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah. He looked like your guy from the suspect sketch.”

  “Wait, you saw him?” Her stomach lurched. She noticed the white bandage above his elbow. “What happened to your arm?”

  “I chased after him, and he grazed me.”

  She looked from the bandage to Jeremy’s eyes. All the air left her lungs as she realized what he meant.

  “You . . . chased after him, and he shot you?”

  “He shot at me. He missed.”

  Kira stared at him. Her chest tightened. She opened her mouth to say something but clamped it shut again and turned around. She strode into the bedroom and shut the door behind her.

  Someone had shot him. The man who’d killed Ollie and probably Shelly, too, had shot him.

  Kira felt sick and dizzy, both at once. Her heart was racing. Her skin tingled. She looked around, panicked, as tears burned her eyes. She pictured Ollie on the floor in Brock’s house, and she felt something cracking and breaking inside her.

  She couldn’t think about it. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it, and she’d been trying for days.

  She stepped into the spacious bathroom and closed the door. She turned the shower on as high as it would go, then she stripped off her clothes and stepped under the spray. Hot water sluiced over her as the floodgates opened and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Why was all this happening? What had Ollie ever done to deserve this? Or Shelly? And now they were gone. Dead. Gunned down by some soulless person who’d taken aim at their lives and squeezed a trigger and blown everything apart.

  Kira tipped her head back and let the water thrum against her chest. She tried to breathe and calm herself. But her heart wouldn’t stop racing, and the tears kept coming. She grabbed the bar of soap off the shelf and lathered up fiercely, rubbing the mint-and-rosemary-scented foam over her body. Then she washed her hair and stared down at the shower floor as the sudsy water swirled down the drain.

  She pictured Ollie’s shocked face again, and she closed her eyes, wishing she could block out the image, block out everything that had happened for the last six days.

  A tapping noise made her turn around. She shut off the water.

  Someone was knocking on the door. Probably Jeremy.

  “Kira?”

  “Go away.”

  She squeezed the ends of her hair and stepped out of the shower. She didn’t want to talk to him or anyone else right now. She just wanted to go to bed.

  Where she would toss and turn all night and spend hours staring up at the ceiling, trying to get those horrible images out of her mind.

  Tap tap tap.

  “Kira?”

  She grabbed the fluffy white robe off the hook. She shrugged into it and wrapped the belt around her waist, cinching it tight. Then she yanked open the door.

  “What?”

  Jeremy stood there, a worried look on his face. “Why are you crying?”

  Why? She wanted to slap him. Instead, she stalked past him and snatched her brush off the dresser. She dragged it through her hair, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were pink and puffy, and a fresh wave of tears welled up, these from frustration. She hated crying, and she hated Jeremy seeing her like this.

  He stepped over, and she met his gaze in the mirror as she ran the brush through her hair.

  “I’m upset, okay? First Ollie. Then Shelly. Now you. You go off to do me a favor and end up shot, and this whole thing is out of control! I don’t see why the police haven’t arrested anyone. It’s been six days!”

  He took her arm and turned her to face him. “I’m not shot. It’s nothing.”

  She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go.

  “Look at me.”

  “No.”

  He tipped her chin up.

  Kira stared up into those potent blue eyes. Her stomach seemed to drop, and she got that panicky feeling again. But it was a different kind of panic, because he was standing so close and she could feel the heat of his fingers through the terry-cloth sleeve of her robe. Her heart thrummed inside her chest as she watched the conflict in his eyes.

  He bent his head down and kissed her, and the panic gave way to excitement as he tilted her head back. His kiss was deep and hungry, and she stood on tiptoes and slid her fingers around his neck. His body felt warm and solid, and he tasted good again, so good she couldn’t seem to get enough, even when he cupped his hand over her butt and pulled her tight against him.

  This was what she wanted. What she needed—Jeremy’s tongue in her mouth, and his solid body, and his hand tugging at the belt of her robe. She eased back so he could get it loose, and then the fabric parted, and his warm palms slid over her bare hips, pulling her closer. She felt a rush of nerves and kissed him harder, and he made a low groan. God, she wanted this. Him. Now. S
he wanted his mouth and his hands and his hard, powerful body. Desire rushed through her, making her pulse pound, pushing away all the ugly thoughts and replacing them with need. His hand slid to the small of her back, and she felt the steely ridge of him through his jeans. She reached for his belt.

  His hand closed around her wrist. “Kira.”

  She fumbled with the buckle, and his grip tightened.

  “What?” She pulled back and looked up at him, breathing hard. His gaze dropped to her open robe, then snapped back up.

  “I can’t.” The pleading look in his eyes was like a kick in the gut.

  She eased away. “But—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He released her hand and pulled the sides of her robe together. She watched with disbelief as he retied the belt he’d just undone. She looked up at him and saw that he was serious, and all that hot desire turned to ice in her veins.

  “Sorry,” he said again.

  He turned and walked out—just like that—leaving her hot and confused and even more shaken than she’d been before.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

  KIRA SIPPED her coffee, careful not to scald her tongue, as the office buildings of downtown whisked by. She’d gone with plain drip this morning instead of the mocha Frappuccino she would have liked, because the coffee place was packed, and the drive-through line had curved around the building.

  She glanced at Jeremy beside her, silent as he navigated rush-hour traffic. The swish-swish of wiper blades on the windshield was the only sound. He hadn’t said a word about last night. He acted as though everything were normal, as though he hadn’t seen her naked and had his hands all over her.

  Kira eyed his fingers on the steering wheel and felt a rush of embarrassment. She gazed out the window again. To distract herself, she nibbled on a store-bought banana muffin that wasn’t nearly as good as her grandmother’s.

  “Want some?” she asked.

  “No.”

  He didn’t even look at her. He was in bodyguard mode. Eyes forward. Muscles tense. Attitude heavy on the grim, especially when they stopped at traffic lights. It was as though he thought a crew of assassins might pop up out of nowhere and ambush them. He hadn’t even wanted to stop for coffee, but Kira had insisted, and he’d finally agreed to take her to a Starbucks drive-through.

  Sipping her drink, she glanced at his hands again and remembered his warm palms gliding over her hips and pulling her close. Then she remembered those same hands retying the belt of her robe, and she felt another flood of embarrassment—and irritation, too. She was mad at herself more than at him.

  The irony was thick here. Last night she’d rejected Brock and then promptly thrown herself at a man who didn’t want her. Brock was smart. Successful. Interested. So naturally, she wasn’t attracted to him at all.

  It was a curse, she decided. The Curse of the Strong Silent Type. The only men who turned her on were uncommunicative or emotionally unavailable or both. Jeremy was a particularly vexing example because she knew he was attracted to her, and yet he seemed burdened by this misplaced sense of duty to keep her at arm’s length.

  The muffin tasted like sawdust, and Kira dropped the remainder into the bag and stashed it on the floor. She looked out the window through the rain-slicked glass. It was for the better, really. Jeremy didn’t even live here, and she had no business getting hung up on him, which was exactly what would have happened if they’d slept together.

  It may have happened already. In fact—if she was being honest with herself—she knew it had. She liked Jeremy, even though he was guarded and taciturn and infuriatingly tight-lipped about his feelings. She liked him anyway, whether he’d rejected her or not, and it was going to suck when this whole crisis was over and he had to leave.

  Well, not completely. Some aspects of this crisis being over would be good. Such as having her freedom back and being able to go about her life without the constant threat of violence lurking around every corner.

  “That’s the parking garage right there,” she said as they neared the building beside the courthouse.

  Without a word, Jeremy buzzed his window down and pulled into the garage. He tapped the button for a ticket, waited for the arm to go up, and rolled through.

  “You can pull into one of those spaces there,” Kira directed. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  “Those are reserved.”

  “So?”

  “So they belong to someone.”

  She felt a flash of annoyance. “It’s not like this is a hospital! Don’t be such a Boy Scout.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at that and pulled into a space.

  Kira shoved her door open before he could get out and come around. She was in a bitchy mood, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been up all night, tossing and turning, too fired up to sleep, and not just because Jeremy had rejected her. The constant thrum of rain outside the window had grated on her nerves throughout the night.

  She grabbed her bag off the floor, and Jeremy closed the door. Because of their prime parking space, they were on level one, and she walked briskly toward the doors leading to the courthouse, her heels clacking against the pavement. Today she wore her typical courtroom attire of black slacks and a white silk blouse with a pearl-gray tank underneath. It was more conservative than her normal fashion tastes, but she was mindful of making a good impression on people in legal circles. She never knew where her next client might come from.

  “You still haven’t told me what we’re doing here,” Jeremy said as he pulled open the heavy glass door.

  “The envelope you found at Ollie’s office.”

  “The one addressed to Lorraine?”

  “I’ve got a hunch about it,” Kira said. “I think she’s the ‘LH’ I’ve been looking for.”

  Kira skirted around a huddle of lawyers and made her way to a stairwell.

  “Lorraine works in the basement.” Kira’s words echoed off the cinder-block walls as they descended the stairs. “She’s a clerk here.”

  “This is a federal court building,” Jeremy said behind her. “What’s that got to do with your murder case?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I plan to find out.”

  At the bottom, Jeremy reached around her to open the door and insisted on stepping through first. Despite her foul mood, he was vigilant as ever, and she felt guilty for being such a grouch earlier.

  The basement offices were already buzzing with people. Clerks and interns and paralegals streamed through the corridor, each on a mission to track down some obscure document for some VIP who probably worked in one of the city’s soaring skyscrapers. With the exception of the occasional tattoo-covered messenger in spandex, most people down here adhered to a business dress code.

  She passed a plexiglass window and stopped at a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Try to look like you belong,” she told Jeremy.

  That wouldn’t work, but she hoped to find Lorraine before anyone questioned their presence here. She passed through half a dozen cubicles and reached a small office. The placard beside the door said LORRAINE HARTMAN, PUBLIC RECORDS.

  Lorraine was at her desk, facing her computer. She wore a cheerful yellow blouse and fake pearls, and as she glanced up, her face brightened.

  “Kira, hi. How are you?” Her brow furrowed, and she pressed her hand against her chest. “I heard about Ollie. My stars, hon. That’s just awful.”

  “It is.”

  “I wanted to get to the funeral, but I was sitting my grandkids Saturday. Did you go?”

  “I did. It was really nice,” Kira said, then realized that sounded awkward. “Well attended,” she added.

  Kira stepped into the little office and hoped Jeremy would linger outside, but the look on Lorraine’s face told Kira she’d noticed him.

  “This is my friend Jeremy. He’s working with me today.”

  They traded nods, and Lorraine gave Kira a puzzled smile.

  “Sorry to j
ust drop by, but I have something for you.” Kira reached into her messenger bag and pulled out the envelope. “Ollie wanted you to have these.” She handed Lorraine the envelope and watched the anguished look on her face as she read her name in Ollie’s distinctive scrawl. She opened the envelope and pulled out the baseball tickets.

  “Oh, Lord.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe he did that.” A tear slid down her cheek. She swiveled in her chair and reached for the tissue box behind her. “He didn’t need to do that.” She dabbed her eyes. “He was always such a sweetie.”

  “He was.”

  She looked from Kira to Jeremy. “Sorry. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

  Kira gave her a sympathetic smile. “Neither can I.”

  “He asked me for a favor last week. Some paperwork he wanted. I told him I didn’t mind getting it for him, and he sure didn’t need to get me Astros tickets.”

  It was Ollie’s way. You gotta scratch backs to get shit done in this business.

  “The paperwork he requested, did he ever pick it up?” Kira asked.

  Lorraine dabbed her nose with the tissue. “No. Why, do you want it?”

  “I do, actually. I’ve taken over some of his cases.”

  Lorraine glanced at Jeremy and looked self-conscious about her tears. “Sorry.” She swiveled in her chair again. “Where did I put it? I swear, this place is such a clutter. Oh—here.” She dug a blue folder out from beneath a tall stack of files. She opened the folder, then closed it. “This is it,” she said, handing it over.

  Kira tucked it into her bag. “Thank you. It’s a big help.”

  “Not at all. Sorry I’m a mess.”

  “I understand. We can catch up later. I’d love to take you to lunch soon,” Kira said, wanting to ramp up her networking effort.

  Lorraine smiled through her tears. “I’d like that.”

  Burning with curiosity, Kira led Jeremy back through the cubicles and left the office. When she was back in the crowded corridor, she ducked into an alcove beside a water fountain and opened the file. Her heart lurched when she spotted the name Craig Collins at the top of the page.