Her Deadly Secrets

by Griffin, Laura

  What now? Was he going to suit back up and return to work? It was his shift, after all, which meant he might spend the night watching TV in her living room. Or stationed in the hall in that damn chair.

  Jeremy switched off the bathroom light, and the room went black. The mattress creaked as he stretched out beside her. He didn’t peel the comforter back, but he slid his arm under her shoulders and pulled her against him. He kissed the top of her head, and Kira’s heart squeezed because it was such a sweet thing to do and not what she’d expected.

  What had she expected?

  She had no idea. She hadn’t planned this. Not really. Not beyond satisfying the relentless yearning she’d felt since the day they met.

  She hadn’t thought about keeping her emotions out of it and how knotted up she’d feel if this turned into anything more than a one-night thing.

  She didn’t want him to leave.

  Not just leave town—she didn’t even want him to leave her room. She wanted him to spend the night with her. She wanted to wake up with him in the morning and have breakfast together and see where things stood.

  Which was crazy.

  He stroked his hand over her arm. Softly up and softly down, without saying a word.

  She didn’t want to talk about it. And neither did he. That she knew for a fact—and for once, she didn’t mind his silence.

  She rolled toward him, nestling her head against his chest, and the gentle stroking on her arm made her feel sleepy, dreamy, more relaxed than she’d felt in ages. Kira sighed deeply. She absorbed his warmth and his silence and let her mind drift.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  KIRA AWOKE in a dark room. Her eyes felt gritty, her limbs heavy. She shifted beneath the cool comforter and noticed the band of light peeking between the drapes. She looked for the clock.

  It was 8:04.

  Kira bolted upright and realized she was naked. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She didn’t remember getting under the covers. And she definitely didn’t remember Jeremy leaving.

  The bathroom light was off, and the only light came from the bright stripe of sunshine streaming through the window. Her bedroom door was closed, and on the other side she heard voices.

  She strained to identify the speakers.

  Trent. She couldn’t make out the words, but he was talking to someone.

  Jeremy.

  Nerves fluttered in her stomach. Kira glanced at the nightstand. All his things were gone. The suit jacket he’d tossed onto the chair last night was gone, too, and now her robe was draped neatly over the arm. He must have put it there, because she distinctly remembered it whooshing to the floor.

  Kira got up and wrapped herself in the plush terry cloth. She tied the belt and glanced at the door as she made her way to the bathroom. A few moments later, she took a deep breath to brace herself and opened the door to the living room.

  “Morning,” she chirped.

  Jeremy and Trent turned around. Both wore suits and ties and appeared freshly shaven.

  “Morning.” Jeremy looked her up and down.

  “Brock wants you to call him,” Trent informed her. “He left for the courthouse already.”

  “Oh?” She looked at Jeremy, noting his pale blue dress shirt. Yesterday’s had been white.

  He seemed to notice her staring at him, and she glanced away. Her gaze landed on the espresso machine on the minibar. She stepped over to it and opened the fancy wooden box that held the supply of shiny coffee pods that was replenished daily.

  “Any word from the hospital?” she asked, dropping a pod into the machine.

  “Gavin stabilized,” Jeremy said. “They moved him from ICU into a private room.”

  “That’s great news. When?”

  “Sometime overnight.”

  “We also got a call from Detective Spears,” Trent said. “They have some big new developments in the case.”

  The coffee maker whirred, and he waited for it to finish.

  “They were able to match a fingerprint from Oliver Kovak’s murder scene to a suspect,” Trent continued. “The person is a known associate of the Markov family.”

  “Who?” Kira asked.

  “Name is Bruno Duric. He’s Serbian,” Jeremy said.

  “And turns out, he has a partner,” Trent added. “His wife.”

  “His wife?” Kira looked at Jeremy.

  “This tip came from Interpol,” Jeremy said.

  “Yeah, apparently, these two do wet work for the Markov family on two continents,” Trent said.

  Kira stared at him.

  “That’s, you know, murders for hire,” Trent told her. “Fixing problems, cleaning up loose ends.”

  She looked at Jeremy, who was watching closely, gauging her response to this news. Kira turned away. She tore open a sugar packet and dumped it into her coffee, and she could feel them waiting for her reaction.

  “What time did Brock leave?” she asked.

  “Ten minutes ago,” Trent said. “He has a hearing at nine.”

  She took her coffee to the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. The air felt warm and humid, but the sky was a dazzling blue, suggesting the rain had probably cleared for at least a day. Kira squeezed past the wrought-iron table and chairs and sat down on a chaise at the far end of the balcony.

  Wet work. A Serbian team. A husband and wife, no less. Kira cringed just thinking of it.

  Had she been there, too, on the night of Ollie’s murder? Kira tried to recall a woman in the neighborhood. But she only remembered the plodding jogger in the gray hoodie and the sprinting valet attendant.

  Kira sipped her coffee and gazed through the glass wall at the sparkly blue pool down below. The lounge chairs around it were arranged in perfect rows, and each had a rolled white towel at the end. The water shimmered invitingly, but no one was in it, and the only sound came from the gurgle of the tiered fountain at the end of the patio.

  The sliding door opened, and Jeremy stepped out. He squeezed past the chairs and gazed down at her for a moment before lowering himself onto the end of her chaise.

  She smiled tentatively. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  He rested his hand on her knee, and her heart melted a little. He glanced up, and his eyes looked bluer than ever because of that shirt.

  “You crashed last night,” he said.

  “I guess so.” She set her cup on the table. “When did you change?”

  “When Trent came on at six, I went by my motel.” He nodded at the door. “I spent the night on your sofa watching TV, by the way.”

  “How come?”

  “There’s a security camera in your living room. I didn’t want people speculating.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  He picked up her robe tie and rubbed the end between his fingers, and she thought about his hands on her body last night.

  “Word is, Logan and Locke is pulling us off the job.”

  She watched him, waiting for more.

  “They don’t want to continue paying to protect an entire legal team for a client who’s no longer headed to trial. Sounds like police have reopened Ava Quinn’s murder case in light of new evidence pointing to her brother.” He searched her face. “You don’t look surprised.”

  “I’m not.” She sighed. “When is this happening?”

  “Today. We have a wrap meeting at ten.”

  “What’s that?”

  “To tie up logistics.” He paused. “I’d like to stay.”

  “Where?”

  “Here in town. With you.”

  Hope bloomed inside her chest.

  “Until an arrest is made, I don’t feel good about leaving,” he added.

  Kira looked away to cover her disappointment. She didn’t know why his words stung.

  Or maybe she did. Maybe she’d thought that he wanted to stay here for her, that he wanted to turn their one-night fling into something more.

  She looked at him. “You don�
�t need to do that.”

  “I want to.”

  “If your team’s been pulled off—”

  “This would be personal,” he said. “I’ve accrued plenty of vacation time. I don’t mind using it.”

  “That isn’t necessary. I’m not your responsibility.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  She felt a surge of annoyance—with herself. One night with him, and she’d allowed herself to get attached. She’d allowed herself to hope that their relationship might be going somewhere. Which was foolish. She liked him, yes. She could admit that. But he lived a hundred miles away, and he wasn’t even there most of the time. He worked crazy hours at a crazy job that had him traveling forty weeks a year.

  He was watching her with those serious blue eyes, and Kira’s chest tightened. Maybe she should just summon her courage and tell him how she felt.

  The door opened again, and Trent poked his head out. “Erik called to say he’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  “Thanks.”

  The door slid shut. Jeremy stood, and Kira tried to keep her face neutral.

  “We can talk about this later,” he said. “I’ll be back after my meeting at the law firm.”

  “You don’t need to stay with me.”

  “I want to.”

  “Jeremy—”

  “Kira, I want to.” He bent over and dropped a kiss on her head. Then he walked back into the suite.

  Kira stared down at the pool, trying to sort through her feelings. She was all over the place today. She tipped her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. She felt rested—finally—and more energized than she had in a long time. But she still had that gnawing sense of anxiety.

  Wet work. She shuddered. And she knew Jeremy was right to still be concerned. Even if Gavin Quinn’s trial was off, and even though the prospect of Ava Quinn’s real killer being exposed in open court was no longer a threat, Kira still didn’t feel safe. And she wouldn’t feel safe until whoever was responsible for murdering Ollie and Shelly was in custody.

  She heard the faint thud of the door closing inside, meaning Jeremy had left. She got up and returned to the living room, where she found Trent seated at the dining table with his laptop in front of him.

  He nodded at the TV. “Mind if I have the news on?”

  “Not at all.”

  Kira glanced at the coffee table, where her own laptop sat beside the flattened black trash bag. Ollie’s Rolodex was still there, as well as a stack of business cards and the red keychain Jeremy had retrieved from Ollie’s office. Kira set her coffee cup on the table and perched on the edge of the sofa. She picked up the keychain and examined the two bronze keys. One was the same size and shape as her key to Ollie’s office, and she suspected it was a duplicate. The other key was smaller, maybe to a post office box? Or a safe-deposit box? Ollie’s daughter might know. Kira turned the keychain over in her hand. The pocketknife had two small blades and a tiny button that activated a mini flashlight. On the other end was a small notch. She pressed the notch with her thumb, and a USB drive popped out.

  Kira stared at it. Heart thudding, she pulled her computer over and turned it on. As the system booted up, she gazed down at the USB drive. Then she popped it into the port and waited.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the password screen appeared, and she entered her code. She opened the drive and found only one file, labeled with a six-digit number that looked oddly familiar. It was a date. The same date she’d seen on that fast-food receipt she’d discovered in Ollie’s van.

  She opened the file.

  A dim image filled the screen. The video had been taken at night, and the scene included a wire fence and a gatehouse. Kira’s heart skittered as she recognized the location.

  Xavier Shipping.

  The guardhouse was empty. The camera panned left and zoomed in on a familiar double-wide trailer with a floodlight above the door. The cars parked in front were different this time. Instead of a Mini Cooper and a pickup truck, it was a black Mercedes sedan and a light-colored Honda.

  “Day two of my investigation into Craig Collins,” Ollie said quietly.

  A chill snaked down Kira’s spine. She’d never expected to hear his voice again.

  “I’m here at Xavier Shipping,” he narrated, zooming in on the Honda’s plates. “I tailed Collins to this location, and it looks like he’s meeting someone.” He panned the camera again, this time focusing on the Mercedes.

  “Aaaand . . . looks like we got action.”

  He zoomed out, and Kira watched as the Honda door opened. A thin dark-haired man got out. This would be Craig Collins. Then the door to the building opened, and a man stepped outside. He went down the steps and moved into the glare of the floodlight, and Kira caught a glimpse of his face.

  She hit pause. Andre Markov.

  “Son of a bitch,” she murmured.

  Her pulse picked up as she hit play again. Markov handed Ava Quinn’s brother a black duffel bag. Craig handed over something small—maybe an envelope?—and they exchanged words.

  The camera jerked left as the trailer door stood open again, and a tall figure emerged. Icy fear gripped her as he stepped into the light.

  It was him. Ollie’s killer.

  Kira studied his face, his build. This would be Bruno Duric. The man spoke to Markov. Then he turned to go back into the building and stopped, his attention fixed on something across the highway.

  The camera jerked down. Ollie cursed, and the screen went black.

  Kira stared at the computer, her heart pounding against her ribs. She was sweating now.

  He’d been made. Ollie had tailed Craig Collins to the ship channel and been made. He knew he’d screwed up, too, but he didn’t realize the gravity of it. He didn’t know that the man who’d caught him spying would somehow uncover his identity, figure out what he was doing there, and then track him down and kill him.

  How had Bruno done it? Possibly from Ollie’s vehicle or some security footage somewhere. Or maybe he’d done something as simple as follow him home when he left the area. Or maybe Bruno had sent someone to follow him. Someone who probably looked harmless and wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Someone such as his wife.

  They do wet work . . .

  Kira’s stomach roiled, and she leaned forward.

  She forced herself to watch the video again, looking for any figures in the background or details she’d missed.

  “You okay?”

  Kira glanced up to see Trent giving her a worried look.

  “Yeah, I just—yeah.” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”

  She copied the file to her computer and then ejected the flash drive. She still didn’t know where the original memory card for Ollie’s camera was, but Ollie had probably hidden it somewhere. He’d understood the value of this evidence enough to copy it to a USB drive and stash it in his office.

  Kira had to get this video to the police. It provided a conclusive link between Craig Collins and Andre Markov—who had likely murdered Craig’s sister—and Bruno Duric. This was the mystery evidence tying all three men together. It was the thing Bruno had been looking for at Brock Logan’s house and later at Ollie’s office. Bruno was searching for this video footage, as well as anyone who knew about it, and he was willing to kill for it.

  Andre’s reckless move to get mixed up in a murder scheme was sure to draw attention to his father, especially after Ollie uncovered a concrete link between Andre and Craig Collins. So Anatoly sent someone to fix the problem, making sure Gavin’s case never went to trial and an alternative murder suspect was never exposed.

  Kira’s heart thudded as all the pieces clicked into place. She ducked into her bedroom and closed the door. She tossed the USB drive onto the bed and grabbed her phone off the dresser.

  “Spears,” the detective answered.

  “It’s Kira Vance.”

  “I know.”

  “I have something.”

  “Something . . .?”

 
; “It’s important evidence that you need to see.”

  “I’m putting you on speaker, okay? I’m in the car with Detective Diaz.” Background noise came through the phone. “Okay, tell me about this evidence.”

  Kira took a deep breath. “I found a USB drive that belonged to Ollie, and it has a video clip dated a few days before his murder. Craig Collins is on it, along with Bruno Duric and Andre Markov. There’s some kind of transaction going down, maybe a drug deal.”

  Silence.

  “Detective?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the hotel. I can bring this to the police station.” She glanced down at her robe and looked around. Half her clothes were strewn across the room. She grabbed a pair of yoga pants off a chair.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” Spears said. “We’re not far from your hotel. We can swing by there.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Just sit tight. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  Kira threw on a T-shirt and yoga pants and slipped her feet into sandals. Then she hurried into the bathroom and spent a few quick minutes washing her face and putting her hair in a ponytail. She grabbed the USB drive and walked into the living room.

  “I need to run down to the lobby.”

  Trent frowned. “Why?”

  “I’m meeting Detective Spears. I have to hand over some evidence.” She held up the flash drive.

  Trent stood up. “I’ll go.” He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of the chair.

  “She’s expecting me.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “But—”

  “I’m under strict orders not to let you out of this room.”

  Kira’s mouth fell open.

  “Sorry. Let me rephrase.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been instructed not to take you anywhere without authorization. That includes the fitness center, the restaurant, and anywhere else.”

  “Jeremy can’t just—”

  “This is from Liam.”

  Kira closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. She hated having her movements dictated. But these guys were security experts, supposedly. And so far, they had an excellent track record of keeping her alive.