Damage Control

An Alexis Parker novel

G.K. Parks

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other concepts are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, establishments, events, and locations is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author.

Copyright © 2025 G.K. Parks

A Modus Operandi imprint

All rights reserved.

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One

“Parker, where have you been?” my fellow private investigator, Bennett Renner, asked.

“I was closing that insurance case. I had to drop off the surveillance footage—”

Renner cut me off. “You have a client meeting.”

“No, I don’t. I just came from a client meeting.” I pushed past him and entered my office. “I submitted my report while I was at lunch. I’m sure our boss would consider that a working lunch.”

“Lucien wants you working on something else now.”

I sighed dramatically. “Why is he only a pain in my ass? How come he never makes you run around like a chicken without a head?”

Renner chuckled. “He likes you better.”

“That’s debatable.” I tucked my belongings into my desk drawer, grabbed a legal pad and pen, and turned to my colleague. “Where is this client meeting taking place?”

“Conference room C.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“You’re late.”

“Besides that.”

“Lucien said this one’s especially for you.”

“Goody.”

Entering the conference room, I found a man waiting. I’d guess late twenties. He didn’t look like a movie star or musician, and he wasn’t dressed like a business tycoon. His clothes weren’t designer. Perhaps Cross Security was taking on pro bono cases. No wonder Lucien wanted me to handle this. He only liked to sign wealthy clients.

“I’m Alexis Parker.” I pulled out a chair and sat down, eyeing the stack of folders in front of him. “How can I help you, mister?”

“Dustin Ford.” The man thrust the folders at me, his mouth moving a million miles an hour as he unloaded everything that had happened over the last six months. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill her. I swear. But no one cares. I’m supposed to go to trial. If I lose, I’ll go to prison. You have to help me.”

This had to be a joke. Cross Security didn’t take on these kinds of cases. My boss would never assign me this.

“Let me get this straight. You’re being charged with murder.” I tapped my pen against the notes I’d scribbled. “Cross Security has a policy—”

“I know,” Dustin said. “Mr. Almeada said that wouldn’t be a problem. These are special circumstances.”

“Did your lawyer happen to tell my boss that?”

“You don’t want to help me.” Dustin rubbed his palm against his eye. “You don’t believe me. No one believes me. The cops sure as hell didn’t. I don’t know why I thought you’d be any different.”

“The evidence speaks for itself.”

“Ms. Parker, please hear me out and try to keep an open mind. I don’t know what else to do or where to go. The grand jury indicted me. If it wasn’t for Mr. Almeada, I’d be locked up until this thing goes to trial. I doubt I’d survive behind bars that long. I know I won’t make it if they convict me. Prison is not for me. It just isn’t.” He stared at me with bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t do it. I’d never hurt anyone. I have never hurt anyone.”

“In the event you end up behind bars, maybe don’t mention that.”

“You think this is funny?”

“No, I don’t.” I sighed. “All right. Walk me through it one more time.”

He inhaled deeply in preparation to retell the tale. “I don’t live in the city, but I had concert tickets. I was meeting a group of friends at the show. Nights like these always run late. We usually hang around until the band leaves. Then we grab a bite. Maybe hit a club. I thought the responsible thing would be to rent a room for the night.”

“According to these records, your reservation was for three nights.”

“I’m getting to that.”

I held up my hands. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“The concert was Thursday. I figured I’d head straight to the venue after work. Late nights usually wipe me out, so I asked for Friday off to recover, and since I was already scheduled to have the weekend off, I thought I’d throw in another two nights and make this a nice little getaway. It was supposed to be a mini-vacation. A chance to unwind and blow off steam.” His nose crinkled, his chin quivering. He looked away and swallowed. “Had I known what would happen, I never would have done it. I wouldn’t have done any of it.”

“What did you do?”

He slammed his palms on the table. “I didn’t kill her. I don’t even know who she is. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

“Thursday after you left work, what did you do?” I asked, hoping to keep him on an even keel.

“I drove to the city. The commute wasn’t bad. I made it to the concert hall in under two hours. My friends were waiting.” Dustin pointed to a section of my notes. “That’s all three of them. Joe, Mike, and Norman. They vouched for my whereabouts. The police questioned them.”

I waved my hand, dismissing that tangent. “Why didn’t you stay with one of them?”

“Norman lives with his significant other, who isn’t a fan of houseguests. Joe has a studio he shares with two other people, and Mike lives with his parents outside the city. No one had room for me.”

“Did Mike go home after the concert?”

Dustin nodded. “Mike doesn’t drink. He was fine to drive back.”

“How did your car get from wherever you parked it to your vacation rental?” I asked. “Were you drinking and driving?”

“Are you going to suggest that the prosecutor files additional charges against me?”

“So you were drinking and driving?”

“No. I let someone drive me back to the place I rented.”

“Who?”

He tilted his head to the side, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m not sure. Like I told you, we were pretty wasted. It was a concert, followed by a club. We had burgers at some point. But it was a lot of drinking.”

“What about drugs?”

“It was a concert.”

I nodded, flipping through my notes. “The police found drugs inside your rental. Ecstasy, acid, coke, what they often refer to as party drugs.”

“I don’t sell drugs.”

“But you were high.”

“We had a few gummies. That’s not illegal.”

“That was it?”

“And drinks.”

I’d conducted my fair share of interrogations as an OIO agent, and I’d sat in on several as a police consultant. People lie, but I wasn’t getting that vibe from Dustin. However, since he had months to practice his story, he may have said it enough that he believed it. All I knew was he was convinced that was the truth. I just didn’t know if it was.

“Walk me through that night,” I said. “Give me the play-by-play. Minute by minute.”

“We met at the concert. We watched the show. The band finished their encore around 11:30. We hung around until almost one, hoping to get autographs. I took a few photos of the roadies loading the tour buses with my phone.”

“The photos are timestamped?” I asked.

“I guess.”

“I’ll need copies.” I made a note at the top of the page. “What happened after that?”

“While we were waiting, we met some people who had the same idea. They had four or five in their group. Three women, two guys. We asked if they wanted to hang out with us. One of the guys took off, but everyone else was game. That’s when we got burgers, I think. I can’t keep everything straight, but we ate before going to the club. Actually, we ate twice. We got slices from a truck too.”

“A pizza truck?”

“Yeah.” He pulled his lips to one side, almost like he had a twitch. “We grabbed a slice before the club. Burgers after.”

“Do you know what truck?”

“Ms. Parker, that was months ago. I have no idea.”

“How did you pay?”

“Um…”

“Would one of your friends remember?”

“Maybe.”

I nodded, making another note. “Okay, what about the club? Do you remember which one you went to?”

“Atlantis.”

“Okay.”

“The burger place was across the street. They’re open twenty-four hours.”

“What time did you get burgers?”

“The sun wasn’t up yet. If it had been, we would have gotten breakfast instead. I dunno. It had to have been around three or four in the morning. After that, we walked back to the venue.”

“And you don’t remember who took you home.”

“It was someone I met that night.”

“A woman?”

“Yes.”

“The dead woman?” I asked.

“No. I had never seen her before. I don’t even know how she got inside my vacation rental or how long she was there. When we got to my rental, whoever drove me had a rideshare waiting to take her home. She didn’t even come inside. I grabbed my bags from the trunk, found the door code in my text messages, let myself in, and crashed in the first bedroom I found. I didn’t look around that night. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even brush my teeth, and if you know me, you’d know that’s something I absolutely always do.”

“Except this one night.”

“I was tired. I worked all day and partied all night.”

“You weren’t the least bit curious about the place where you were staying? Most people would check for bugs or make sure they had clean towels,” I said.

“I wasn’t worried. The renter had four plus stars. I assumed everything was fine. The bed was made. The sheets smelled clean. That was good enough for me.”

“What about the next day? You didn’t check everything out when you got up?”

“I would have, but Mike called and wanted to meet. He was excited about something, so I got ready and ran out of the house. I didn’t venture any farther than the ensuite.” Dustin pulled the blueprint of the property free from the pile of papers he’d brought me. “I slept in this room.” He pointed to the bedroom nearest the front door. “That’s the attached bathroom I used. I didn’t go beyond this point until I returned later that night, which is when I found the body. She was near the kitchen.”

“And you were with Mike that whole day?”

“Yeah. He walked the police through everything we did, which wasn’t much. We met at his parents’ house. I hadn’t seen them in a while, so we caught up. His mother made us lunch, and his dad barbecued steaks and chicken breasts for dinner. I headed back after that.”

“How long does it take to get from Mike’s place to the rental?”

“About forty-five minutes.”

I checked my notes again. “According to these statements, you left Mike’s around seven. The police received reports about a disturbance at your rental a little after nine, and that’s when they showed up and found the dead woman. Did you stop anywhere on your way back?”

“No.”

“Did you get lost?”

“No.”

“What time did you get back to the rental?”

“I dunno. 7:30, eight o’clock.” Dustin looked indignant. “The so-called disturbance was me screaming when I found her dead.”

“It took you an hour to check out the place you rented?”

“I guess.”

“What did you do when you first got back?”

“I went into the bedroom and checked my bags. My phone needed to be charged, so I looked for the cord.”

“All right.” I flipped the pages again. “Is there anything else I should know?” His story felt a little out there, but none of it was beyond the realm of reason.

“I didn’t do it.”

“Besides that.”

“Ms. Parker, I promise I didn’t kill anyone. I don’t even know who that woman was. I had never seen her before. Not at the concert. Not anywhere. The only thing I can figure is she was already inside the rental when I arrived. Whoever booked the place before me must have killed her.”

The rental had exterior security cameras, which the police had reviewed, but from what they’d seen, Dustin and a woman had entered the night before. Dustin left the next day. The woman never did.

The medical examiner’s report concluded she had been strangled. Given the lack of defensive wounds, she may have been passed out when the fatal attack occurred. Since she hadn’t fought back, foreign DNA hadn’t been found underneath her nails. Yet, Dustin’s prints had been found on the necklace she wore.

I checked the photo. The vic, Sydney Breeding, wore a gold medallion with her initials. The solid flat charm had a clear thumb and forefinger print on the front and back, belonging to Dustin Ford. Given that the security footage placed him and a mystery woman inside the house the night before and no one had entered or left the rental the next day except Dustin, the detective called to the scene had an easy case to solve. One suspect, and no contradictory evidence.

“Let me see the photos from the night before.”

Dustin pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the camera roll. “Here. Take a look.”

I found shots from the concert and plenty of images of him and his friends. The police had already checked and catalogued everything they needed. “Why don’t you have any photos with the second group you ran into? Weren’t the eight of you hanging out?”

“I don’t know. I guess we didn’t think to take pictures with them.”

“What about names? Numbers? Social media follows?”

He shook his head. “We didn’t exchange numbers. We may have exchanged names, but I don’t remember any of theirs. My friends were there. They met them. Ask them if you don’t believe me.”

“Are these friends of yours ride or die?”

“Of course.”

“So they wouldn’t want you to spend the next twenty years in prison.”

“No.”

“Y’see, that isn’t helpful.”

“They aren’t lying. I’m not lying.”

His eyes told me that was true. The facts told me otherwise. Go with your gut, Parker. “My boss has a strict no murder policy. My hands are tied unless he okays this, so let’s see what he says. Then we’ll take it from there.”

Two

Lucien Cross wasn’t behind his desk when I went upstairs to chat. Instead, I found him and Mr. Almeada waiting for me in the executive conference room. Cross indicated the chair nearest to him. I sat in the one two away.

“Is this a joke?” I asked.

Cross cocked his head to the side. “Why would you think that, Alex?”

“For starters, your favorite pastime is harping on how we are to avoid murder investigations at all costs. Is this a test to see if I’m a team player who listens to your ridiculous rules and mandates?”

Cross tried to hide his snicker behind his hand as he rubbed his mouth. It didn’t work.

“Ms. Parker,” Almeada drew my attention away from my boss, “Mr. Ford is my client. He is in a jam, and I have requested that Cross Security look into the matter. The police have built a solid case. Given what I know about the arrest and evidence collection, I don’t have a leg to stand on. There was no improper procedure. No question as to their right to enter or jurisdictional issues. The security cam footage is damning, and I have no grounds to refute it. Combine that with the evidence found on the body, and I’m at a loss. That’s why I need you to find another suspect.”

“Do you think Dustin Ford did it?” I asked.

Almeada’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m his attorney, not his priest. I don’t take confessions.”

“Did he confess?”

“He insists he’s innocent, that he’s being framed. I did some research.” Almeada smiled. “Do you know what I found?”

“Nothing,” I said. If he had anything, he wouldn’t need Cross Security to investigate.

“I discovered a similar case. A man was found on a yacht with a dead woman who’d been suffocated. They were out to sea. No one else was on board. Yet, for some reason, the police dropped those charges. They even issued a public apology. Do you know who made them do that?” Almeada pointed at me. “If anyone is equipped to deal with this situation, it’s you.”

“That case was different.”

Almeada stood. He knew better than to argue with me. “Lucien, I trust you’ll get results. Let me know what you find.”

“We need everything the prosecutor’s office plans to use against Mr. Ford,” Cross said.

“I’ll have copies of discovery sent over in the morning.” The attorney stopped in the doorway. “Where is Mr. Ford now?”

“He’s waiting in reception.” I glanced from my boss to Almeada. “I guess you can tell him I’ll take his case.”

“There was never any doubt,” Almeada said, “but I’ll reassure him nonetheless. Do you need anything else from him today?”

“Not yet,” I said. That would change once I started looking into the matter.

“Make sure he signs a contract,” Cross said.

“I already signed one on his behalf.” Almeada pointed to a blue folder beside my boss.

“Have him sign one too. I like to make sure our clients know where they stand,” Cross insisted.

Almeada cocked his head to the side. “I’m your client, Lucien. The firm hired you. I’ll be footing the bill. Anything you find, you report to me.”

“Make him sign it anyway.”

“Whatever.” Almeada waved his hand in the air, half as a goodbye, half dismissing Cross’s request.

Once the door closed, Cross found me staring at him. “What?”

“You assigned me this case because of Martin?” I asked.

“Almeada dug that up on his own. But he has a point. The police had James Martin dead to rights. A body on his yacht with no one else around.” Cross tilted his head. “Without you, they would have nailed him for that.”

“He didn’t do it.”

“Were you dating at the time?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m curious.”

“No, we weren’t dating, but I knew he wasn’t a killer.”

“Do you think Dustin Ford is?”

“I don’t know.”

“People are capable of anything.”

“I know.”

Cross searched my eyes. “Almeada isn’t hiring you to clear Ford’s name. He isn’t even hiring us to find the truth, unless the truth will exonerate his client. He hired us to come up with alternative theories as to what happened. He wants us to create reasonable doubt.”

“Create it or find it?”

Cross’s brow furrowed. “What’s the difference?”

“I won’t fabricate evidence.”

“So find it.”

I stared at the notes I’d made. The murder took place six months ago. By now, there wouldn’t be anything left to find at the crime scene. “I need police records, not just whatever the prosecutor is using to build his case. The answers Almeada needs will be in the bits and bobs the prosecutor threw out because they were inadmissible or didn’t support the narrative he’s crafting.”

“Do you need help getting those materials? I figured your friends in the department could assist, but I have other means available if necessary.”

“Your father?”

Cross scoffed. “No.”

“I’ll stop by the precinct once I know more, but first, I want to build a profile on our client and the victim. I need to know who these people are so I can dig deeper.”

“Almeada’s research and the backgrounds I put together are waiting in your office.”

“How long have you known about this?”

“A day or two.”

“Why didn’t you mention it sooner?”

“Maybe if you’d been at any of the morning meetings this week, you would have heard about it,” Cross said. “We do have those for a reason.”

“I wasn’t there because I was conducting surveillance for another case you assigned me.”

“Oh, that’s why?”

“Ask billing. I sent them my timesheet and expenses.”

He glanced at the door. “You should get started. While you do that, I’ll look into the vacation rental.”

I fought to keep the exasperation from showing. “We’re working on this together?”

“I’ll be assisting. In fact, anyone with a light load will be assisting. This is an all-hands situation at Almeada’s request.”

“Why? What’s so special about Dustin Ford? As far as I can tell, he’s a nobody who got himself in a sticky situation.”

Cross squinted, like he thought I was putting on an act. “You really don’t know who he is?”

“Why would I?”

“He changed his name to Ford when he turned eighteen. He didn’t want his family’s legacy to follow him around. He’s a black sheep, a pariah, but he’s also heir to a pharmaceutical fortune.”

“That’s why you’re interested.”

“That’s not why I’m interested. That’s why Almeada’s interested. His firm’s corporate wing represents Ford’s father’s business. They lose this case, they’ll lose an eight-figure account.”

“That sounds like Almeada’s problem.”

“He said he’d make it mine. I’d prefer not to deal with that.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” I hesitated in the doorway. “Did Almeada really handpick me for this?”

“Yep.”

“And he did it because I cleared Martin’s name?”

“And mine.”

“Why do the men in my life end up arrested for murder?”

Cross smirked. “I can’t speak for Martin, but mine is a story for another day.”

“I thought I already heard it.”

“Part of it.”

I didn’t want to hear the rest. In fact, I made that abundantly clear at the time. Cross had been on the same page. Some secrets weren’t meant to be shared.

“How did Almeada even know about the incident on Martin’s yacht?” I asked.

“That was a highly publicized case. I’m sure every defense attorney in the city was hoping to get a call, except it never came down to that. The police issued a public apology. Martin Tech issued a press release, and the whole matter quietly disappeared. I’m sure Almeada made a note who was responsible in case he ever needed a fixer.”

“I’m not a fixer.”

“Imagine his disappointment when I told him that.”

“Why don’t you give this to someone else? Someone more qualified?”

“Who would that be?”

“Renner, for one. He worked homicide.”

“Which would make him biased against our client. Why don’t you want this? Murder investigations are what you do best. At least that’s how it seems since you keep getting tangled up in them,” Cross said.

“So that’s why you gave it to me.”

“You kept me out of prison. As far as I’m concerned, that makes you our resident expert. You’re two for two.”

“Fine. But you should know, I didn’t have anything to do with how things played out in Martin’s case. All I did was point out a few mistakes and misconceptions. Heathcliff and Moretti handled the rest. The PD would have dropped the charges anyway, even if I hadn’t shown up that day. They knew the case was bogus. Martin was another victim, not the perpetrator.”

Cross stared at me. “I can’t figure out if you’re being humble or if that’s really how it happened. Either way, Almeada doesn’t need to hear it. He’s stressed enough.”

“Fine.”

I was halfway to the elevator when Cross exited the conference room. He whispered something to Justin, his executive assistant, before calling out to me, “Stop by my office when you’re ready to call it a night. I have plans in mind for us for later.”

“Plans?”

He waved me away. “My office before you leave. Don’t forget.”

Three

My mind was running in three different directions. Usually, I didn’t have an entire case laid out for me, but I did now. Having everything at once should make things easier. Instead, the overwhelm threatened to send me into a tailspin.

Breathe. There was one question in my head that couldn’t wait. Who was the victim? I’d read the report. Sydney Breeding. Her name meant nothing to me.

Assuming the evidence was telling the truth, Sydney had entered the vacation rental with Dustin Ford the night before she was found dead. Had she been at the concert? Had she been with the group Dustin and his friends met? Was any of that even true?

Starting with the vic would lead down a rabbit hole. However, in most homicide cases, that’s how investigations were conducted. The detectives rarely knew who the killer was from the get-go. Whoever caught this case had gotten extremely lucky, or he’d gotten it wrong.

I pulled out the police report again. Jacobs. “Dammit.”

I’d worked with Detective Jacobs a few times. While I didn’t know him nearly as well as the rest of my friends in the major crimes unit, Jacobs had assisted them enough that they’d all swear by his work. I had no reason to think he botched this, which meant Ford was guilty.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I reminded myself.

Shaking it off, I started with the alleged killer, my client, Dustin Ford. Dustin was twenty-five years old. He graduated middle of his class from a local public university. He’d been a philosophy major with a minor in communications. He’d tried to distance himself as much as possible from his legacy. No hard sciences classes. No business classes. He wanted nothing to do with the pharmaceutical industry.

Dustin had one prior for streaking on campus. The actual police hadn’t been called. Campus security had dealt with the issue, and Dustin had been warned not to do it again or he could face suspension or expulsion. Other than that, he hadn’t so much as been caught jaywalking.

Dustin had admitted to being under the influence at the concert, but he said he hadn’t taken any illegal drugs. The police hadn’t run a blood test when they arrested him. That came after. When Jacobs brought him in that night, he hadn’t been sure Dustin was responsible. At the time, my client was just a person of interest.

Only after the owner of the vacation rental was contacted and provided the exterior security cam footage was Dustin declared a suspect. After that, everything else lined up.

There was no blood or murder weapon to be found. Dustin’s prints were on Sydney’s necklace, which remained around her neck. Forensics found trace DNA where the bruising was darkest. It matched Dustin.

The crime lab hadn’t found anything else of use on the vic. Her nails had been cut short and were clean. They didn’t find signs of recent sexual activity. The woman was fully clothed. Her toxicology report showed she’d been beyond the legal limit when she died. She was drunk. She wasn’t high. That made the drugs found in the rental even more confusing, if they weren’t Dustin’s.

I checked the included photos. They were tiny, not the full-sized glossies the police or prosecutor’s office had. These were copies, crappy copies, which Almeada’s office must have shrunk. I’d need the originals.

Since I couldn’t get a clear look at the crime scene, I sent a text to the lab and asked if they could recreate it for me whenever they got the chance. When asked for the photos and files, I told them to ask Cross when they should expect such things. Since my boss wanted to assist, I’d let him. After all, I could be a team player.

“All right, Parker, think.” I paced behind the couch. Movement usually helped get the mental juices flowing.

The coroner’s report hadn’t narrowed down TOD. Some sort of technical issue had kept them from pinning it down, but the preliminary report based on liver temp concluded Sydney Breeding had been killed at least eighteen hours prior to the police arriving. More than likely, she’d been killed right after entering the vacation rental the previous night.

Still, a technical issue could be something Almeada could use. I made a note, but I didn’t think the attorney had missed this tidbit. The rest of the evidence was far too overwhelming for that to matter, at least to a jury. So I kept digging.

Dustin Ford didn’t have a record or any real priors. He touched the victim. That wasn’t in question. He rented that apartment from a vacation rental site. His check-in day was Thursday, even though he didn’t enter the apartment until early Friday morning. His check-out date was scheduled for Sunday.

Based on all accounts, I had no reason to doubt he’d gone to the concert. He had photos. But I’d need to narrow down that timeline, and I needed to figure out when, where, and how he hooked up with the vic.

The photos on his phone showed Dustin and his buddies inside the concert venue and at the club afterward. As far as I knew, he hadn’t taken any candids of the other group or any photos with them. I didn’t know if the same was true of his friends, but since the police report only noted interviews with Joe, Mike, Norman, and Mike’s parents, I had to assume Jacobs never verified the story about the four people who joined them after the concert. No one else must have taken photos or remembered names either, or Jacobs would have performed his due diligence. However, I’d follow up just to be certain.

Even though I promised myself I’d wait until I had the rest of the files, I picked up the phone and dialed Detective Jacobs. Since he wasn’t one of my usual phone-a-friends, he didn’t answer.

“Hey, Jacobs, this is Alex Parker. A murder you worked came across my desk. I’d love to take you out for drinks or a burger so we can talk about it. Give me a call.” I hung up and debated dialing someone who would answer. But I didn’t want to drag Detectives Heathcliff or O’Connell into this prematurely. If I needed a favor, I didn’t want to waste it by asking them to relay my message to Jacobs. After all, that was why voicemail had been invented.

Before giving Sydney Breeding my full attention, I did a quick internet search on Dustin Ford. The search results were all related to the police investigation and pending trial. Abandoning the search engine for social media sites, I found Dustin’s. He had a presence on almost all the platforms, but he didn’t post a lot. Maybe once a month. Maybe less. His friend count was less than a few dozen.

It was all very pleasant. No drama. No questionable photos or images. No mention of a significant other. No mention of his parents or their wealth either. From what I could see, Dustin Ford didn’t have enemies. No one should want to frame him for murder.

That thought bounced around my brain for a millisecond. Who stood to gain by having Dustin removed from the picture? An heir to a pharmaceutical fortune couldn’t exactly spend it if he was serving twenty to life.

As far as I knew, Dustin was an only child. He didn’t have any siblings. A distant relative must have been next in line, unless the wealth would be distributed to a close family friend. Was there any reason to think Dustin’s parents were on the brink of kicking the bucket?

I made another note and brought up their bios. His parents were in their fifties. Cross would be able to get a look at health records and sensitive documents of the sort through less than legal means, but I doubted this was some crazy conspiracy. Still, I scribbled it on the page. Better safe than sorry.

Once that was done, I reviewed my list. I had more questions about Dustin Ford now than when I started, but I didn’t have immediate access to the resources needed to answer those questions. Instead, I left that on the back burner, snickering at the notion someone else on the team could run it down for me.

It was like being a federal agent again. Maybe if I stopped resisting, I could get used to this. After all, Cross Security was now my home and had been for a while. It was time I got settled.

“Tell me about yourself, Ms. Breeding.” I taped her photo to my wall and stared at it. When it didn’t answer, I checked the police report.

The vic was twenty-seven. She worked as a waitress and hoped to be an actress. She had been cast in non-speaking roles a time or two but had yet to hit it big. When she wasn’t waitressing or auditioning, she took acting classes. As far as anyone knew, she’d never crossed paths with Dustin or his friends prior to that night.

I checked her social media pages which had been turned into memorials. Hundreds of people had posted, expressing their love and condolences. I didn’t read every post. I only skimmed for anything negative. But I didn’t find it.

Sydney didn’t have a criminal record, no known ties to drug dealers and no connection to the vacation rental. According to the owner’s records, Sydney Breeding had never booked a room at that property or any of his other properties. I wondered how many he had but let that thought go.

The security footage from the rental hadn’t been included in the files I received. Only printed stills. Tiny, low-quality stills. Sure, the woman with Dustin that night had the same hair color and build as the vic, but I couldn’t say definitively that was Sydney. I needed to see the actual footage.

I dialed my boss’s extension, but he didn’t answer. Instead, Justin did.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Parker?” he asked.

“I need the security footage. Does Lucien have it?”

“Let me check. I’m not sure Mr. Almeada sent it over yet.”

While I waited, I read the crime scene report again. The victim still had her wallet and necklace. But the police never found her phone. They had searched the rental, Dustin Ford’s car, and the surrounding area, but they didn’t find it.

According to Dustin, the woman who drove him home had a rideshare waiting. Without Sydney’s phone, it’d be harder to verify that. Surely, Jacobs had pulled her phone records. But app usage wasn’t recorded, at least not to any degree that would prove useful. Maybe her financials could help.

“No,” Justin said, reminding me I had been waiting for his response. “Mr. Almeada will be sending copies of everything over tomorrow.”

“Make sure they don’t shrink any more photos in the process. Actually, I’d prefer digital if possible.”

“You sound like Lucien.”

“Hey, I thought you and I were becoming friends. Why would you say something like that?”

He laughed. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms. Parker?”

“You could call me Alex.”

“I shouldn’t. Lucien’s afraid we may get too chummy.”

“In that case, I insist.”

Four

Dustin said he’d never seen the vic prior to finding her dead in his vacation rental. If that were true, how did she get inside?

I paced the length of my office, eyeballing the notes and photos I’d stuck to the wall. Lucien better not make me paint or pay for damages once this assignment was over.

Had my client lied to me? I couldn’t answer that. The facts indicated he had, but he looked and sounded sincere. Was that because he believed his own lies? That had been my initial suspicion, but maybe Dustin Ford was a psychopath. With all the experts Cross Security had on staff, I wondered if we could get him tested.

However, the results could hinder Almeada’s case instead of help it. Granted, we were working for him. Whatever we found would be considered work product. We had no duty to hand that over to the prosecutor, but almost everyone who worked for Cross Security had been federal or local law enforcement before coming here. Something could leak.

“Why are you having this insipid dialogue?” I asked.

“Are you hearing voices?” Cross asked from the doorway.

“Always.”

“Given the stalker vibes I’m getting from the way you redecorated, I’m not surprised.”

I glared at him. “What do you want?”

“I made a mistake. When I told you to stop by my office before you left for the night, I didn’t take into account the possibility you may not be planning to leave. James Martin’s out of town again, isn’t he?”

“I don’t see why that’s relevant.”

Cross moved to my desk and scanned each of the eight legal pads I was using for different aspects of my research. “You usually don’t sleep in your office when he’s home. However, the opposite holds true when he isn’t around.” Cross looked up from the papers, cocking an eyebrow at me, but he didn’t inquire which was odd for him. Had my boss finally learned what boundaries were? “You’ve been busy.”

“That’s what happens when you give me back-to-back cases. If you wanted me to relax, you should have given this to someone else.”

“Almeada—”

“Requested me. I know. I need to stop being so amazing.”

Cross snickered. “Sure, we’ll go with that.” He came up beside me and pointed to something I’d taped to the wall. “We’ll need to run everyone’s financials and pull footage from the concert venue and the club.”

“While you’re at it, check to see if you can get anything from the burger joint across from Atlantis or whatever you can find on a pizza truck that was working near the venue that night. But I’m guessing any security cams in the area turn the footage over every thirty days, so I’m not expecting much. Financials will be our best bet, assuming someone paid with a credit card.”

“Hopefully, everyone paid with a credit card. If we can find one person, we’ll see about getting the records of everyone who made a purchase within a few minutes on either side of that.”

“You think that’s how we’ll identify the unknowns from that second group?”

“It’s worth a shot, but the police should have pulled footage. They should have something on these mystery people, but they don’t. Nothing was even mentioned in the investigation notes.”

“Why would they bother? Sydney Breeding didn’t die there. She died inside Dustin’s vacation rental. The security cam footage supposedly shows them entering together. She never left.”

“Supposedly?” Cross asked.

“With the low-res images attached to the file, I can’t say for certain. Dustin said he’d never seen Sydney before. On the off chance our client is telling the truth—”

“Almeada’s our client, not Dustin.”

I gave Cross a look. “On the off chance Dustin is telling the truth, whoever drove him there may have seen or heard something. There could be a witness to corroborate his story.”

“You really think we’re looking for an unknown witness who has never been identified or even suspected of being at the rental around the time of the murder?”

“Maybe.”

“The police really must have botched this one.”

Those words made me queasy. “I know Detective Jacobs. We’ve worked together. He didn’t botch it.”

“Well, either he missed something, or this is everything.” Cross gestured to the files on the coffee table. “Let’s hope he botched it for our client’s sake.”

“I don’t like those options. I’m going with option C.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Cross went back to my desk. “Have you gotten the ball rolling on these requests?”

“Mostly. Whatever I couldn’t get, I left for you to figure out.”

He snorted, as if I’d made a joke, until he saw the look on my face. “You’re serious?”

“You said you wanted to help. I need help.”

“It’s about damn time.”

“Don’t give me that. I’ve come to you for help before.”

“Never willingly. This is progress.”

“If you say so.”

“Come on.” He shut my computer before I could protest. “Let’s get out of here. I told you we had plans.”

“Plans for what? World domination?”

“That depends on how much I drink.”

“We’re drinking?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I don’t want to do anything.”

He paused in the doorway. “All right, Alex. Tell me, what do you plan to do with the rest of your night? It’s past ten. Are you going home? Is Martin waiting?”

“Why don’t you call and ask him?”

“Ah, there’s that hostility. But seriously, if you intend to go home, I won’t stop you. You’ve had a long day.”

“I wasn’t—”

“That’s what I figured.” He jerked his thumb. “Come on. You’re not staying here.”

“I have work to do. You gave it to me.”

“Fine. We’ll stay and work if you can tell me what kind of headway you think you’re going to make when you’ve exhausted the finite facts we currently possess.” He pointed to my desk. “Despite what you may think, I can read. Everything is on hold until tomorrow. I’d say you’ve laid a solid foundation. The rest can wait.”

“Where are we going?”

“I thought we’d get dinner. Maybe a drink.”

Since when did my boss want to socialize with me? This had to be a ploy or scheme. Lucien Cross always had an agenda. “Why?”

“I haven’t eaten. I don’t think you have either, and you delivered on that insurance case I gave you. Consider this a celebratory dinner. A congratulations or a thank you or whatever.” He cleared his throat, a sure sign I was making him nervous. “Kellan says you’re fond of that Mexican place down the street.”

“He’s fond of the waiter there.”

“Where would you like to eat?”

I wasn’t sure what this was about, so I decided it was best not to argue. The fastest way to find out what Cross was up to was to play along. He’d tip his hand eventually. “I don’t care. You pick.”

We were halfway to the lobby when he said, “Do you want to ask James to join us, assuming he’s in town?”

“Why don’t you call and ask him?”

“I’d prefer if it’s just the two of us, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I wasn’t until you said that.” Was Cross fishing to find out where Martin was tonight?

“In that case, feel free to invite him along, or maybe you should call that detective friend of yours. The one on record for Sydney Breeding’s homicide.”

“Jacobs is busy.”

“He didn’t answer when you called?”

How did my boss know I’d called Jacobs? “We don’t have that type of relationship.”

Cross led me through the lobby to a waiting town car parked out front. “So you called him?”

“Of course, I called.” Fishing, I knew it.

He rolled his eyes and got into the car. After giving the driver an address, he turned to face me. “Almeada doesn’t usually make specific requests. When he does, it’s usually something he expects me to do for him. He’s never asked for one of my investigators to handle a matter like this. But you’ve worked with him before.”

“To save you.”

“That was my decision,” Cross said, “not his.”

“So why did he pick me?”

“I told you why.”

“And that wasn’t bullshit?”

“I don’t think so.”

That’s when I realized my boss wasn’t sure what was going on. He was used to being in charge. He ran Cross Security. He called the shots. He assigned investigators to cases. He wasn’t used to playing second fiddle to Almeada or anybody. “Don’t take it personally,” I said. “Your attorney likes me better.”

“He thinks you’re better at this than I am.” Cross studied me. “I think you might be.”

“Well, that goes without saying,” I teased. “However, I need you to repeat it, only omit the first two words this time.”

“You’re enjoying this. Not the joking. Though, I’m sure you’re having a little fun at my expense, but I’m talking about the case.”

“It’s a murder,” I said. “There’s nothing good about it. A woman is dead. For the record, I told Dustin we don’t handle these types of issues.”

“Good, you were paying attention.” Cross maintained the unwavering stare. “But this is the kind of situation you prefer addressing.”

“It’s more important than catching cheating spouses or tracking down false insurance claims.”

“It’s also more dangerous.”

“Is that why you’re assisting? You’re afraid what might happen?”

“With you, Alex, I’m always afraid what might happen.”

Five

Lucien Cross stretched, wincing when his back popped.

I jerked my chin toward him. “It never fully healed, did it?”

“Speaking from experience?” he asked.

“Only my ribs. I always had a sore spot, but after that dislocation, things still shift around a lot.”

“Ouch.”

“Goes with the territory.” I picked up what remained of my buffalo chicken sandwich and took a bite. It was messy, which was why I always vowed to eat them with a fork and knife, but I never did. If my eating habits disgusted my boss, he didn’t let on.

He gestured with his fork before stabbing a steak fry and dunking it in a lump of ketchup. “What about your back? You were having problems with it when you worked on that spa case.”

“I get muscle spasms.”

“Not from previous injuries?”

“Not that I recall. Well, an offender bruised my spine, but that wouldn’t explain the knots I get. I don’t think they’re related.”

“We’re quite the pair.” He gave up on the fork and picked up another fry with his fingers.

I squinted at him. “What the hell is this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you hoping we’ll bond?”

“It’s called friendship, Alex. We share a meal and exchange stories.”

“Are we going to hold hands and skip too?”

He fixed me with his piercing stare. “That would imply a romantic interest.”

I put what remained of my sandwich back on my plate and wiped my hands. “What’s the deal with you and Jade?”

“New topic.”

“Nope,” I said. “You declared us friends. I want to know what the deal is in terms of the L.A. office. You claimed you wanted to expand, that Los Angeles made sense for Cross Security, given the number of clients you have who live or work on the West Coast. But I was under the impression the point of Los Angeles was so you could move there to be with Jade.”

“Jade lives in Colorado.”

“Justin said—”

A fire ignited in Cross’s eyes. “He knows better than to speak out of turn.”

“He wasn’t. I just remember what he said before, and what you’ve said before.” Softening, I asked, “Is that why you haven’t moved yet? She won’t commit?”

“We don’t have enough clients or work in Los Angeles to keep me busy. Most of what we do is already covered by our protection details. Will Russo’s handling whatever stray investigations need our attention. Until we sign more clients or get more cases, I’ll remain here.”

“Okay.”

“Were you hoping to get rid of me?”

“Always,” I teased.

“In case you’re curious, you will not be taking over this office.”

“Thank god.” I ate a fry from the basket we’d been sharing. “For the record, that’s not a job I’d want. I tried the corporate thing. It didn’t go well.”

“Which is what I was hinting at before we left work. Murders, serious crimes, whatever it may be, that’s what you prefer doing.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Cross laughed. “Most of your coworkers prefer the quiet jobs. The easy assignments. Clearly, something is very wrong with you.”

“Agreed.”

Cross glanced around, but the bar where we were eating had cleared out. The bartender wasn’t in any rush to throw us out, and whoever was working the kitchen remained in the back in case we wanted to order something else. “How did you know James Martin didn’t kill that woman on his yacht?”

“He had no reason.”

“Men kill women all the time. I don’t think any of them have a good reason, but that doesn’t stop them. She could have rejected him. She could have tried to force herself on him. She could have said or done something to anger him. The police reports said drugs were involved. Emotions could have been heightened. Rational thought could have taken a backseat.”

“You’re twisting things. Martin was passed out. He couldn’t have been responsible.”

“But you didn’t have those facts at the time. How did you know?” Lucien waved a fry at me. “You had doubts, didn’t you?”

“Not about the murder.”

“About what?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I picked up the pickle spear, unsure if I wanted to eat it or throw it at my boss. “I thought you wanted to be friends. Why are you trying to piss me off?”

“I just want to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“How you knew he didn’t do it.”

“He wouldn’t be violent unless provoked or unless he didn’t have a choice.”

“Like when he went after your adoptive father?”

“Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.” Cross held up his hands. “I am. I’m sorry. That was a low blow. If anyone knows a thing or two about anger issues, it’s me.”

I wasn’t sure why we were having this conversation or why I didn’t leave, but I stayed. If asked about it later, I’d say the damn fries beckoned. That was the only logical explanation I could come up with as to why I was sitting here explaining the past to someone who didn’t need to know about it. “Martin isn’t a killer. He doesn’t lose his temper usually.”

“Unless it comes to you.”

I couldn’t disagree.

“I’m not saying this is the case. In fact, I’m certain it isn’t, but humor me for a moment. Hypothetically, if a woman threatened to come between the two of you, would you consider the possibility he’d do something to stop it?” Cross asked.

“We weren’t together at the time. In fact, I was sure the reason he was the prime suspect was because he’d been seeing her.”

“Had he?”

“No.”

“But you still believed he wouldn’t kill her.”

“I can’t explain that to you, Lucien. I can’t explain any of my gut feelings. That’s all they are. Gut feelings.”

“What does your gut say about Dustin Ford?”

“He’s innocent.”

“That’s going to be hard to prove, unless the police screwed up.”

I let the reality of the situation sink in. “The facts remain, but those aren’t the only facts. Sydney Breeding came out of nowhere. She had no connections to Dustin or his friends.”

“What about her friends?” Cross asked.

“I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“While you were redecorating your office and calling your buddies in blue, I did some digging. As far as I can tell, none of her friends went to the concert that night.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I can’t.”

“That doesn’t help us,” I said.

“Her financials should tell us more. Sydney would have had to have purchased tickets at some point. All I can say is she didn’t use her credit card or debit card to make the purchase at the box office or from an official ticketing site.”

“She didn’t have a ticket?”

“I didn’t say that,” he said. “We can’t rule out third-party sites, scalpers, or the remote possibility she paid cash.”

“That’s why you think the pizza truck or burger joint may be of use.”

“It may not lead to anything.”

“Wouldn’t those charges be on her credit card or bank statements?”

“Not if she paid cash or if one of her friends or someone in Dustin’s group paid. So far, I haven’t found any charges from that night on any of her accounts. Sydney didn’t have a lot of money. I’m not sure she could afford to splurge on luxuries like concert tickets.”

“Do you think someone else paid for her night out?”

“That’s the only explanation I can see, unless she stashed her tip money away to use for a rainy day.”

“Then everything would be paid in cash,” I said. “We need to find someone else who was there that night so we can ask about Sydney.”

“The police should have done it. It was one of the first things they should have done.”

“They took statements from Moe, Larry, and Curly, but they stuck up for Dustin and said they didn’t recognize Sydney. That some other woman drove Dustin back to his rental.”

“Moe, Larry, and Curly?” Cross asked.

“Mike, Norman, and Joe,” I clarified. “But they’d say anything to protect their friend.”

“That’s why the police should have looked for other witnesses, the food truck driver, the guy working the counter at the burger joint, the doorman at Atlantis. At the time, their memories would have been fresh and we’d have a better chance of finding the group on security cam footage.”

“Again, I’ll remind you Sydney wasn’t killed at any of those places. She was killed inside the vacation rental.”

“Are you sure?” Cross asked.

“What do you mean?”

“She was strangled. No blood. No signs of a struggle. Isn’t it possible she died elsewhere and was dumped there?”

“I guess, but the security cam out front didn’t see anyone lugging a body inside the house. In fact, we’re operating under the assumption the woman who entered with Dustin is Sydney Breeding, pre-mortem, despite what his friends told the police.”

Cross considered what I said. “Okay, let’s say she was killed inside the rental. We still don’t know why. The police didn’t put a lot of effort into finding motive either. They found pills and coke and decided that was reason enough to explain her murder. An attractive young woman strangled doesn’t scream rage killing. If anything, I’d almost wonder if it could have been sexual.”

“Nothing indicated it was.”

“They should have looked into it anyway.”

“You’re right.” I thought about what I’d read. “Dustin doesn’t have a history with drugs. Besides edibles and alcohol, he claims to have been clean. The blood tests which were ordered days later didn’t show anything else in his system. Maybe there’s something to that. Sydney wasn’t high. Neither was Dustin. Yet, there were drugs inside the rental beside her body. Maybe whoever brought the drugs, killed her.” Except, no one else had gone to the rental according to the surveillance footage.

“Dustin may not have a record or a dealer on speed dial, but his father owns and operates a pharmaceutical company. He wouldn’t need street-level dealers. The guy could get whatever he wanted from any number of people, or he could have some pal working in the lab come up with designer shit for him. Ecstasy is lab created. Most things are.”

“Don’t flip-flop on me, Lucien. You’re bound to give me whiplash. One minute, you seem convinced Dustin didn’t do it, and the next, you’re explaining how the drugs inside the rental could have belonged to him.”

“I don’t know what happened or who did what. I wasn’t there,” Cross said. “But that’s how I work.”

“You’re your own worst enemy.”

“Don’t I fucking know it.”

I picked up my glass and clinked it against the side of his. “Let’s start a club. We can be co-presidents.”

“I thought you didn’t want to bond.”

I ignored him. “Rule one of our newfound club. We don’t speak about the club. You mention a word of this to anyone, and I’ll bury you.”

“I never pegged you for a Fight Club fan.”

“Is that why you wanted to bond? You needed movie recommendations?”

“Maybe.”

My mind went back to the case. “Don’t flip-flop. Answer with your gut, not your head. Do you think Dustin Ford killed her?”

Cross didn’t answer. Instead, he gave me a half-assed shrug and signaled for another basket of fries.

“That doesn’t help,” I said.

“I wasn’t in the room with Dustin. I can’t answer that until I talk to him.”

“You could have sat in on the meeting. It’s not like you needed my permission.” I hoped he’d disagree or say he didn’t want to micromanage. We’d gone around on that dozens of times, but despite our friendly dinner, he didn’t cave. Lucien Cross wasn’t that old, but he didn’t seem capable of new tricks either.

Something dark floated behind his eyes. “Almeada kept me away from that conference room.”

“Does that mean something?”

Cross slurped down his drink, avoiding answering for as long as possible. After blotting his lips, he cleared his throat. “Almeada knows I play cards. That I read people.”

“He didn’t want you reading Dustin Ford.” I slammed my palm on the table. “Fuck. Almeada knows he’s guilty.”

“Knows may be too strong a word. You heard him. He’s not a priest. He doesn’t take confessions. But yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.”

“Then why did he ask me to handle this?”

“Maybe he thinks Martin was guilty too.”

“Martin didn’t—”

Cross held up his hand to silence me. “I know. I heard you the first five times. The real killer confessed. Everyone’s serving prison sentences. Martin was a victim. I got it.”

Getting sidetracked, I asked, “Do other people think that could be bullshit? That incident happened a few years ago.” Shit, did I miss one of our million anniversaries? Shaking off the wayward thought, I continued with my questioning. “I thought that ordeal had been forgotten.”

“Conspiracy nuts will always have alternative explanations for things. Drama, gossip, it changes from day to day. People forget until they remember again. I don’t think that’s a topic at the forefront of anyone’s thoughts.”

“Except Almeada’s.”

“Think about it from his perspective. Before we ever crossed paths, you cleared James Martin’s name. Since then, you’ve cleared mine. And Almeada knows all my dirty little secrets. As far as he’s concerned, you’re a miracle worker.”

“And he thinks his client needs a miracle.”

“I don’t know what he knows and what he doesn’t. But top defense attorneys don’t care if their client is guilty or innocent. All they care about is if they can get an acquittal.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for setting a killer loose,” I said. “I’ll never be okay with that.”

“You already set a killer loose.”

I paused, unsure what he meant until I realized he was referring to himself. “You don’t count.”

“You don’t know me that well, Alex. I’ve done things.”

“Who hasn’t?”

He studied me for a long time. “I bet mine is worse than yours.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, but we’re not comparing ledgers. Too many ghosts haunt me as it is.”

“Yours haunt you?”

“Most of them.”

Cross thought about it. “I don’t have that problem.”

“You’re lucky.”

“Maybe I’m nothing but a self-centered bastard.”

“Agreed, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t deserve it. That’s probably how you made peace with it.”

“You have names on your ledger that you don’t think deserved it?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes, I wonder if there may have been other solutions.”

Cross studied me for a long time. “One of these days, we should compare stories.”

“I’m not into mutually assured destruction, even if that’s how you run your business.”

“I can’t help it. One of my earliest clients taught me that lesson, and Ace Darrow reinforced it.”

Six

The next morning, I found myself at the precinct. Detective Jacobs hadn’t called back yet, so I thought I’d save him the trouble, especially since he looked swamped.

“Detective,” I dragged the nearest chair over to his desk and sat down, “did you get my message?”

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t look up from what he was doing.

“And?”

“I worked the scene, followed the evidence, and made an arrest. What’s the problem?”

“I hope there isn’t one, but I don’t know. All I know is Mr. Almeada has Cross Security on retainer. He asked me to look into it. I have no intention of making a mockery of your investigation or painting you as incompetent. We’ve worked together before, so I wanted to make sure you knew this wasn’t personal. I like you, Jacobs. I’m sure you did your job. Unfortunately, it’s my job to go over everything again and see if there’s something you missed.”

Jacobs glanced up. “You’ve always been straight with me, Parker, even if you plan on ripping my investigation to shreds.”

“That’s not—”

“I know.” Jacobs reached for his coffee cup. “But Almeada wants you to prove I screwed up. He has a duty to his client, and you have an obligation to Cross Security. I get it. This is business. I won’t hold it against you.”

“Thanks.” I scanned the piles of paperwork on his desk. “Any chance I can get—”

He pointed to a folder with photocopies. “That’s what you want. It contains notes on the investigation, a witness list, leads, and copies of statements.”

“You’re just giving me this?”

He put his coffee cup down. “You may have noticed I’m a little busy. Save the song and dance. Take what you want and do what you do. All I ask,” he placed his hand over the folder before I could pick it up, “is you come to me with whatever you find first. If I missed something, I want to know what it was and figure out how it happened. Also, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell the DA’s office about this.”

“The DA isn’t on my Christmas card list, so there’s no reason to worry about word getting back to him. As for bringing whatever I find to you first, I’ll try. Ford’s been arraigned and released on bail. He’s awaiting trial. Almeada will want whatever I find as soon as I find it.”

“Understood.”

“Shouldn’t the police have closed the case? Shouldn’t you be in the clear?”

“It depends on how hard the DA comes down on the brass and how hard the brass wants to come down on me in the event I got it wrong.”

“More than likely, I won’t find anything.”

“If you do, let me know. I’d hate to think I screwed someone who didn’t deserve it.”

“All right.”

He took his hand off the folder. “Good luck.”

“Can I ask you something?”

His focus was back on the screen in front of him. “What is it?”

“Didn’t you find it odd that no one recognized the vic from the concert or as part of the group that Dustin and his friends hooked up with?”

“There was no other group. I checked phones and took statements. Ford and his friends left the venue by themselves and went to a club. Presumably, that’s where he met the vic. He invited her back to his place. Things took a turn. He got rough, and she got dead. He tried to establish an alibi by spending the next day with his friend, but the coroner said the vic died eighteen hours earlier. Ford admitted to being alone in the house the previous night. The surveillance footage doesn’t show anyone else entering. It was pretty open and shut.”

“How do you know there was no second group?”

“No photos. No names. Nothing that could point me to any of them. Dustin Ford and his friends made them up, hoping to throw off the investigation.”

I leafed through the folder. “Ford didn’t confess.”

“Nope. He stuck to his story. The guy’s smart. He knew the less he said, the better off he’d be. That way he couldn’t trip himself up or get caught in a lie.”

“Unless he wasn’t lying.”

Jacobs fixed me with the full weight of his stare. “Do you believe he’s innocent?”

“We’ll see.”

“Like I said, let me know what you find. This reads pretty straightforward, but if I missed something, I want to know what. I do what I can to avoid mistakes, but I’d hate to think I had the wrong guy. I just don’t see how that’s possible.”

Instead of leaving the precinct with my prize, I stopped by O’Connell’s desk. He didn’t look as busy as Jacobs.

“Morning, Nick. How’s it going?” I asked.

“Until a few seconds ago, I couldn’t complain. Are you hoping to consult on something since you’re back in the police department’s good graces?” He thumbed a stack of files. “I don’t have anything for you. Maybe the cold case unit could scrounge something up if you’re bored.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” And given why I was, I wondered how long I’d remain in the PD’s aforementioned good graces.

O’Connell sighed dramatically. “Of course not. You only show up when you’re in the middle of something or causing trouble. Which is it? Or is it both?”

“The first, I think. Can you go over the choices again? I don’t want to give you the wrong answer.”

“Is everything okay? You’re not in cuffs, and you don’t look like you’ve been in a fight. I’m hoping those are good signs.”

“Almeada has me investigating a murder.”

“Cross must love that.”

“He’s elated,” I deadpanned. “It was Jacobs’ case, an open and shut.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t mine. Does Jacobs know?”

“I just told him the good news.”

O’Connell rubbed his eyes. “Parker, you know we’re family, but I can’t help you with this. You know Jacobs. He’s on the level.”

“That isn’t in question.” I shared the specifics about the case and the comparison Cross and Almeada had made between this murder investigation and the one in which James Martin had been named a suspect. “They may have a point, but it’s rare for lightning to strike twice.”

“You remember what Heathcliff told you. Nine times out of ten, the only guy in the room with the body is the killer. Those were special circumstances surrounding Caterina Skolnick’s murder. That was a fluke, probably your bad luck rubbing off on Martin which put him in the wrong place at the wrong time. But since you don’t know this Ford guy, he doesn’t have that excuse.”

“Lucky him.”

“Almeada wanted to sow the seeds of doubt to get you on board. That’s why he brought up the Skolnick murder and reminded you of Martin’s innocence. He’s a defense attorney. He knows how to manipulate people’s emotions.”

“I know how lawyers operate. I also know everyone makes mistakes. Cases pile up. Nights turn into days. Doubles turn into triples. Isn’t it possible someone missed something? It may not have been Jacobs. It could have been the coroner, a tech, or security at the concert.”

O’Connell didn’t look convinced. “Did Cross assign you this because he knows everyone around here is more likely to play ball when dealing with you?”

“Possibly, but Almeada made the request.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to know if we’ll still be friends after the dust settles?”

“Sure.”

“C’mon, Nick. That’s not how this works. If I go after a cop or someone in the department and prove he got it wrong—”

“You’ve done that plenty. You always shake things up, and you almost died a few times because of it. As it stands, most cops don’t trust you. I’m not one of them. Jacobs isn’t one of them either.” O’Connell nodded at the folder. “He wouldn’t have given you that if he didn’t want you to find the truth. He gets it. Everyone in major crimes does. And we’ve taken the heat plenty of times because of it.”

Memories of cops threatening Jen, Nick’s wife, and taking swings at Detective Heathcliff came to mind. “I don’t want to start another war.”

“So don’t. You said you aren’t going after Jacobs, so this shouldn’t be a problem. You double-check his work and let Almeada know what you find. He’s defending the suspect, so it’s up to him what happens after that. This isn’t on you.”

I lowered my voice. “What if Jacobs got it wrong?”

“Do you think he did?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Shit.” O’Connell drummed his pen on the desk. “You think your client is innocent. Is this because of what Almeada said?”

“It’s because he looked me straight in the eye and told me he didn’t do it.”

“Every perp says that.”

“This was different. Then again, Almeada didn’t want Cross in the room, and my boss thinks that’s because our client is guilty.”

“Cross would know Almeada’s tricks better than you. They’ve been working together a long time. In which case, you have nothing to worry about. Do your job and let the pieces fall where they may. For the record, I doubt you’ll find anything. This is Jacobs we’re talking about.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Seven

The drive from the precinct to Cross Security didn’t take long, or maybe it did. I was stuck in my head, confused after today’s conversations and the one I had last night with Cross. None of that mattered. All that mattered was going over the facts and reaching my own conclusions.

The million things that needed to be done came to mind. With any luck, Almeada sent over discovery and the techs were already dissecting and parsing through the mess. That was the only good thing about not working solo. I didn’t have to do the research and grunt work myself.

“Ms. Parker,” the receptionist stopped me when I stepped off the elevator, “the lab left you a message. They have received the crime scene photos and hope to have the scene recreated by end of business today.”

“Five o’clock?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I fought not to cringe. Now wasn’t the time to bring up personal issues with the word ma’am. “Where are the rest of the files?”

“The techs are in the process of digitizing everything and uploading it to our servers. Most of that should be complete by now. The paper copies are on your desk.”

“Thanks.”

“One more thing,” she said before I could disappear behind a pile of boxes, “the medical staff noted a few discrepancies with the autopsy report. Mr. Cross sent Mr. Karam to speak to the coroner and the lab techs who ran the tests. Mr. Karam should be back after lunch with his report.”

Amir Karam ran the lab. He’d been with Cross Security since the early days. Amir had been a well-respected member of the law enforcement community and an expert in several scientific fields. He’d left Quantico by the time I went through the program, but he had always been spoken about in revered tones. For him to question the ME’s results, something had to be seriously wrong.

Unsure why Cross hadn’t bothered to call or text about this new development, I let myself into my office. The work I’d done the previous night greeted me from where it hung on the walls. Maybe I should have called in sick.

Despite the work I’d already put in, I hadn’t made much headway. Since I’d be hearing from Amir, I didn’t touch the ME’s report. I’d let the expert talk me through whatever issues he’d found. Instead, I started with the freshly uploaded surveillance footage from the vacation rental.

The footage covered everything from the day Dustin Ford checked in until he was set to check out. I hit play, noting the 12:01 a.m. timestamp. Cranking up the playback speed, I settled into my chair and stared at the monitor. If I were smarter, I would have gotten a cup of coffee to keep me company.

Besides a squirrel that ran onto the porch and disappeared once he made it to the edge of the welcome mat, there was no other activity until 4:53 a.m. the following morning. That was almost twenty-nine hours later.

An exhausted and intoxicated Dustin Ford went up the two steps to the front door. He paused, leaning against the wall while he searched his phone for the door code. Once he had it, he disappeared from view.

A woman with dark blonde hair came up behind him. She stepped toward the door and vanished off screen once she made it to the threshold. She hadn’t looked in the direction of the camera. But she had the same coloring and build as the vic. As far as I could tell, she didn’t leave.

I noted the relevant timestamps before speeding up playback. Approximately eight hours later, at 12:47 p.m., Dustin Ford stepped out of the rental. He looked much steadier than the previous night. If anything, he looked utterly at ease. For someone who allegedly committed murder eight hours ago, he looked fantastic. Maybe he was a serial killer. That was the only explanation I could come up with as to why he looked reasonably well-rested and relaxed as he went down the steps.

No one else came or went during Dustin’s absence, not even the squirrel from the previous day. I took that to mean the footage hadn’t been looped, even though any expert could have easily cut that part out, but one of the police department’s techs or Cross’s techs would have noticed if the footage had been altered. The simple fact was no one else entered or left the house that day.

The footage showed Dustin returning at 8:06 p.m. A little later than he had mentioned during our interview. If anything, that made his story more believable. Most liars had the details memorized. Since Dustin was off by about fifteen minutes, that made it more likely he was relying on memory, which wasn’t always reliable. I made a note of that in case I questioned Dustin again.

After that, the security cam footage returned to the monotony of nothing but the front steps. At 9:02, flashing lights painted the front door blue and red. A uniformed police officer went up the steps. After a moment, he disappeared into the house. I kept watching, but things played out the way I thought they would.

After securing the scene, the officer waited for help to arrive. An ambulance showed up first, a necessary step in declaring the victim dead, despite the obvious circumstances. Detective Jacobs arrived a few minutes before the ME, a little after ten. Additional officers were called to the scene.

I could only assume when they left that they had been instructed to conduct a canvass. The body was rolled out, zipped inside a black bag. Just like taking out the garbage, I thought. Dammit, Parker, my internal voice berated. Now was not the time for gallows humor or off-color comments. But that’s how I coped with seeing someone’s life reduced to that.

Since I couldn’t see the vic, I had to assume, like the police did, that the body in the bag had been the woman on the porch the previous night. But unlike Jacobs and the rest of the circus which had been traipsing in and out of the vacation rental since the initial call came in, I hadn’t seen the body, which made IDing the vic that much harder. Then again, the police hadn’t really gotten a good look at the woman from the previous night either since the security cam footage left a lot to be desired. But if she wasn’t the vic, where did she go?

“That’s why this is open and shut,” I said.

“You better hope it isn’t,” Cross said from my doorway.

“How do you always manage to walk in when I’m in the middle of a private conversation?”

Cross looked around. “Who are you talking to?”

“Myself.”

“You are aware Cross Security has a team of trained mental health professionals on the payroll.”

I glared at him. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to make sure you received Almeada’s files.”

“Everything, except the coroner’s report. What’s the deal with that?”

“No TOD.”

“You’re joking.”

“It was never narrowed down on the official report. The initial assessment gave a window, but it wasn’t rubber-stamped. Amir looked everything over. There were discrepancies in the findings, which is why no time was listed. All we know for certain is Sydney Breeding was dead at least eighteen hours before her body was discovered.”

“Eighteen?” That’s what Jacobs had said.

“Yeah, but Amir thinks it may have been longer.”

“Are we sure that’s correct?” I checked the times I’d noted. Even if Sydney had been killed immediately after entering, that would maybe be seventeen hours until the police arrived. More than likely, we’d be looking at sixteen for a reasonable timeframe, which didn’t go along with the report. Why hadn’t Almeada noticed this? It was basic math.

“Nothing about the ME’s report seemed correct which is why I sent Amir to handle it. He has friends there. He can get answers,” Cross said.

“I take it the coroner hates you.”

“We aren’t on the best terms.”

“Honestly, Lucien, I’d say that’s a good thing.”

Eight

While I waited for Amir to return, I pulled up an aerial view of the vacation rental. Even though it had been listed as an apartment on the rental agreement, it resembled a tiny, two-story townhouse. The backyard had a patio with an umbrella and a cheap barbecue set. A tall privacy fence divided that parcel from the neighbor’s on either side, and another unit mirrored it from behind.

Wondering if someone could have slipped out the back, I checked the police reports. The backyard had been searched. No footprints. No disturbed dirt. No scrapes or scratches. Nothing indicated anyone had been out there, and even if they had, the police didn’t believe anyone could have scaled the fence without using a chair or ladder.

The canvass hadn’t turned up anything either. The only disturbance the neighbors had reported were screams coming from the rental. They believed the sound had come from a man, which Dustin said had been him.

I checked the files and records we had. Almeada hadn’t included any other security footage, but the owner had a camera set up out back. According to Almeada, no one had been out there. The police reports indicated the same thing.

Still, I wanted that footage. While it was unreasonable to assume I could find something on it that Jacobs and Almeada missed, I couldn’t dismiss the possibility it had been tampered with. I’d want experts to say it hadn’t before I’d give up on what was surely another dead end.

My phone rang, and I reached for it. “Hello?”

“Ms. Parker, Mr. Karam is on his way.”

“Thanks, Janet.” I put the phone down and swiveled in my chair in time to see Amir step into my office. “You weren’t going to knock?”

He slid into the client chair across from my desk, his mind on other things. As soon as it caught up to what I had said, he glanced back at the door. “I’m sorry. Did you want me to?”

“No, you’re good.” I jerked my chin at the pages he had in front of him. “What’s going on?”

“Did Lucien inform you of the discrepancy with the autopsy report?”

“He said there was no official TOD listed.”

“There isn’t.”

“Detective Jacobs told me eighteen hours. Lucien said at least eighteen. What’s the verdict?”

“An ME’s assistant arrived on scene to conduct the preliminaries before the body was taken to the morgue. Several members of CSU were there, collecting evidence, photographing the body—”

“Doing what they do best.”

“Pretty much. Liver temp at the scene indicated the victim had been dead around eighteen hours. Based on when that was taken, that would have placed TOD around the time Dustin Ford returned home with a woman.”

“Presumably the vic,” I said.

“Right.” Amir looked uncomfortable. “However—”

“This is where things get interesting, I take it.” Grabbing a pen, I leaned forward, hoping Amir was about to say something that would get Dustin Ford off the hook and keep Jacobs from being blamed for the miscarriage of justice.

“The storage unit in the morgue where the body was kept suffered a malfunction. The temperature fluctuations caused the tissue to degrade faster, making establishing an actual TOD impossible.”

“Can’t Almeada use that?” I asked.

“Possibly, but I doubt he believes it’s enough to convince a jury Dustin Ford is innocent. The security footage from outside the rental shows they were the only two people inside. With the woman dead and no other suspects, would your average citizen care what time she was killed or let the killer get away with it because the fridge broke?”

“Probably not.” I read the pages he had in front of him, even though they were upside down. “The ME’s assistant said eighteen hours, but he didn’t arrive until after ten. Eighteen hours would be four a.m.”

“Probably 4:30.”

“Dustin Ford didn’t arrive at the rental until almost five.”

“It’s close enough. These are estimates. Ambient temperature could play a part. Thirty minutes isn’t significant enough to prove Dustin Ford’s innocent, especially when the vic was caught entering alive on the security cam footage.”

“Was she?”

“Alive?” Amir must have thought I was crazy. “Didn’t you watch the footage?”

“Yes, but I didn’t see her face. Are you positive that’s Sydney Breeding?”

“The angles are wrong for an ID.”

“Can’t we do something with that?”

“Ms. Parker,” Amir said in a tone that meant he was about to dumb down a master-level lecture to make it understandable to a kindergartener, “we have no basis—”

I waved my hand at him, dismissing whatever he was about to say. One thing at a time, Parker. “Forget that for now. Let’s get back to TOD. Pretend the timestamps are off or you didn’t see when the woman entered the house. Does the ME have any way of determining how the malfunctioning refrigeration could have impacted TOD?”

“Based on the degradation, it appears the vic would have been dead for at least two days prior to what the preliminary report suggested, but it’s reasonable to assume that the power fluctuations resulting in sub-par temperatures, both too cold and too hot, led to the rapid—”

“Can we test that to know for sure?” I asked.

“Research has been conducted by body farms across the country. The FBI—”

“Amir,” I stopped him from going through the history of modern-day forensics, “can you run some sort of test or comparison on the unit where the morgue stowed the vic to determine how badly those results were skewed?”

“No. As soon as the malfunction was discovered, the body was moved to a functioning unit and the autopsy was conducted soon after. In the meantime, maintenance fixed the malfunction. There’s no way to recreate those exact conditions or speculate how the power fluctuations would have increased and decreased the temperature while the body was being stored.”

“Dammit.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have better news.”

“That’s not your fault. Almeada ought to find some way to use this.” My legal training left a lot to be desired, but this could be something. “If he can get the preliminary findings tossed because they weren’t supported, maybe he could…I don’t know.” I scribbled something onto the page, figuring this may be the only thing I had to show for my work once all was said and done.

“To answer your earlier question, the footage leaves a lot to be desired, Ms. Parker. The only security cam that covers the front of the rental is the single fixed camera posted above the doorway. It catches people coming up the walkway, but once they enter the house, that’s all she wrote.”

“And the rear camera’s supposedly useless.” I reached for the file Jacobs gave me. The crime scene photos were taken of the body and the surrounding area. That wasn’t helpful either. “Have you found anything on Sydney Breeding?”

“Her background check came back clean. No known ties to the victim. Her financials don’t support the story she was at the concert, but Lucien’s looking into it.”

“What about phone records?”

“I don’t know how that will help.”

“What about her home?” I asked. “Did the police ever locate her phone?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

I leafed through the file. The canvass included a search, but no phones or personal effects had been found within the vicinity. I stopped, checking the crime lab’s analysis. “CSU didn’t find any fingerprints matching the victim inside Dustin’s car.”

“They found a few long, blonde hairs,” Amir pointed out.

“They were never matched to the vic.” I glanced at Amir. “The prosecutor didn’t put a rush on that, or he didn’t like the results. It’s not part of discovery. The car isn’t even mentioned. Did Almeada overlook this?”

“I don’t know.”

“All right.” I had more work to do. “Is there anything else?”

“Funny, I was going to ask you that.”

“I’ll let you know.”

He nodded. “Same.”

Once he was gone, I got up to pace. According to Dustin, the woman had driven them to the rental in his car. But her prints weren’t on the steering wheel or seat belt release, and I doubted the hairs were a match. If they were, the prosecutor would have wanted them admitted into evidence, establishing the two had been together. Sure, it may have been unnecessary, but it would have strengthened his case. Instead, he didn’t bother.

Was this a case of mistaken identity? Dustin said he’d never seen the dead woman before. Everyone assumed that was a lie, but again, I couldn’t help but think my client was telling the truth.

Jacobs wouldn’t have been too concerned when the fingerprints didn’t come up as a match. Prints could easily be wiped or smeared. DNA always took a long time. Since the investigation had moved quickly, Jacobs would have already made the arrest and closed the case by the time anything came back on the hair. He probably didn’t even know the vic hadn’t been inside the car.

After being processed, the car was moved to impound until Dustin was released. Once he was free, he picked it up from the lot. Any evidence that may have existed would be long gone by now.

I called Almeada’s office and left a message with his assistant. Between the morgue’s malfunctioning cold storage and the lack of evidence inside Dustin’s car, the attorney should have something to run with. Wasn’t he supposed to be the best?

Before doing anything else, I decided to check out the vacation rental. I had seen enough photos of the interior and the few feet of exterior the front camera recorded, but I wanted to see what the place looked like in person.

After copying down the address, I left my office in a state of disarray. The vacation rental wasn’t in a particularly vacation-y area. It was in a quiet neighborhood not far from the train. The houses were wedged together in a long row, all very tiny. A trendy coffee shop was at the end of the block beside a twenty-four hour pharmacy. I parked near the coffee shop, deciding I’d treat myself to a white chocolate mocha after checking out the house.

The sidewalks were quiet, not a lot of coming and going the closer I got to the house. The pavers had small cracks, the result of last winter’s freeze. The house had a small driveway, big enough to hold a single car. Since a sedan with out-of-state plates was parked there, I had to assume someone was staying there. Did the owner mention the murder on the listing? I was half-tempted to ring the bell and ask, but I didn’t want to ruin someone’s vacation. Instead, I strolled up the driveway.

Looking for evidence six months after the fact would be a waste of time. I wasn’t sure how long the police had kept the scene contained, but once it was released, the owner must have had it professionally cleaned. Who knew how many people had stayed here since, or how many times the surfaces had been scoured and the linens sanitized or replaced?

I scanned the patch of grass that served as a front lawn. Even the squirrel had moved on. Not that I spoke squirrel, but he may have been the only eyewitness.

“You’re losing it,” I muttered. Making my way up the two steps, I paused underneath the awning and looked up. The security camera was posted right above the door, tilted a little to see whoever came up the steps, but so high that it wouldn’t provide a great view of their faces unless they looked straight at it.

I waved at the camera, wondering if anyone was monitoring the feed. Once I was on the porch, I moved a few steps closer and waved again. Since I didn’t think to bring a tape measure, I took a step and held up my hand with the corresponding number. Two steps, two fingers. Three steps, etc.

Once I made it to the door, I stopped. I was positive I was in the camera’s blind spot. I was almost directly beneath the device. And given how the squirrel had vanished once he made it to the welcome mat, I assumed the same would hold true for me.

Turning, I pressed my back against the door and surveyed the area. The steps led to the walkway, which led to the car and the street. The side of the porch had no railing, just a big step down. The raised porch wasn’t high enough to require railing, though it would have been wise to implement such things for insurance purposes, especially when renting out the property, but it was high enough that most people wouldn’t decide to step down from there either.

I, however, was not most people. So I moved sideways along the porch and stepped onto the grass. From here, I had a straight shot through the grass to the sidewalk. Had the camera seen me?

Pulling out my phone, I dialed Cross. “Hey, Lucien,” I said, “we need the security cam footage from the vacation rental from the last five minutes.”

“Why?”

“See if you can spot me.”

Nine

Could the woman who had driven Dustin Ford home that night have decided to take a shortcut through the grass to catch her alleged rideshare? That would explain how she evaded the camera when she left. But why go to the trouble?

It had been late and dark. She could have been tired or thought that was faster. I didn’t know. Also, I wasn’t convinced I hadn’t made this story up in my head. The only way to know for sure would be to find the woman from that night, assuming she was alive.

The murder hadn’t been considered a high-profile case. Sydney Breeding was nobody special. She was a waitress and wannabe actress who barely scraped by. Dustin Ford would have been a high-profile suspect, except the name change and his desire to remain anonymous had kept him off reporters’ radar. No one batted an eye when he’d been named a suspect. Detective Jacobs preferred it that way.

No alerts had been issued or requests for information had been made on the local news. The case had been easy, well as easy as any homicide investigation can be. Tip lines hadn’t been necessary. Was it too late to use them now?

Almeada could take out an ad requesting anyone who had been at the concert or club reach out to us, but I doubted a top defense attorney would resort to such measures. He had a reputation to protect, and surely, Cross Security felt the same way. We were private eyes. We were supposed to operate in the shadows and handle matters quietly, which was why I was standing on the sidewalk in front of the house, wondering where to go from here.

Once Cross called back with the details on the security cam, I’d have less reason to hang around. But I didn’t want to venture too far in case we needed to run another test to check the camera’s limitations.

The back of the house remained a mystery. Again, I considered knocking and asking the occupant if I could look around, but something told me not to do that. Instead, I went around the block, checking for openings.

Once I turned at the end of the street, I noted the length of privacy fence. A dumpster stood in front of it. After looking around to make sure no one was paying an inordinate amount of attention to me, since the last thing I needed was footage hitting the internet of me climbing on top of a dumpster, I hoisted myself up.

From here, I could see the tiny square yards sectioned off by the insanely high fencing. The vacation rental was three squares up on the left. The yard didn’t look like much, but none of the yards looked like much. The one across from it was equally empty. If someone had fled, they wouldn’t have gotten far unless they had gone through someone else’s house.

“Uh…excuse me,” a voice said from below.

I turned, holding on to the edge of the fence to keep from losing my balance. “Yes?”

“What are you doing up there?” At least the woman asking wasn’t a cop.

“Taking in the sights.”

“What sights?”

“The yards. I…uh…wanted to see if my ex remembered to let the dog out.”

“It’s hard when you have to split custody and be away from your fur baby,” she said.

“It absolutely is.” I crouched, turning and placing my hands on the lid before jumping down. “Do you live around here?”

“No.”

“Okay.” I gave her a bright smile. “Have a nice day.” On the plus side, she didn’t have a camera aimed at me.

I continued my trek, turning at the next block and circling back to where I started. Before I made it back to the rental, Cross called.

“Did you go inside the house?” he asked.

“No.”

“Are you still standing on the porch?”

“No.”

“Huh.”

“Huh, indeed. I take it you didn’t notice when I left.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“I figured as much.” I filled him in on my theory while I went back to my car. “Do you think it’s possible the woman who drove Dustin home left him there alone?”

“Even if she did, that doesn’t explain how the dead woman ended up inside the rental.”

“Could she have already been inside?”

“Alive or dead?” Cross asked.

“I don’t know.” I let his words process. “If the preliminary TOD is correct, she must have been alive. Maybe she surprised Dustin, who panicked and thought he was defending himself.”

“That sounds like the kind of thing Almeada could argue to get the charges downgraded to manslaughter.”

“But that wouldn’t explain why Dustin didn’t report it immediately or why he did any of the things he did the next day before returning to the rental.”

“Maybe he was in shock or thought it had been a dream. He admitted to being wasted that night.” Cross hesitated. “Unless she was already dead.”

“Pull the rental records and find out who stayed in that house before Dustin and when they were there.”

“While I’m at it, I should see if professional cleaners or the owner checked the house in between guests. Is there anything else I should do in the meantime, boss?” Cross teased.

I smiled. “That should be it.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked, more serious now.

“I’ll pay Dustin’s friends a visit and see what they can tell me about the night in question and the group they hooked up with.”

“Good luck.”

I was going to need it.

*       *       *

I stood outside Mike Rapleman’s parents’ house. Since they lived outside the city, I figured I’d start at the furthest point and work my way back. Two cars were parked in the driveway. A fluffy dog stared at me from inside the house, her tail swishing back and forth, but she didn’t bark.

I wasn’t an expert when it came to dog breeds. She looked almost like a poodle and was just as big. At least the tail-wagging indicated she was friendly.

I went up the walkway and knocked on the glass door. The dog bumped against the door with her nose before turning around to seek help. Hopefully, the Raplemans were as friendly as their pooch.

A woman stepped into view, confused why the dog was whining and nudging her. I offered a friendly smile and a little wave. She approached the door, looking a little uncertain.

“May I help you?” she asked from the other side of the glass.

“I hope so,” I said. “Does Mike Rapleman live here?”

“What is this regarding?”

“I was told he’s friends with Dustin Ford. I have a few questions.” I held up my business card for her to see. “Mr. Ford’s attorney hired me to look into matters for him. I was hoping to ask Mr. Rapleman a few questions.”

She shifted in front of the door, blocking the dog from exiting as she pushed the door open. “Come inside, Ms.—”

“Parker,” I said. “Alex Parker.”

Once I was through the front door, the not-poodle jumped on me. Standing on her hind legs, she was almost my height. She tilted her head up and licked beneath my chin.

“Sadie, get down,” the woman scolded. “I’m sorry. She isn’t usually this friendly to strangers.”

“It’s okay,” I said, scratching behind Sadie’s ears. “What kind of dog is she?”

“A goldendoodle.”

“Ah.” I nodded as if that word made absolute sense. “She’s very pretty.”

“Sadie, down.” The woman snapped her fingers. “Ms. Parker doesn’t want your kisses.”

“Alex,” I corrected. Sadie sat on my left foot and pushed her face between my hand and thigh, encouraging me to pet her. “I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

“It’s fine.” The woman indicated the kitchen. “Would you like to come in? We have coffee and iced tea.”

“I’m okay, thanks.” I looked around. “Like I said, I need to speak to Mike.”

“He should be home soon. I’m his mom, Ginger.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Do you know Dustin Ford?” I already knew the answer, but it was better to ask polite questions before launching into an interrogation.

“Dustin’s like one of my kids. He and Mike have been friends since freshman year, I think.”

“I take it you heard what happened.”

Ginger nodded. “Please, let’s sit down. This isn’t the kind of conversation one should have in the foyer.”

“Sure.”

Once Ginger turned toward the kitchen, Sadie stood up, freeing my foot and following her owner. She’d turn every few steps to make sure I was keeping up. Maybe the pup didn’t want me snooping around.

The kitchen was brightly lit, white with black accents. The counter was an oversized marble slab, which Martin would love. The appliances were all high-end. Given how modest the house appeared from the outside, the kitchen surprised me.

“I run a tiny café,” Ginger said. “Would you like a muffin or scone?”

“No, thanks.”

She ignored my response and put a plate of baked goods in the center of the table. “This was a hobby. Mike was always involved in after school activities. Most of them required a level of fundraising, which typically came in the form of bake sales. A few of my friends kept insisting I open my own place. After the kids were out of the house, we found ourselves with a lot of spare time. Since we were already sitting around drinking coffee and eating treats every day, we decided we should get paid to do it.”

“Sure, why not?” Deciding not to be rude, I reached for a rainbow chip cookie. “How often do you see Dustin Ford?”

“When the boys were in college, we’d see him whenever we went to visit Mike, on most holidays, and tons during the summer. Dustin practically lived here. Since then, we see him every few months.”

“Did he ever have any issues with anyone?”

“No, he was always a sweetheart. Very polite. Very generous.”

“Are you aware of who he is?”

“You mean that his family is a bunch of rich drug dealers,” she laughed, “legal drug dealers, that is.”

“Have you ever met them?”

“Graduation. That was about it. Dustin always tried to keep his distance from them. Dustin’s such a sweet kid. I could never figure out why he was so cold to his parents. Once, I asked him about it. He said it was because they had never been around. He’d been raised by nannies and sent to boarding schools. He’s such a warm and loving soul. I think that distance really hurt him.”

“Probably.” I nibbled on the cookie. “This is fantastic.”

“Those are always a big hit.”

I put the cookie down on the napkin, aware of a warm weight on my lap which was letting out little whines. “Did Dustin ever display any animosity toward his family?”

“It was more like cautious indifference. He didn’t want to let them get close because he figured they’d hurt him again.”

“Did he ever have any issues with anyone else?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“Had he ever been in a fight?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“What about girlfriends?”

Ginger grinned. “I tease him that I’ll have to meet her before he’s allowed to get serious.”

“Her?”

“Whatever woman sweeps him off his feet, but I don’t think he’s seeing anyone seriously.”

“What about Mike?” I asked. “Does he have anyone steady in his life?”

“He had a few girlfriends. They didn’t last more than a couple of months. The guys are young, though. They’re still figuring things out.”

“Six months ago, they went to a concert.”

Her expression turned serious. “I remember. It was Mike, Dustin, and two of their friends.”

“Any women?”

“No. It was guy’s night. Norman has a fiancée, but she wasn’t invited to tag along. And Joe, well, I’m not sure Joe ever outgrew the girls have cooties phase.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that but chose not to ask. I could figure it out once I met Joe. “Is there anything you remember about that night or the next day? I know it’s been a few months, but I am trying to figure out what happened.”

“Mike got home from work that night around five, got changed, had a quick bite, and left to meet his friends. He didn’t get back until the next morning, maybe around five or six.”

“Was he alone?”

Ginger nodded. “He doesn’t usually bring houseguests here. I guess he must have gotten up around eleven that morning and asked if it would be okay if Dustin came over. Dustin got here around lunchtime. Maybe 1:30, possibly later. I made the boys lunch, and we caught up.” The way she talked about her son and his friend was the same way a parent spoke about a young child.

“How did Dustin seem?”

“He was his usual bubbly self. He was telling me about his job and his apartment.”

“Did he or Mike mention anything about the concert?”

“Just that they had a great time. They showed me photos of the band on stage and some shots they took of each other when they stopped for burgers after.”

“Did either of them mention meeting anyone at the concert?”

“They said something about meeting up with some people to get pizza, but that was the extent of it. They didn’t go into detail, and I never thought to ask. I didn’t see why it would matter.”

I tapped my fingers on my leg, which Sadie took as her cue to nudge me again. I stopped tapping and petted her instead. Her soft, curly fur slid easily between my fingers.

“What time did Dustin leave?” I asked.

“It was after we finished dinner. Donnie, my husband, had grilled. Dustin helped clean up and hose everything off. It was getting dark. He figured it was time to call it a night. He and Mike seemed pretty wiped from the night before.” She stared at the platter of baked goods. “The next morning, the police knocked on our door to ask questions. I couldn’t believe they were accusing Dustin of murder. That’s preposterous. Even now, I still can’t believe this is real. Dustin would never hurt anyone.”

“Do you know Sydney Breeding?”

“That name doesn’t ring a bell.”

Since I wasn’t sure if she’d remember the vic’s name, I brought out my phone and showed her Sydney’s photo. “Have you ever seen this woman?”

“No.”

“And you’re sure Mike never mentioned her?”

“My son doesn’t know who that is.”

Sadie lifted her head off my leg and let out a single bark.

“That should be Mike. You can ask him yourself,” Ginger said.

Ten

“I’m sorry,” Mike Rapleman said. “I’ve never seen her before.”

“Think back to the night of the concert,” I insisted, glancing around to make sure Ginger had left us alone. “Dustin said you guys were pretty wasted. Booze, gummies, no one would expect you to remember details clearly after that.”

“I don’t drink. I was our DD. I may have had like half a gummy when we first got there, but that was it. I should remember better than anyone else, but I don’t know her,” he repeated.

“She wasn’t in the group you guys hooked up with?”

“No. There was a blonde, thin like her.” He gestured at the photo on my phone. “But curvier, if you get my drift.”

“Besides the nice set of knockers, what else do you remember about her?”

“That was pretty much it. I want to say she had a flower name, like Lily or Daisy or something, but I dunno. Even though that group and our group were hanging out, we didn’t really mingle. It’s like we were here,” he held out his fist, “and they were there.” He held out his other fist, keeping them shoulder width apart. “We went to the same places and did the same things, but we weren’t really together.”

“Did they sit at the same table with you?”

“Table?”

“At the club or when you got burgers?”

“We didn’t sit at the club. It was all motion and dancing and working off the excess energy from the concert. We danced together. All of us in a big group. It’s not like Norm or Dustin are coordinated enough to dance without stepping on someone’s toes. It was more bopping and weaving.”

“You mean bobbing,” I said.

“No, it was a bop, so we were bopping.”

That explained why I didn’t like to go dancing. I’d been taught to bob not bop. I’d have to tell that to Martin the next time he suggested we go to a club. “What about at the burger joint?”

“It’s a fast-food place. Plastic booths. Tiny tables. We took up maybe four booths in a row. I don’t know where anyone was sitting.”

“Not even Dustin?” I asked.

Mike bit his lip, his nose scrunching while he thought about it. “I thought he’d sit with Joe, Norman, or me, but Norman ordered half the menu. He had like four different trays. It was crazy. You’d think the man had been sentenced to life in prison or something.” He froze. “That’s not…I didn’t…Shit.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he snapped. “Dustin could be in real trouble. He could be facing life in prison. Like, he tries to downplay it, but he’s scared. He told me how scared he is.”

“Prison’s scary.”

“Yeah, but you don’t get it. Dustin wasn’t exactly a goody-goody, but he never did anything really bad either. Sure, he has some stories from being a kid at boarding school. But those were stupid pranks, like supergluing the dean’s office door shut or sneaking into the girls’ dorms to have water balloon fights. Those are the kinds of things Dustin did. He streaked on campus once as a dare. And he swore he’d never do anything like that ever again. He’s not a killer. He’s not tough, or strong, or big. Sadie could knock him over if she wanted.” He gestured at the dog who remained beside my chair. At the mention of her name, her tail thumped on the floor. “I don’t know how any of this happened, but he didn’t do it. You have to help him.”

“I’m trying.” I just wished I knew what I was missing. “You said Dustin didn’t sit with you at the burger joint. Do you know where he was sitting?”

“He must have been with that other group. Maybe with the blonde. That would explain why he decided to get a ride from her instead of with me. I was the DD that night. I was supposed to drive everyone home. But Dustin said he was staying in the opposite direction and she didn’t mind driving him. I should have insisted, but I thought, y’know...”

“What?”

Mike glanced around before saying, “I figured he was hoping to get some.”

“Is there any chance things could have taken a turn?”

“He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“What if she tried to hurt him? Would he have defended himself?”

Mike didn’t like the question, and he didn’t like me for asking it. “Maybe, but Dustin isn’t a fighter. He probably would have tried to leave.” He snorted. “This one time, this girl broke up with him, and it was one of those ugly, snotty, crying break-ups, even though she was the one doing it, so Dustin made her chamomile tea and left. But it was his apartment. He had to wait for her to clear out before he could go home. You can’t tell me that someone who behaves like that flips out and kills someone.”

“For what it’s worth, I think he’s innocent. The fastest way to prove it is to find the woman who drove him back to the rental.”

“Norman, Joe, and I have gone through our camera rolls from that night. The police checked all of it too, but we don’t have anything. The best we found is this one photo where you can sort of make out her ear. That’s it. And no one even believed us.”

“Do you still have that photo?” I asked.

Mike pulled out his phone and scrolled. “Here.”

I sent a copy to my phone and forwarded it to Cross. “A flower name, huh?”

“I don’t know for sure, but that’s the only thing I sort of remember.”

“What about the other people in the group?”

“They’re even more of a blur.” Mike blinked a few times. “Wait. I think the guy’s name was Caleb. He didn’t hang out with us, but he had been with them and took off before we got slices. I remember hearing Caleb a few times that night, like ‘I can’t believe Caleb left’ or something along those lines. That’s why I think that may have been his name.”

I made a note of that and handed Mike my card. “If anything else comes to mind no matter how insignificant or uncertain you are, let me know. You can call that number day or night. Someone will make sure I get the message.”

Mike walked me to the front door. “Ms. Parker. Alex,” he corrected, “you have to save Dustin.”

The added pressure only made me feel worse. “I will do everything I possibly can.” I gave Sadie a final pat. Before I could get out the door, Ginger appeared with a bag of cookies.

“In case you get hungry,” she said.

*       *       *

Norman Baylor was the next stop on my list. He worked remotely, doing odd jobs for anyone who wanted to hire him. At the moment, he was updating someone’s website. His fiancée wasn’t home, which should have made things easier, but it didn’t.

Norman had decided to fully embrace a night out with the guys. Aside from barfing his brains out soon after he got home and being sick for the next two days, he didn’t remember much of anything.

“What about Dustin?” I asked.

“He was with us the entire night. I’m sure of it. We only split when we were ready to go home. I was getting queasy. At the time, I was glad he didn’t want to ride with us. I didn’t want to have to make another stop.” Norman sucked in a breath and adjusted the glasses on his nose. “I’m a crappy friend. If I could redo things, I wouldn’t have gotten so messed up. Then I would have paid more attention and insisted our group stick together. I just…I love my fiancée. Living together is great. We’re starting our lives together, but I was having one of those moments where the walls were closing in. I wanted to escape that. To have a night when it was the way it used to be.”

“Did the four of you usually go out on benders like that?”

“No. Our wild nights were video games and tacos. Sometimes, we’d go to a bar or club, but we never let things get out of control.”

“Did they get out of control the night of the concert?”

“They didn’t. I did.” Norman stared at the floor. “Now Dustin’s living this nightmare, and I can’t do anything to help him.”

“Do you remember the woman?”

“No.”

“Did Dustin mention having any issues with anyone?”

“No way. He’s Mr. Nonconfrontational.”

I left my card on Norman’s desk. “In case you remember anything, give me a call.”

“I hope I do,” he said.

I paused at the door. “Do you think it’s possible Dustin could kill someone?”

“Never.”

I’d already asked about Sydney Breeding, but Norman didn’t recognize her or the name. This was getting me nowhere.

As a last ditch effort, I stopped by Joe Stait’s place, but he wasn’t home. I left my card and a note with one of his roommates. If I didn’t hear back, I would consider stopping by again, but I didn’t think Joe would have anything to say that I hadn’t already heard. Detective Jacobs had interviewed each of them. I had read the transcripts and didn’t believe the guy would be changing his story.

“Now what?” I asked as I got back into the car. The techs should have the crime scene nearly recreated by now, but I wasn’t sure what that would tell me. Sydney Breeding had been strangled. Dustin’s prints were on her pendant, and his DNA had been on her neck from where he had touched her. The logical next step would be to put together some facts regarding the victim, so I found her last known address, and entered it into my GPS.

Sydney Breeding had lived in a 300 square foot walk-up. The railing was rusted and squeaked. The people hanging around outside made me a little uneasy, and I had federal agent training and a loaded nine millimeter beneath my jacket. However, I would have been concerned coming home after dark. If Dustin’s friends were wrong, and Sydney had been the blonde they met, this could be why she offered to drive him back to the rental. She may have wanted somewhere safer to spend the night.

Unsure what I hoped to accomplish, I knocked on the door to 3J. Almost immediately, the door inched open, stopping when it reached the limit on the security chain.

“Whaddya want?” The person on the other side stood so close to the door, I could only see three inches of his face.

“I was looking for Sydney Breeding.”

“That name isn’t familiar.”

“She used to live here.”

“Well, she doesn’t now.”

“I know.”

“Then what the hell are you doing knocking on my door?”

“I was wondering if she left anything behind or if you knew her.”

The person on the other side turned to look behind him. “There was a box of shit when I moved in. I may still have it.”

“May I see it?”

The new tenant sighed. “Did Syd send you to pick it up?”

Syd, maybe he did know her. Before I could answer or inquire further, a loud bang sounded from the street below. Not quite gunfire, but almost as disturbing. A bottle rocket, maybe?

At the sound, the tenant slammed the door shut.

I knocked again. “Sir, the box?”

A moment later, the door opened. This time, he’d taken off the chain. Grabbing my arm, he pulled me inside, closed the door, and locked it.

I looked around, finding the 300 square feet to be like every horror story I’d ever heard about apartments like this. It’d be impossible to have the oven door and the front door open at the same time. The guy had a daybed shoved in the corner, which served as his living room, bedroom, and dining room.

“Are you sure you don’t know Sydney?” I asked as he went to a closet with accordion doors and opened one side.

“We never had the pleasure. All I know is she must have cleared out in a hurry. A lot of her things were still here when I moved in. The landlord said she didn’t want to take her furniture with her.” He pointed to the daybed. “Not that I’d call that much in the way of furniture, but it’s not like there’s a lot of room for things either.”

“All of this is hers?”

“Just that. The rest is mine. She had a bookshelf thing, but I didn’t have room for it, so I chucked it.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I hope you’re not here to get her furniture too.”

“I’m not.” I went over to the daybed, but it looked like the kind of piece that required assembly and came from a big box store. I didn’t see anything telling or personal on it. No initials with hearts carved into the frame, and there weren’t any obvious hiding places to store contraband or valuables either. “I’m really only interested in personal effects.”

“There wasn’t much, just this box.” He returned with a square trinket box. “There may have been a joint or two inside. I threw those away.”

“What about cash?”

“Nope.”

“Pills or other drugs?”

He gave me a sideways look. “Are you a cop or something?”

“Something.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know anything about whatever she was doing. Like I said, I never met the woman. All I can say is it sounded like she cleared out in a hurry.”

“She’s dead,” I said.

He made the sign of the cross. “I wasn’t expecting that. Was it an OD?” He saw the question on my face. “You asked about drugs. One can only infer, especially in this neighborhood.”

“Is that what the circus outside is about?”

“That’d be my guess. I try to avoid going in and out as much as I can. After I leave in the morning, I make sure I do everything I have to before I return. Then I stay put until the next day.”

“Have you thought about moving?”

“Do you think I’d live here if I could afford something else? It makes sense now why I got such a good deal. I thought it was because of the water damage that had to be fixed. Now I find out the previous tenant was no longer around to pay, and the landlord was in a rush to fill the vacancy. That’s why they always say checking the obits is the best way to apartment hunt.”

“Is that how you found this place?”

“I didn’t know she was dead.”

I didn’t think he was lying, but I had to be sure. “You called her Syd.”

“That’s what some of the neighbors call her. When I first got here, I met a few people on this floor. They told me I had Syd’s old place. That she was an actress or going to be. I thought she hit it big and took off.”

“She was killed.”

His eyes went wide. “Here? Shit, if I had known that I would have been able to leverage it when negotiating my rent. Don’t landlords and realtors have to disclose murder houses?”

“She wasn’t killed here, I don’t think,” I said, taking the box and opening the lid.

Inside were photos from one of those photobooths from some sort of party. Sydney appeared to be a few years younger. Her hair was different. She made a duck face while posing next to a brunette. In the next shot, they were back-to-back in full-on Charlie’s Angels pose. The rest of the shots were equally fun. In the last one, they had on oversized glasses with the year making up the frames. That gave me the date they were taken. Five years ago, New Year’s Eve.

I sifted through the other items, finding a vape pen, a fuzzy magnet, and a tiny plastic teddy bear which looked like it had been a charm attached to a cheap box of Valentine’s candy.

“This is it?” I asked.

“That’s all that was left behind.”

“Besides the joints.”

“Whoever cleaned the place out must have taken everything of value. They either missed this or couldn’t be bothered.”

“Do you know who cleaned the place?”

“How would I? I moved in after the fact.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Why is that important?”

“Just answer the question.”

The guy had no reason to talk to me, but he did anyway. “I work in market research. I just got the gig four months ago. This was the closest apartment I could find to the office. I didn’t realize how dangerous the neighborhood is. The internet said this was supposed to be an okay area.”

“This block in particular?”

“Well, no, the entire west side in general.”

“You have to narrow by street,” I said.

“I realize now you get what you pay for. The same size place three blocks over costs twice as much.”

“Think about committing to a longer commute.” I closed the box. “Do you mind if I take this?”

“Have at it. I don’t want a dead woman’s things.”

Tucking the box under my arm, I asked, “Do you think your neighbors may know something about Sydney?”

“The couple across the street are okay to talk to. And the old woman on the end seems normal enough, but everyone else around here…” He shook his head.

“Thanks.”

Eleven

Since it was still daytime, I knocked on a few doors and spoke to Sydney’s neighbors. Most didn’t remember her, or so they said. The couple next door told me she’d leave early and get home late. One day, they ran into her at the laundromat. That’s when she said she was taking classes and going to auditions to be an actress. However, from the looks they exchanged, I knew they didn’t buy it.

“A lot of folks here are involved in things we try to avoid. I’d say the same may have been true of Sydney, given the odd hours she kept.”

“What about guests?” I asked.

My question was met with shrugs and the door closing. If I wanted to have a longer conversation, I’d need to bring someone along who possessed a badge, and even that would be a crapshoot.

When I got back to my car, I couldn’t help but think Detective Jacobs hadn’t explored these angles in any real depth. He performed his due diligence, checking her LKA and notifying next of kin, but since the homicide happened away from here, he hadn’t dug too deeply into things.

I made sure my doors were locked and the engine was running before I called Jacobs. Unlike last time, he answered on the second ring. “What is it, Parker? Did you find something?”

“Sydney Breeding lived in a sketchy building in an even sketchier neighborhood.”

“I’m aware.”

“Why didn’t you look into that?”

“Look into what?”

I didn’t like it when cops played games, especially cops I considered friends. “Don’t do that,” I said. “You know what. Was Sydney dealing?”

“It’s possible.”

“Did you explore the possibility someone in her neighborhood could have wanted her dead?”

“Even if that’s true, no one else was inside the rental at the time of her murder, unless you found something I missed.”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, Parker, what would you have had me do? I could have gotten narcotics involved and possibly the DEA. We could have torn through Dustin Ford’s life and his father’s company.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“The brass wouldn’t sign off. Dustin Ford didn’t want to be associated with the pharmaceutical industry, and the DA’s office didn’t want us poking the bear. Big Pharma would have found some way to shut the entire thing down.”

“So you were told to back off?”

“I was told to keep the investigation as low-profile as possible. I don’t think that compromised anything. The facts remained the facts.”

“The prosecutor’s office needs a solid motive.”

“Drugs, sex, take your pick. It’s usually one or the other. Given the optics, they could go for either or both. They have enough to support a drug deal gone wrong and circumstantial evidence to back it without subpoenaing Ford’s family or dragging the upper echelon of Big Pharma into it.”

I kept my eyes on my mirrors. Since I wasn’t in motion, I didn’t need anyone sneaking up on me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Though, the source could be coming from anywhere. “Why do you think Dustin Ford killed her?”

“He was intoxicated. She tried to leave, and he did what he could to stop her.”

“That doesn’t fit. There were no signs of a struggle. She may have been unconscious when she was killed.”

“Maybe they argued. She got woozy and passed out. He wasn’t in his right mind, so he strangled her.”

“That sounds like a stretch.”

“I don’t know why he did it or how it happened,” Jacobs said. “All I know is he was alone with her inside the house. His fingerprints were on her neck, and she didn’t strangle herself.”

He had me there. “Whose drugs were in the rental?”

“I’d say Ford’s. It was his rental. The footage showed him entering with bags. She didn’t have anything when she followed him to the door. Maybe she hadn’t expected to find all of that inside. He may have freaked out that she would go to the authorities, so he stopped her. Or maybe she was dealing for him, went back to his place to pick up the supply, and changed her mind. Or they fought over her cut, and things took a turn.”

“You’ve seen where she lives, right?”

“If Almeada brings that up, that the drugs could have been hers, I’m sure the prosecutor will change the narrative.” Jacobs sighed. “I don’t get paid to figure out what the DA plans to do with the evidence we collect. All I know is no one else was there. Unless Ford wants to confess and explain his side of things, the rest is speculation. Even with the most airtight cases, it’s impossible to know what’s going through someone’s head unless they tell you. If you’re hung up on motive, ask Ford why he did it.”

Jacobs usually didn’t give me grief. Something was up. “What if she was already dead?” I asked.

“Dead woman walking?”

“Not like that.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m still working on some things. Do you have anything else on the vic that wasn’t included in the file you gave me?”

“I gave you everything, Parker.”

“What about when you spoke to her next of kin?”

“Her mother,” Jacobs said quietly. “She was heartbroken. She didn’t say much. All she said was she knew coming to the city was a bad idea. She knew her daughter’s dreams would kill her.”

“Were those her exact words?”

“Pretty much. I can’t remember verbatim.”

“Do you have her contact info?”

“It’s in the file, but I’d think someone at Cross Security would know how to look up a phone number and address.”

“Seems we’re both falling short of doing our jobs.”

“Parker—”

“I want to know who killed her. I don’t believe it was Dustin Ford, which means I need to figure out who wanted to hurt her, and I’m staring at an apartment building full of possibilities.”

“She doesn’t have a record,” Jacobs said. “If she was dealing, more than likely, she would have been brought in at some point. She never was.”

“Maybe she was lucky.”

“I’ll ask around.”

The police department didn’t want Jacobs digging into their prime suspect’s personal life. I understood why. Taking down powerful people wasn’t an easy task. It could result in lawsuits, threats, and a lot of strings being pulled behind the scenes, the kinds of strings that could end careers or destroy any possibility of advancement. Cross hated the police department for a reason. This was part of it.

On the drive back to the office, I couldn’t help but wonder why those high-powered attorneys and threats hadn’t come into play now that Dustin Ford had been indicted. Sure, he’d retained Mr. Almeada’s services, but Almeada didn’t have any tricks up his sleeve. He was grasping at straws, which was why he asked me to look into this.

Dustin Ford had changed his name and kept his identity hidden. Based on what the Raplemans said, Dustin was estranged from his family. They never seemed close, but under these circumstances, I would have expected his father to use his influence and any connections he had to help his only child. Aside from potentially assuming the legal fees, I didn’t think the man was doing anything to show his support. Did he think his kid was a killer?

Something about that nagged at me, making the buzzing in my brain a little more annoying than usual. Even now, halfway back to the office, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching. Could Dustin’s father have hired his own team to look into matters? I checked my mirrors several times, but I wasn’t being tailed. At least, I didn’t think so.

To be on the safe side, I reverted to my more paranoid habits of taking the most convoluted, circuitous route back to the office. Traffic was heavy, which made the exercise that much more tedious, but by the time I made a third turn, I was sure no one was following me. Honestly, no one had reason to follow me. I was investigating a six-month-old murder. The trial was pending. There was nothing else on my plate.

You’re losing it, Parker.

Shaking off the feeling, I mentally reviewed everything I’d learned. Two questions needed answers. Who wanted Sydney Breeding dead? Who wanted to frame Dustin Ford for murder? Either one could lend itself to motive.

Despite Jacobs’ insistence that it didn’t matter, it did. Investigations were about three things, determining means, motive, and opportunity.

Dustin had the means and opportunity. He didn’t have a motive, at least none that I had found. In fact, I wasn’t sure he had the opportunity either. If Sydney Breeding was already dead, like he insisted, he couldn’t have killed her. Someone else did. Had someone else been inside the rental before Dustin arrived? How had they slipped away without being caught on the cameras or triggering the alarm?

Cross was looking into prior guests, but the rental had supposedly been professionally cleaned. Could someone on the cleaning crew be responsible? I’d have to look into them if Cross hadn’t done it already. But none of that would explain the drugs or how or why Sydney had gone to the rental.

The autopsy report and the preliminary assessments were inconclusive. Voice-dialing Amir, I asked, “Could Sydney have been killed days prior to when her body was discovered?”

“Liver temp suggests she was killed less than a day before.”

“What about my cold storage theory? What if she’d been kept on ice, so to speak?”

“Body temp takes time to change, especially if subjected to refrigeration.”

“Could she have been left out to thaw?” I asked. Since no one had mentioned a smell, the body hadn’t been there long enough to stink up the place.

“That would still take time.”

“How much?”

“It depends on a number of factors,” Amir said. “How cold are we talking?”

“Whatever the minimum temp would be to keep her preserved without doing too much damage. Maybe forty degrees?”

“Where did you come up with that number?”

“Food safety standards.”

Amir made a disgusted sound, but he didn’t say my guess was off the mark. “Do you have reason to believe that’s what happened?”

“I’m considering the possibility.”

“I’ll find out what the ambient temperature in the rental was the night she was found, and we’ll take it from there.”

Glancing at my phone to press the disconnect, I didn’t see what happened. One minute, the world was stable. The next, I was jerked to the side.

The metallic crunch and the jarring impact occurred almost simultaneously. Grabbing the wheel, I tried to correct, but the SUV that T-boned me had a lot of momentum. They must have been speeding, or the vehicle was loaded with bricks.

A second crunch sounded, my window cracking before the side of my face knocked against it. Horns blared, and tires screeched. I stomped on the brakes, but I was already at a dead stop, crushed between the side of a city bus and the front end of an SUV.

Whoever had been driving the SUV leapt out, wobbling a little. He wore sunglasses and a baseball cap. Making his way to my car, he tried to get the rear door open, but it was locked or crushed. Possibly both. For a moment, he stared right at me, or so I assumed, given the sunglasses, and then he took off running in the opposite direction.

Twelve

I stared at the trinket box which contained a few of Sydney Breeding’s personal effects. Whoever cleared her place out hadn’t wanted it, so what value could it possibly have to the man who rammed my car? Did he even want the box? Was that why he tried to open my car door? I didn’t have anything valuable in the car or on display, so if the point of slamming into me was to steal things, there was nothing to steal, except this and a bag of cookies. But this made more sense than the cookies.

The accident may have been just that, but I didn’t think it was. Now that I was back at the office, I examined the items more carefully, but nothing screamed clue. Maybe the lab techs would have better luck. Perhaps they’d be able to ID the other woman in the photos.

Before checking out the recreated interior of the vacation rental where the body had been found, I dropped the box off with them. They’d check for trace and dust for prints. Maybe they’d find a note written in invisible ink, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

I’d just gotten settled when someone cleared his throat. Cross stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. “Are you okay, Alex?”

“Fine.”

“You’re sure? What about a concussion or a brain bleed?”

“The paramedics gave me a clean bill of health, so did the medics you have on staff. Let’s hope they didn’t miss a brain bleed. That would ruin my day.”

“So you’re fine?”

“Yep.” I glanced at him. “Try not to look too disappointed.”

He entered the room and closed the door with a bang. I cringed. My boss, always with a flair for the dramatic. “I have one question. How many company cars are you planning to destroy?”

“How many are you planning on giving me to use?”

“After this, I’m thinking I may have to revoke that particular job perk.”

“That’s probably for the best.” I went back to analyzing the recreated crime scene. Members on staff had placed tape on the floors to depict where furniture and obstacles had been. They even positioned a dummy in the same place the victim had been found when the police arrived. Unfortunately, even the cardboard and foam 3D replicas of the furniture couldn’t answer my questions.

“This doesn’t help. I need to see inside the rental.”

“Why didn’t you knock?” Cross asked.

“I didn’t feel right doing it.”

“Would you have done the same thing if you were toting around a badge?”

“That would be different.”

“Why? You’d be investigating a murder. Right now, that’s exactly what you’re doing. It’s what you like to do.”

“It isn’t what I like to do. For the record, totaling company cars isn’t something I like to do either, but I’m pretty good at it. I’m thinking of making it my new hobby.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Neither was the guy who T-boned me.” I moved through the room, back to what represented the front of the rental. Markers on the floor indicated the bedroom Dustin had used. I moved into it. “Grab that piece of cardboard.” I pointed to the extras tucked against the side of the room.

Cross did as I asked, placing it where the line for the wall would be.

I knelt down, so I couldn’t see over the cardboard. “I can’t see the body from here. Our client could be telling the truth.”

“Dustin isn’t the client. Almeada is.”

“Then why did I have a client meeting with Dustin Ford?” I asked. “I spoke to him. That makes him the client. You spoke to Almeada. He can be your client.”

“You work for Cross Security. Almeada hired us. Almeada is the client.”

“I know where I work. You don’t have to remind me.” I gave him a look. “My brain didn’t get scrambled. Though, if I were smarter, I would pretend to have amnesia.”

“That wouldn’t get you out of this.”

“What do you want? Do you want me to pay the deductible on the insurance? Will that make you happy?” I already owed Cross a lot of money for that advance he gave me, which is why I had to work the cases he wanted, the way he wanted. At this rate, it’d be easier to sign my soul over to him. Or maybe I’d done that when I first signed the employee contract.

He moved around the cardboard, standing beside me to see what I was seeing. “I thought after we spoke last night, you decided Dustin was guilty.”

“I changed my mind.”

“That is your prerogative.” He offered me a hand up. “Did the car accident have anything to do with that?”

“Yes and no. I can’t shake my gut instincts. Unless Dustin Ford is a true psychopath, I don’t think he did it. His friends back his story, even though they can’t help, except for supporting the theory that the blonde woman they met after the concert is not Sydney Breeding. The accident makes me think someone doesn’t want us looking into this. I’m not sure why that would be. Dustin does have an odd relationship with his family, but I wouldn’t think they’d want to see him in prison. It could be someone else, who would potentially receive his inheritance instead, if he were to be incarcerated for the next twenty-five to life. Or it could be someone who doesn’t want us to dig into Sydney Breeding. I don’t know why yet, but I have a few theories percolating.”

“Or the accident was an unrelated event,” Cross said. Changing the subject, he added, “If the woman Dustin met after the concert isn’t Sydney, who is she?”

“Daisy or Lily. Some sort of flower.”

Cross cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a joke?”

“No, but I haven’t had time to look for her. I’m not even sure where to start.”

“Ticket sales. I’ll see about getting a complete list from the concert venue. Then we run each name and look for Roses and Irises.”

I pointed at him. “I hadn’t thought of those. Though, she may not have purchased her own ticket. She was part of a group. A guy named Caleb may have been with them, but according to Mike, he took off when they left the venue.”

“Caleb, okay.” Cross pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen. “We may have to cross-reference ticket sales to purchases made at the pizza truck, Atlantis, and that burger joint. My team should already be sorting through purchases made around the same time Dustin and his friends bought their burgers and slices. That could make finding the blonde easier.” He held the cardboard with one hand and gestured with the other that I should continue. “Why else do you think Dustin Ford is innocent? Is this because you found a blind spot with the camera outside the rental?”

“That’s part of it. I’ve also collected details about the vic which make me question the kinds of people she associated with. I placed a call to her mother after I got back to the office. The woman didn’t think Sydney liked that kind of music, and she hadn’t mentioned anything about going to a concert.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Maybe not, but her mother didn’t like the neighborhood where her daughter was living or the kinds of people she was around. She didn’t say it directly, but she suspected her kid had gotten wrapped up in drugs. Waitressing is hard work. It doesn’t provide much money, especially with rents being sky high and all those auditions. The theory that she was dealing would fit with the drugs recovered at the crime scene and why someone may have wanted her dead.”

“Except Sydney Breeding wasn’t high. Tox didn’t show any drugs in her system. She’d been drinking. That was it.”

“Dealers know better than to sample their wares.”

“She could have been working the concert. Getting high and music events go hand in hand. Maybe Sydney didn’t go to the show. She could have been outside. That’s how she could have hooked up with Dustin’s group.”

“I don’t think that fits. Dustin needed someone to drive him home because he wasn’t sober enough to drive himself. Sydney was well over the legal limit. Why would he have her drive him?”

“Bad judgment,” Cross suggested.

“No way. Mike never would have let him ride with someone impaired. The blonde who drove him back to the rental wasn’t drunk. It couldn’t have been Sydney.”

“That’s a lot of conjecture. How do you know they didn’t drink once they went back to Dustin’s?”

“Didn’t you look at the crime scene photos? The cops didn’t find any empty bottles anywhere.”

“Someone could have tossed them outside.”

“The camera outside didn’t see it happen.”

Cross considered my point. “The blind spot?”

I shrugged.

“You need to figure this out.”

“That’s why you hired me.” I moved across the room to the other tape markings on the floor which represented doorways. “Where do these go?”

“They lead to locked rooms. It’s common practice in vacation rentals. The owners don’t want their guests accessing the utility closet, attic, or other sensitive areas. Sometimes, owners install locks on their bedrooms so they don’t have to clear out their possessions if they are only renting out the place while they are away.”

“The place Dustin rented is always available. No one lives there.”

“Right, so,” Cross replaced the cardboard against the wall and found a copy of the blueprints on the counter, “that,” he pointed, “is the utility closet. That,” he pointed to another spot, “goes to the basement.”

“There are more than two doors.” I indicated the other spots on the floor.

Cross checked the blueprints. “I’m not sure where those lead.”

“Is Almeada covering expenses?”

“Yes,” Cross said uncertainly.

“All right. I need a reservation. The earliest one available. I need to see things the way they were.”

“How is that going to help? The place has been professionally cleaned. I checked. It gets cleaned after each guest leaves. The owner doesn’t always check the property himself, but he has a team who takes care of things, checks for damage, etc. No one found anything amiss after the previous guest left, before Dustin checked in.”

“When was that?”

“A week prior to Dustin’s check-in date.”

“So the place was empty an entire week?”

“Supposedly.”

“I want to talk to the cleaning crew.”

“I already did,” Cross said. “The prosecutor’s office has signed affidavits from them. They aren’t involved.”

Deciding I’d look into them myself, I didn’t waste my breath mentioning it or arguing. Cross didn’t need to know everything I planned to do. “Fine, but I still want to see the house.”

“I’d say knock yourself out, but given how close you came today, I’d be afraid you’d take me literally.”

“Haha.” Now that he’d brought up the elephant in the room again, I had to say something. “The guy who T-boned me and fled the scene, he tried to get in my car. At first, I thought he wanted to help, but the way he looked at me…”

“You think he hit you intentionally?”

“Yeah. Before it happened, I thought I was being watched or followed, but no one was tailing me. I made sure of that.”

“If he wasn’t tailing you, how could he have planned to run the red and hit you? I watched the footage. The guy was driving like a maniac. The police figure he must have been on something which is why he fled the scene, but after running the plates, they found the SUV he was driving was stolen, so he’s two for oh.”

“He was driving like he stole it.”

Cross quirked an eyebrow.

“It’s from a movie,” I said.

“I know. I watch movies.” Cross shook my comment away. “Since the vehicle was stolen, I assume that’s why he fled the scene.”

“Except it isn’t. I can’t prove it, so don’t even ask me to.” I noticed the clock on the wall. “I have to go.”

“Martin’s home, I take it.”

Not bothering to respond, I gave the recreated crime scene another look. “Can we have walls put up? I can’t tell much with the tape on the floors.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Thanks, Lucien.”

“Now I know your brain got scrambled.”

Thirteen

The lavish decorations in the banquet hall sparkled. I looked down, wondering if I was underdressed. I’d changed before leaving work, but I hadn’t spent much time on my hair or makeup since I was running behind. For once, it wasn’t my fault, but given Martin’s recent driving record, I had no intention of telling him what held me up. As it was, he had barely driven himself anywhere since we returned from California. Sure, he had his driver, Marcal, who usually took him places, but he also had a fleet of sports cars he liked to take out on occasion.

Stop it. I exhaled a long, slow breath and put my game face on. Tonight wasn’t about me or any of the things that had to do with my job.

Bright green eyes zeroed in on me from across the room. The weight of his stare automatically made me look in his direction. Once our eyes met, Martin smiled. He was dressed to the nines in a tux and bow tie. His dark hair was perfectly styled with that one strand flopping to the side instead of falling into place like the rest. It was playful and sexy, a little bit James Dean bad boy-esque.

But my entrance didn’t cause him to miss a beat. He continued his conversation with another man in a tux and a woman in an evening gown, even though his eyes said he wanted to escape that conversation and be with me instead. Maybe I was underdressed.

Not wanting to interrupt, I made my way across the room, my eyes still on Martin, his on me, and waited at the bar for the line to move so I could order a drink. The servers working the event carried trays of champagne, but I wasn’t in the mood for the bubbly.

Finding an empty stool at the end of the walk-up bar, I took a seat. The bartender slid over to me and smiled. “What can I get you?”

“A virgin mojito?”

“Crushed mint in lemon-lime soda?”

“You don’t have to go to the trouble of crushing the mint,” I said.

“That’s good since I don’t have mint.” He poured the soda into a glass. “Do you want a cherry?”

“Sure.”

He dropped one in. “You looked like you could use it.”

“It’s been a day.” I glanced behind me, but I had been at the end of the line for drinks. At the present, no one else wanted to order anything. I reached into my purse, a tiny silver thing that contained nothing but my ID and cash. Everything else I’d locked in my car. Before I could fish out a few dollars to drop in the tip jar, someone tucked a twenty into the glass.

The air sizzled around us, causing goosebumps to erupt on my arms and tingles to run down my back. “Hello, Mr. Bond,” I said.

Martin grinned. “The name’s James, not Bond.” He spoke to the bartender, though he didn’t take his eyes off me. “Can I get a Macallan eighteen?”

“We only have the twelve.”

“That’s fine,” Martin said, though he didn’t mean it.

“Wouldn’t you prefer a martini, shaken not stirred?” I asked.

“You should have one, if you want, sweetheart.” He moved closer, hesitating to place a chaste kiss on my cheek. I’d covered the mark from the accident with concealer, so that wasn’t why he was hesitating. He was hoping for a real kiss. Normally, I wasn’t into public displays, but I hadn’t seen him in a week. It wouldn’t hurt to break the rules this one time.

“How was your flight? When did you get home?” I asked.

“We landed an hour and a half ago. I stopped at the office, changed there, and came straight here. I missed you.”

“Ditto.”

He brushed a tendril of hair behind my ear before running his thumb across my uninjured cheek. Maybe I hadn’t covered up the mark as well as I thought. He pressed closer, our lips inches apart.

“You don’t look like you just stepped off a plane, unless it was part of a photoshoot for GQ,” I said.

“I’m glad you approve.”

I slid my hands up his chest, straightening his collar, even though it was already straight, before letting my fingers find their way into his hair and pulling him to me for a kiss that would have made me weak in the knees if I hadn’t been sitting down. He gripped my back but kept a respectable distance.

The bartender put the scotch down. The sound of the glass making contact with the bartop reminded me now wasn’t the time or place. I pulled back, a little breathless, and let my hands trail down Martin’s chest. His eyes blazed, desire burning within, which made my stomach do a little flip. I wasn’t sure how he managed to do that to me, but he always did.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “I already told you I missed you. I won’t be able to prove it until we get home.”

He stood beside me, picking up his scotch and taking a sip while he surveyed the room. “We could see if the coat check room is available.”

“Martin—”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “Tell me you don’t find that the slightest bit enticing.”

My skin prickled. When I didn’t immediately protest, he grinned.

“It’s too risky,” I said as my brain calculated how true that was.

“We will revisit this conversation another day.” He picked up my hand and pressed my knuckles to his lips. “Have I mentioned you look gorgeous?”

“That won’t change my mind on the coat check room.”

The grin remained, but a sadness entered his eyes. “You look tired. Do you want to tell me why you haven’t slept at home since I’ve been away?”

“Do you want to tell me how you were spying on me?”

“The security system.”

“Of course.”

“Answer the question, Alex.”

“You were away. It’s not home without you, so I’ve been staying at the office.” I saw someone heading in our direction. “We can talk about this later. It looks like you need to get back to work.”

Martin gave my hand a squeeze before releasing it and lifting his scotch. I got up from the stool, giving the bartender an apologetic smile for any uncomfortableness our behavior had caused, and moved beside Martin. He was here to schmooze. And since the man heading toward us was Martin Technologies’ vice president, Luc Guillot, I could pose as arm candy while they spoke, even if I wasn’t tall enough, young enough, or blonde enough to qualify for that role.

“Alexis,” Luc moved in, kissing both of my cheeks, “you look fantastique.”

“You’re too kind. How are you, Luc?”

“Very well.”

“And Vivi?” I asked.

“My wife is here somewhere. I believe she may be checking out the dessert table.”

I brushed against Martin’s side. “I’ll see if I can find her. I’d like to say hello. Gentlemen, I’ll leave you to it.”

Martin’s stare bore into me, but our welcome home celebration would have to wait until later. Martin was here to work, and despite his usual teasing and inappropriate quips, I wondered if he had been serious about a quickie in the coat check room. The look on his face said he was, but that wasn’t Martin. Well, on most days, that wasn’t Martin. Today wasn’t most days.

I found Vivi speaking to another woman while she placed fruit kabobs on her plate. The other woman dipped her kabob in the chocolate fountain. Somehow, I resisted the urge to drink directly from it. Instead, I found a tray of mini cheesecake tarts and put two on my plate. For an upscale event, I thought the dessert offerings might have been better. I shouldn’t have left the bag of cookies in my office.

“Alexis?” Vivi noticed me perusing the pastry selection. “I didn’t think you were coming. I didn’t see you at dinner.”

“I had a work delay,” I said.

She made sure the other woman left before moving closer to me. “You didn’t miss much,” she said. “The chicken was dry.”

“It always is.”

She laughed. “C’est vrai.”

“How’s Thomas, your son?” I asked.

She launched into his college prep and how he planned to attend university in France rather than stay in America. “All of our family is there, so he won’t be alone, but I’ll miss him.”

“You could always visit. Maybe take some extended trips.”

“He’d love having his mother hovering about.”

“I bet he would.”

She smiled. “I haven’t seen you in such a long time. Tell me how you are.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re still working security?”

“Cross Security and Investigations. It’s a mix of corporate security and the usual private eye biz.”

“Which delayed you tonight?”

“The second.” I watched Martin from across the room as he spoke to another group which Luc had introduced him to. Investors, probably. “Do you ever wonder why they want us at these things?”

“All the time. But tonight was an award ceremony. Forty under forty.”

“Did Martin give a speech?”

“No. The honored guests were mentioned together. The group was recognized, rather than the individuals.”

“Regardless, I shouldn’t have missed it.”

Vivi shrugged, her gesture indicating she didn’t agree. “James didn’t mind. He knew you’d be here as soon as you could. I’m sure you must spend a lot of time waiting for him. I know that’s how it is with Luc. Half the time, he’s not around for dinner, and the other half, the food is cold by the time he comes to the table.”

“Martin and I rarely eat together during the week. Our schedules are too crazy.”

“Yet, that works for you. A match made in heaven.”

“Or hell.” I often feared his proximity to me had damned him to a lifetime of misery.

Another woman joined us at the dessert table. Since I didn’t recognize the lady as a wife or girlfriend of an MT executive, Vivi introduced us. Then she picked up a skewer and slid a piece of mango off the end of her kabob using her fork. “If you think that, Alexis, you have no business being an investigator.”

“I’ve tried telling her that,” a familiar voice said from behind, “and she proves me wrong every single time. It’s so fucking annoying.”

I spun. “Lucien, what the hell are you doing here?”

He had changed into a fresh suit and shirt. It wasn’t a tux, like most of the other guests, but he didn’t seem to care. “I was invited. This is a dinner to honor the top business execs under forty.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “How old do you think I am?”

“I wouldn’t call you a business exec,” I hissed.

Cross shrugged.

Turning, I said, “Genevieve Guillot, this is my boss, Lucien Cross.”

“Vivi,” she said, extending her hand, which Cross shook.

“Enchanté,” Cross said.  

Vivi’s friend tried to drag her away, and since I now had someone to keep me company, she quietly excused herself.

Fourteen

“What the hell are you doing here?” I repeated.

“I already told you I was invited.” Cross picked up a cheesecake tart from my plate and took a bite. He put it down on the dessert table. “Don’t eat that. It’s not good.”

“That’s why you’re here? You thought I needed a taste tester?”

“No.” He grabbed a plate of his own and scanned the trays. “When you changed before leaving the office, I realized what today was. Justin’s usually better about reminding me what’s on the calendar. I’ll have to have a talk with him tomorrow.” He sampled a few other things, all of which caused him to make a face. Finally, he stopped at the chocolate fountain and gave it a wistful look. “Jade would love this.”

“The fountain?”

“Yeah.” Shaking it off, he waited for me to grab a plate of raspberry crumble before leading me to the nearest empty table. “I took the liberty of making a reservation at the rental Dustin had booked.” He pulled out his phone and forwarded the confirmation to me. “The current guest will be checking out in two days, which is when you can check in. You’re lucky they had a vacancy. Then again, we could save ourselves the time and effort by knocking on the door and asking if we can look around.”

“I told you I don’t want to do that.”

“You’re wasting time.”

“We have a hundred other things in the works right now. It’s not a waste. I’m gathering additional intel. It won’t help to go inside and miss something because I didn’t know it could be important.”

“It’s a vacation rental. They’re all the same.”

“This one had a dead body.”

“Well, it’s not there now.” Cross scoped out the room, nodding and waving to a few of his current clients. “I figured you’d be with Martin.”

“He’s busy.”

Cross zeroed in on him and nodded. Since Martin had been keeping an eye on me ever since I arrived, he must have spotted Cross before I did. But he was too deep in conversation to save me from my boss.

“Something’s been bothering me about what you said at the office, about how you thought someone was watching you,” Cross said. “How would anyone know we were looking into Dustin Ford’s case? We only took this on yesterday. Today’s the first day you’ve put in the legwork.”

“The vacation rental has security cameras outside that spotted me. Besides that, I spoke to Dustin’s friends. The only person I didn’t talk to was Joe Stait, but I left a message with his roommates. And I knocked on Sydney Breeding’s apartment door. Anyone and everyone could have figured it out.”

“But that all happened today. What did you do yesterday? Didn’t you call your cop friend and tell him the good news?”

“You think the cops don’t want me investigating?”

“I know they don’t,” Cross said. “It’s our job to prove they got it wrong.”

“Jacobs isn’t like that. More importantly, the person who rammed me wasn’t a cop.”

“The police could have tipped someone else. Keep in mind, what you are doing is screwing with Jacobs’ career. Even if he is an upstanding guy, what you’re doing could ruin him.”

Those words made me queasy. I pushed the raspberry crumble away. “Jacobs may have missed something, but he did what he could. The brass hamstringed the investigation.”

“Maybe they want to hamstring you too, literally.”

“Lucien—”

“All right, fine. We’ll agree to disagree. But the brass will never take the blame for anything. If someone in the department botched the investigation, they’ll blame Jacobs. The lowest man always takes the hit. You know that. It’s how you ended up canned from the OIO.”

“I resigned.”

“Even if you hadn’t, they would have gotten rid of you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Jablonsky told me.”

“I doubt it,” I said.

“Believe what you want. I’m just trying to piece together what you said at the office about someone watching you. The only people with advanced notice besides the police were Almeada and Dustin.”

“And everyone in our office and whoever Dustin told.”

“Our office isn’t the problem.”

We could agree to disagree on that one too. “I don’t think whoever was watching me needed much advanced notice. Sydney’s neighbors saw the car and me. That alone drew plenty of attention. Add to it speaking to the man who now lives in her apartment and several of her other neighbors, and I can see that easily leading to someone wanting to scare me off.”

“Why? Are you sticking with the drug dealing theory?”

“It’s the best one I have, given the evidence at the crime scene.”

“Could that be a misdirect?”

“No killer would waste time buying that many party drugs and leaving them beside the vic to confuse matters.”

“Unless he wanted to make sure the right person took the fall for the murder.”

I tore my eyes away from Martin and focused on Cross. “You’re coming around to my side of things, that Dustin Ford is innocent.”

“Someone stands to inherit a literal fortune if Dustin goes down for this.”

“Why not kill him instead of framing him for murder?”

Cross considered the question. “There must be a reason.”

“So you think this is about Dustin, not Sydney?”

“That makes sense to me.”

“Except Sydney had no reason to be at that vacation rental or anywhere near it. Someone had to say or do something to lure her there.” Could she have thought it was a casting call or audition? That wouldn’t explain her elevated blood-alcohol level.

“Unless she wasn’t killed there.”

That made me pause. “Did Amir tell you my theory?”

“About the body being kept on ice for a while, yeah. I was there when he did the research and ran the simulations. Theoretically, she could have been dead for two days prior and stored at a reasonable temperature to slow decomp, which would have caused the ME to come up with the original eighteen hour estimate, based on liver temp and rigor, even though it was inaccurate. But the actual autopsy results would have shown an accelerated rate of decomp due to the discrepancy, even if the drawer hadn’t malfunctioned.”

“So the killer orchestrated the malfunction?”

“That sounds insane,” Cross said.

“Regardless, let’s assume that theory is correct. When was she placed inside the vacation rental?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but the security footage doesn’t show anyone entering or leaving except Dustin and the blonde.”

“The blonde never left. She only entered, but there’s a blind spot. Anyone could enter or leave without getting sighted if they’re careful.”

“Leave, maybe. I don’t know about entering.”

“There’s no maybe about it. I proved it today.”

“You didn’t prove you could enter without being caught on camera. I don’t think that would be possible.”

“Why not? It’d be the same thing, only in reverse.”

“We’re going to have to test it out.”

“Tomorrow?” I asked.

“Let’s wait until the place is empty. I want to splice directly into the camera feed and make sure what we’re seeing is accurate.”

“It’s a good thing you made reservations.”

“You said thank you. How could I resist?”

I snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

When Martin finished his conversation, he made his way to us. “Lucien,” he extended his hand, “I heard your name but didn’t think this was your type of event.”

“I’m not much for awards,” Cross said, “but with this crowd, how could I miss it? How was your trip?”

“Lucrative,” Martin said. “Keep your fingers crossed that an acquisition could be in the works.”

“Are you acquiring new tech for the biotextiles?”

Martin nodded.

“Hot damn,” Cross said.

Fifteen

Martin had his hand on my hip bone, his other arm stretched beneath the pillow we were sharing, his fingers entwined with mine and his face buried in my hair. I shifted a little, and he nuzzled against my neck.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he said.

“Why are you awake?” I asked, my voice thick with sleep. “Shouldn’t you be jetlagged?”

“Maybe.” He wrapped his arm around me, cocooning me in warmth. “Though, I’d say we may have come up with a cure for that last night.”

It had taken us an hour to get upstairs once Marcal dropped us off. My dress had been left on the living room floor, Martin’s clothes in a trail starting on the steps up from the first floor.

“Last night wasn’t our personal best,” I said.

“No, but it’s definitely a contender for top ten.”

Rolling over, I pressed my face into his chest and wrapped my arms around him. “Do you want to go for round five?”

He glanced at the clock. “Absolutely, but I can’t be late. Join me in the shower, beautiful.”

“I wouldn’t give up a warm bed for anyone else, handsome.”

“That’s because I am a sex god.” He lifted onto his elbow. “And you are my goddess.”

I reached to touch his cheek, but he grasped my hand, kissed my palm, and gave me a concerned look. “What happened?”

“When?” I must have fallen back to sleep because I missed something.

“Your face is bruised.”

“Oh, that.” I shook it off. “There was an incident at work yesterday.”

“Why didn’t I notice it?”

“I covered it up.”

He gingerly touched the bruise. “You’ve gotten better with the makeup, or I really was jetlagged.”

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

“It wasn’t.” He kissed me gently. “I love you.”

“Forever and always.”

He gave me a quizzical look. “That goes without saying. But yes.”

“I meant I love you forever and always.”

The smile tugged at his lips and made the darkness vanish, leaving nothing but his bright green eyes. For the moment, James Martin was the happiest I’d ever seen him. “That’s because I’m a sex god.”

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Before he could reply, his phone rang. “Hold that thought.” He checked the display and sighed. “Rain check on round five?”

“You really know how to tease a girl.”

As soon as he got out of bed, I rolled into the space he’d vacated and pressed my face into his spot on the pillow. It smelled strongly of his cologne and shampoo. By the time he got out of the shower, I was nearly asleep.

I watched him dress, adjusting the knot on his tie and searching for the monogrammed cufflinks I bought him. The entire time, he had the caller on speaker while they discussed the specifics of a potential deal. Had they been talking while he was in the shower? I didn’t want to know.

Martin disappeared out of the room, his voice growing muffled as he headed down the stairs. When he returned, he had concluded the call. He dropped our clothing from last night on the chair beside the bed and sat down on the edge beside me.

“Do you need a ride to work?”

“My car’s in the garage. I can drive myself.” I opened my eyes and looked at him. “I thought you couldn’t be late.”

He leaned down and kissed my shoulder. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Did someone tip him about the accident in the last forty-five minutes? That didn’t seem likely, but given the people Martin knew and his vast resources, it wasn’t impossible either. “I’m better than okay.”

He rubbed my shoulders and back for a minute before giving me one last kiss. “I’ll be home late tonight.”

“Me too.”

“Be careful.”

“Always,” I said.

The smile from earlier returned. “And forever?”

“Stop it, or I’ll take it back.”

“You can’t.” He grabbed his suit jacket off the hanger and slipped it on over his vest. “It’s already committed to memory.”

“You need to be committed.” I gave him a teasing smile. “Forever and always.”

*       *       *

I stared at the notes and photos plastered to my office walls. I couldn’t prove it yet, but I was convinced Sydney Breeding was not the woman who drove Dustin back to the rental. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure, even if I did prove it, that it would be enough to exonerate him.

“Ms. Parker, are you still there?” Almeada’s disembodied voice emanated from the speaker on my phone. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, but it’s a start. You heard what Dustin said. He’s never deviated from his story. Given the possibility the body could have been pre-chilled and the camera has a blind spot, not to mention Dustin’s friends insisting the woman was named after a flower and that she was sober, I’d say you should have plenty to present to a jury.”

“Even with all that, it could go either way. I need more.”

“I’m working on it.”

The click told me Almeada had disconnected.

Shaking out my shoulders, I returned to my desk and the list of names the techs had pulled from ticket sales. Cross Security had ways of getting lots of things. Part of me wondered if Almeada had subpoenaed the records, but I doubted it.

Every name that corresponded with a purchase made at one of the other venues Dustin visited that night had been marked on the sheet. The highlighted ones had made a purchase within five minutes on either side of when Dustin or one of his friends made a purchase. This wasn’t exactly science, but it made logical sense that if the groups were hanging out together, they’d order and pay around the same time. It was also one of the few ways we could narrow down the list.

I started with the highlighted portion, skimming for anyone named after a flower. That led to fifty-three names. What were the chances the first one I picked would be the right one?

Nope. That wasn’t happening. This was why I never played the lottery.

After exhausting the fifty-three names, I moved on to the rest of the list. ID photos were the easiest. Though, I’d look up at the photo taped to the wall every time to make sure the person on my screen wasn’t the one who’d been caught on camera.

Men were harder to research. They could have paid for a friend, which meant I had to scour their social media profiles for group photos and friends lists. Given the hundreds of men on the list, this could take forever.

“And always,” I muttered. When did I get so cheesy?

“Are you cracking up?” Kellan Dey asked from the doorway.

“Possibly.” I glanced in my colleague’s direction. “Is something going on I should know about?”

“I thought I’d see if you needed any help.”

“Did Cross put you up to it?”

Kellan tilted his head to the side. “You know Lucien.”

“The man loves to spy on me.”

“He’s not spying. Well, not this time.”

I gestured to the chair in front of my desk. “I’m hoping to find that woman,” I pointed to the photo on the wall from the surveillance footage, “listed on someone’s social media profile.”

“Are you sure she has a profile?” Kellan asked.

“I’m not sure of anything.”

He didn’t bother sitting down. Instead, he approached the wall to get a better look at my research. “Did the techs run a reverse image search?”

“It was inconclusive. Facial rec didn’t get anything either.”

“Do you have anything else to go on?”

“She may have a friend named Caleb.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s the best I can do. The angle makes it hard to narrow down height. She’s on the slim side, but that doesn’t do much for us.”

“I’d say she’s a natural blonde.”

“How did you reach that conclusion?” I asked.

“Her roots.” He pointed to the photo of the top of her head. “Unless she had a recent dye job. D-Y-E, not the other, then that’s her natural hair color.”

“Okay, so we’re looking for a blonde woman with a friend named Caleb, who I believe to be alive.” I pointed to an image from the crime scene of Sydney Breeding. “What do you think?”

Kellan plucked it off the wall and compared the two. “Hard to say, but they could be different women. Is the vic on social media?”

“Yeah.”

“Forward me a copy of the list of names,” he said. “I’ll see if any of her friends appear on your list. If they do, it’d be better to find out now, before you waste too much time looking for someone who doesn’t exist.”

“Does that mean you think I’m wrong?” I forwarded the file to him.

“The photos don’t tell me much, but I assume you reached the conclusion that we’re looking at two different women based on more than just these photos.”

I nodded.

“Okay, I’ll let you know if I find anything. In the event you get a hit first, I’ll be across the hall.”

“I owe you,” I said.

After several more hours, I couldn’t take staring at the computer screen for another minute. I got up from behind my desk. My neck ached, and my stomach growled.

I stretched and popped my head into Kellan’s office. “I’m ordering dinner. How do you feel about pizza?”

“What kind are you getting? Mushroom?”

“I was thinking extra cheese.”

“That sounds good.”

After phoning in the order, I headed to the lab to see if the crime scene recreation had been updated. As promised, foam walls had been added, which stood six feet tall. That gave me a better idea of how things looked from the inside.

It would have been impossible to see the body from the entrance or the bedroom. The body had been located to the right of the kitchen, near the back of the house, past the pantry, near the three locked doors.

Once the main hallway opened into the living room, a person could see everything. But not until they reached that point. Dustin Ford had no reason to go that far into the house. He came home tired and crashed in the first room he found. The next morning, he got up, showered, dressed, and headed out.

Would he have made coffee? I wondered. Dustin hadn’t bought any groceries or come home with takeout, so he wouldn’t have ventured into the kitchen to make breakfast. However, according to the vacation rental listing, one of the amenities provided was coffee and tea service.

Photos from the crime scene showed a combination coffeepot which used pods to brew a single cup or could be switched to brew an entire pot of coffee using the typical basket and filter method. A coffee bar had been set up, which had an assortment of pods and premeasured filter bags with various roasts. In addition, sweetener packets and creamers, flavored and regular, sat beside it, along with several varieties of tea.

Most people started their day with caffeine. The disposable travel cups would make it easy for Dustin to brew a cup to take with him, but then again, there was that coffee shop down the street, less than a block away. He had to have passed it the night before. Maybe he would have wanted to save time by going there for his morning joe instead.

I dialed my client. “I have a question. Did you go to the coffee shop?”

“Um…I don’t remember.”

“Seriously?” I hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but I was frustrated.

“I don’t like coffee. I never have. In fact, I don’t like any hot beverages. So I wouldn’t have stopped for that. I may have stopped to get something for breakfast. I remember picking something up on my way to Mike’s parents’, but I don’t remember where I went.”

“What did you get?” I asked.

“Egg and cheese biscuit.”

“It wasn’t on your credit card statement.”

“I paid cash.”

“Why?” Another question that didn’t need to be vocalized. Pull it together, Parker.

“I had extra with me because I thought I might need it for a cover charge, but Atlantis didn’t charge us to go inside. So I used that the next morning.”

“See if you can find a receipt or something.”

“Why is this important?” Dustin asked.

“I want Almeada to have evidence to support the claim that you didn’t venture into the kitchen that morning for coffee.”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Saying it doesn’t exactly prove it.”

“I know. If that’s all it took, we wouldn’t be here now.”

Sixteen

Everything led to a dead end. Kellan had called it a night when he couldn’t match any names of concert attendees to Sydney Breeding’s friends list. On the bright side, she didn’t appear to know anyone named Caleb, which gave me hope my theory was correct. If I could find the woman who drove Dustin back to the rental that night, she could testify as to what she’d seen and the condition Dustin had been in when she dropped him off. Sure, it wouldn’t be the slam dunk Almeada wanted, but it would help.

I kept working until I could no longer see straight. Midnight was fast approaching, and I was no better off now than when I got to work this morning. There had to be some way to find this woman if she existed.

Giving up on the records we had, I got into my car, hoping it wouldn’t meet the same fate as the company car, and headed to Atlantis. The line to get in wasn’t as long as I thought it’d be. Once I made it to the door, I slipped the doorman a twenty and asked if he’d seen any thin, chesty blondes.

“Hundreds,” he said.

“I’m looking for one in particular. I know she was here six months ago with a group of seven or eight.” I showed him photos of Dustin and his friends. “Do you remember seeing any of them around here?”

The doorman glanced at the waiting line. “What is this about?”

“I need to find her,” I said.

He studied me carefully. “Are you on the job?”

“Used to be. Now, I work private.”

“Yeah, me too. I worked for the Marshals.”

“FBI.”

He nodded and fingered his earpiece. He turned to block out some of the noise and spoke to someone on the other end. When he turned back, he gestured that I go inside. “Brock’s head of security. He’ll help you out.”

“Thanks.” I slipped him another twenty.

“No problem.”

The volume inside made it hard to think. It reminded me of a club Martin had taken me to in Los Angeles. That hadn’t been about work. It had been about fun.

A man in a dark suit met me before I could make it to the bar. Since this wasn’t the kind of place where people wore suits, I took him for security. He leaned in. “Were you looking for someone?”

“Is that a pickup line?”

“No, ma’am. I’m Brock.”

“Just the man I was hoping to meet.” I looked up, gesturing to the air around us. “Can we discuss this somewhere a little more private and a lot quieter?”

“Right this way.”

I followed him down a hidden hallway to a soundproofed office. The room was large with several monitors, control boards, and desks. Two people were inside, keeping an eye on things.

“I’m Alex Parker.” I showed him my credentials. “I’m looking for a woman. She’s blonde and thin. At least that’s how she looked six months ago. I don’t know if she’s been here since. All I can tell you is she was in the company of these gentlemen.” I showed him the photos of Dustin and his friends.

“Do you know what night those were taken?” Brock asked.

I gave him the date of the concert and the approximate times they would have been at the club.

“Our footage gets overwritten every ninety days,” he said. “Did someone from your office call about getting our receipts?”

“Yes.”

He rubbed his chin while he thought things through. “Is there anything else you can tell me about her?”

“I don’t know much. There may have been two other women with her. Maybe three. I don’t know the details on everyone, just these four guys.”

“Why do you need to find her?” the woman behind the desk asked.

I turned. “She may be a witness to something.”

“Something?” the woman asked.

I didn’t want to say. “Someone in that group was accused of a serious crime. I am trying to track down everyone who had been with him that night to figure out what happened.”

“Ah.” She glanced at the other man who hadn’t bothered to introduce himself. But neither of them said anything else.

Brock sighed. “This would be easier if you had a photo.”

“I agree.” I showed him the blurry images from the security cam outside the vacation rental. “That’s the best I can do.”

He gave it a cockeyed look. “Y’know, this may sound crazy, but I think I recognize her.”

I hadn’t expected that. “Who is she?”

“I can’t be certain.” He went behind a terminal and tapped a few buttons, switching camera views on the monitors. “Hang on, let me see if I can find that footage. If that’s the same woman, she’s a regular. She comes here every week or two with a group of friends. They always order soft drinks, never alcohol, but they’ll spend hours dancing.”

“That could be her. That sounds like what she did the night she was with these men.”

Brock brought up footage from the previous weekend. “There.” He pointed to a blonde in a group of five. Three women. Two men. The security cameras were posted too high to make out most of her features. But the blurry image from the club looked similar enough to the blurry image from the rental. It could be the same woman, or any blonde woman with shoulder-length hair.

“Can I get a copy of that?” I asked.

The woman who’d spoken made a disapproving sound. Brock ignored her. “Sure. Tell me where to send it.”

I gave him Amir’s e-mail address, figuring someone in the lab would want to get started on this. “Do you think it’d be possible to get a look at the receipts and see who paid for all those soft drinks?”

“Sure thing.” Brock led me out of the room. When he reached behind me to close the door, I heard him mutter something to the woman. Since the music was no longer muted, I had a hard time hearing what he said with his head in the room, but his tone didn’t sound friendly. It sounded slightly threatening, the way most things Cross said to me sounded.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” I said. “I’m just trying to find someone.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said.

“Did the police ever ask you for any of this?”

“Not that I recall.” He ushered me to the bar. “How serious is this situation?”

“It depends. My client’s accused of something he allegedly didn’t do. I just want to make sure he doesn’t get railroaded.”

“What if he’s guilty?”

“Then there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Brock leaned over the bar. “Hey, Brenda, can you bring up the receipts from last weekend?” He gave her the timestamp off the footage for when the drink order was placed. “Those were the five virgins.”

“Two diets, one regular, a lemon-lime, and an energy drink.” Brenda eyed him. “Does that sound right?”

“That’s the one.”

“The credit card is on file. Caleb Osbourne. I can give you the last four digits,” Brenda said.

Brock glanced back at me. “All right, sure.”

“Two-seven-one-six.”

“Thanks, Brenda.” Brock turned to me. “Did you get all that?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” His eyes sparkled. For a moment, I thought he was flirting. Then I realized he wanted to be paid for his services.

Slipping him a few twenties, I said, “I can take it from here.”

“All right.” He reached over and grabbed the pen from beside the register and wrote something on a napkin. “If you change your mind, that’s my number.”

I folded the napkin and tucked it into my jacket pocket. “Thanks.”

He nodded and headed for the hallway.

I waited for Brenda to finish filling a pitcher with beer and hand it off to the person waiting before I said, “Do you remember anything about the people who made that order?”

“They come here a lot. They never drink. That’s why I remember them. A lot of people will get water or soda, but they usually alternate the soft drinks with beers or something harder to avoid getting dehydrated. But this group never drinks.”

“Does Caleb always pay?”

“I’m not sure. The guys always order though. It’s either the tall one with the beard or the shorter one with the red hair.”

“Which one’s Caleb?”

“I have no idea. They aren’t wearing name tags, and I don’t pay much attention to what pops up on the screen. All I make sure is the transaction goes through.”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Almost a year.”

“Do you remember these men?” I showed her the photos of Dustin and his friends. “They would have been here six months ago. This guy,” I pointed to a photo of Norman, “was three sheets most of the night.”

“That’s true of a lot of people who come here.” She indicated the dance floor. “Look around. I make it a point to pay attention and not overserve, but it’s not always easy to tell.”

“All right. Thanks.” I dropped a twenty in the tip jar. Finally, I had a solid lead. It hadn’t taken much, just a trip to the club. Had I known this earlier, I wouldn’t have spent the day staring at my computer screen.

Before leaving, I sent a text to Lucien telling him what I’d found. Even though I hadn’t been able to ID the blonde, I hoped Caleb Osbourne was the same Caleb who ditched the group at the concert. If so, he could tell us who the blonde was and whether that was the same woman who’d been found dead inside Dustin’s rental. However, I was hoping Brock had been correct in thinking the blonde in my photos and the blonde on the club’s security feed was the same woman. That would mean she was alive and well and could tell us what happened that night.

I would have hung around the club longer to question regulars, but I had no idea who usually came here. The mass of writhing, bopping, not bobbing, bodies indicated they were mostly twenty-somethings looking for a little fun late at night. Without a name or decent photo, no one would be able to help me.

As I made my way to the door, that sense of being watched returned. So I stopped, looked, and listened. Maybe it was one of the ghosts haunting me, but whoever had slammed his SUV into my car hadn’t been a ghost. As far as I knew, he had yet to be identified or arrested. Why was that suddenly the theme of my life?

Instead of leaving the club, I found a booth in the corner, sat down, and waited. With the hundreds of people inside, the darkness, and the moving lights, I couldn’t pinpoint the source of my unease. I could always give Brock a call and ask him to walk me out. He’d probably think I was flirting. However, I’d never been good at playing the damsel in distress. And while it was advisable for women to walk in groups or have security escort them to their cars when they were alone at night, I liked to believe I could hold my own. The nine millimeter I carried would have evened the playing field, except I’d left it in the car because the club had metal detectors and I didn’t want to cause trouble when I was here to ask for favors.

Pulling out my phone, I dialed Detective O’Connell. Unlike Jacobs, he typically answered unless he couldn’t.

“Parker?” he asked. “Where are you?”

I stuck my finger in my other ear to drown out the music. “Atlantis.”

“Atlanta?”

“No, Atlantis,” I said a little louder. “I wanted to ask if the cops found the hit-and-run driver from yesterday?”

“What hit-and-run?”

“The asshole who slammed into me.” I couldn’t hear exactly what O’Connell replied, but I had a pretty good idea how he responded, so I answered as if I had heard him. “It happened yesterday afternoon around five.” I gave him the precise location of the accident. “I’m okay. The company car is totaled. The city bus wasn’t looking so hot either. Whatever you do, don’t tell Martin.”

“Fine, but I don’t have anything for you. There’s a description out of the driver, and patrol knows to keep an eye out. So far, he remains in the wind.”

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I scanned the room again, but I didn’t see anyone watching. However, now that I was talking to O’Connell, the creepy feeling had gone away. Still, I knew better than to think it had been in my head. I had thought that the previous day, and it nearly landed me in the hospital or worse.

“Do the police have any idea why he hit me?” I got up from the table and made my way to the door. A couple followed, so I stopped and moved to the side, but they weren’t following me. They were on their way out. I caught a snippet of their conversation. They were going to pick up ice cream.

“I was going to ask you that,” O’Connell said. “Does this have anything to do with Jacobs’ case?”

“I can’t say for certain, but that’s what I assume. There’s nothing else currently on my plate.”

“That doesn’t mean someone isn’t coming out of the woodwork.”

“I didn’t recognize him. Granted, he had on a cap and glasses.” I scanned the room again before stepping outside. The doorman from earlier winked at me. “Thanks.”

“Why are you thanking me?” O’Connell asked.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

He grunted. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Parker?”

“Since you’re bored, run the name Caleb Osbourne and let me know what comes back.”

“I’m not bored.”

“Run it anyway.”

“Doesn’t Cross Security have people who do these things?”

“Yeah, but I’m talking to you.”

“Hang on.”

I kept an eye on the crowd in line and the people moving along the sidewalk. A few people in line glanced in my direction, more out of boredom and curiosity than malice. Since none of them appeared threatening, I hoped whoever had been watching me earlier had given up.

My car was parked on a side street, so I kept walking. No one followed. When I turned, I looked around. The only person nearby was a woman coming toward me. She had her hands in her pockets and her head down. I dismissed the possibility she posed a threat until she stopped in front of me and pulled a gun.

“Hang up the phone,” she said.

“Uh…Nick, I’m gonna have to call you back,” I said.

Seventeen

I held my phone in front of me, making a show of disconnecting while I quickly tapped the camera button and snapped a shot. “Take it easy. I’m putting it away.” I hit the power button, blacking out the screen and locking my device.

She lunged forward, doing her best to maintain her distance even as she yanked the device out of my hand and threw it to the ground. She stomped on it with her heel. “Put your hands up.”

“Is this a mugging?” I asked, doing as she said and wishing I hadn’t left my nine millimeter in the car. “Crime stats indicate women are less likely to commit violent crimes. Eighty-something percent of violent offenders are men. An even higher percentage is responsible for gun violence. So you’re a rarity. Is that your schtick?”

She pointed the gun more emphatically in my direction, but I could see the slight tremor. This wasn’t typical behavior for her. “Give me your wallet.”

“So this is a mugging.” I kept the hand that had held my phone extended in her direction while I slowly reached into my pocket with the other. “You won’t find much. My trip to the club cleaned me out.”

She snatched my wallet and took a step back, keeping her distance. That was smart. After struggling a bit, she flipped it open with one hand. She checked my ID before tossing my wallet to the side. “I don’t know who hired you, but you need to back off.”

“Back off what? Who are you?”

She gripped the gun in both hands and took a tiny step closer. “You heard me. Stop looking. Stop poking around. Just stop.”

“What are we talking about here?”

“Don’t play dumb. You know what this is about.”

I had my suspicions. “Were you there that night? Did you drive a guy back to his vacation rental?”

“Back the fuck off.”

“I can’t do that. I guess you’re going to have to shoot me.”

“You don’t think I will?” She took another step closer, the gun held level with my nose. “Is that what your statistics tell you?”

“No, that’s what your stance tells me. You didn’t even take the safety off.”

“Nice try, but this gun doesn’t have a safety.” She took another step, and I moved forward to meet her.

Ducking down as I shifted to the right, I grabbed for the barrel, making sure it wasn’t pointed at me. I used my other hand to pry it from her grip.

When she realized she was overpowered, she let go and took off running. The gun clattered to the ground, scraping against the sidewalk before falling off the curb and landing with a clang on top of the cover to the storm drain.

Scooping it up, I shoved it into my pocket before chasing after her. She didn’t have much of a head start. I was almost on top of her when a thunderous boom sounded. The bullet impacted against the dumpster a foot ahead of me.

The forward momentum kept me hurtling toward it, so I slid against the concrete, feeling the rough surface tearing at my jeans before scraping my skin. I rolled to a cover position behind a parked car.

By that time, the woman had crossed the street, still running with no intention of slowing or stopping. I peered around the side of the car, hoping to spot her accomplice. No other shots rang out. I edged to the other end and looked out again. I didn’t see anyone on the other side of the street or movement on the levels above.

I looked in the direction she had fled, but I had lost sight of her. All I could see were brake lights in the distance.

Abandoning my cover position, I jogged back to where she’d tossed my wallet and smashed my phone. Both remained. No one else had been on the street to pick them up, and if someone had, the gunshot must have scared them off. Slipping my hand inside my jacket sleeve, I picked up my wallet without touching it and put it back in my pocket before doing the same with my phone.

The woman hadn’t worn gloves. She must have left prints. If not, I had taken her photo and confiscated her gun. It shouldn’t take long to get an ID.

Instead of remaining out in the open, where anyone could shoot me, I went back to my car, retrieved my nine millimeter from the glove box, and put on a pair of latex gloves.

I checked my phone. When I pressed the button on the side, the screen lit up, but the cracks kept it from being of any use. Since I couldn’t call for help, I wondered if the city’s gunshot detection system heard the boom. The technology wasn’t always the most reliable. I didn’t know if units had been dispatched to this location.

Under normal circumstances, I would have found another phone and called the police, but Cross’s words nagged at me. The police knew I was looking into the homicide case. They knew before anyone else did. And Big Pharma had deep pockets. The woman who threatened me wasn’t a cop. I was sure of that, but something told me not to make the call.

Instead, I grabbed some tools from the car, returned to the place where the bullet had lodged itself, and dug it out of the front of the dumpster, leaving the telltale pockmark. If the cops arrived at the scene, they would notice the fresh bullet hole.

Surely, CCTVs in the area would point them in my direction, but I trusted Almeada would come up with a reasonable defense as to why I fled the scene. After all, I couldn’t report the shooting with a broken phone.

Once I was safely back at work, I went straight to Cross Security’s version of a crime lab. A few techs were always on duty. It was one of the perks of the job. Given how my night had gone, it may have been the only perk of the job.

“You look like shit,” Samara said.

Emptying my pockets, I indicated my cracked phone screen. “I need that dusted. I also need the last photo I took.”

“Hang on.” She put on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves and reached for the fingerprint powder. As she spun the brush over the surface, she pointed to a cabinet. “Grab another phone from there. They’re all unlocked, so you won’t have a carrier issue.”

I opened the door she indicated, finding a dozen different phones. “Will Cross deduct this from my paycheck?”

She laughed. “As you can imagine, phones get broken a lot around here. It’s one of the job perks.”

I pulled out a box containing a newer version of my phone, removed the charging cable, and plugged it in. Once she was finished pulling prints, she removed my SIM card, handed it to me, and plugged my old phone in. I stuck the SIM into my new phone.

“I can transfer everything from here to there for you,” she said.

“I’ll have to remember that. The guy at the mall always says I have to send everything to the cloud.”

“Cloud shmoud.” In a couple of seconds, the transfer completed. Since I was set, she scanned the fingerprints into the system and let them run. While we waited for a match, she brought up the photo I’d taken of the woman. It was a little blurry. “I can clean this up.”

“I’ll need a copy or two. Print and digital.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” she asked. The computer beeped, and she looked at the screen. “No match in the system on the unknown prints. Yours came back though.”

“Try pulling prints off my wallet.” I handed it to her. Fingerprints were the fastest and easiest way to make an ID. “If that doesn’t work, I have a plan B and C.”

Samara took my wallet and repeated the dust and tape experiment. “I’m glad you have smooth leather and not one of those cloth things or this would be a hell of a lot harder.” She scanned in the prints. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“The woman in the photo told me I needed to stop looking. She wasn’t very nice about it either.” I placed the gun and bullet on the table. “The handgun is hers. The bullet belonged to her friend.”

“Did you get a look at the second unsub?”

“No.”

She shook her head when the computer gave her the same details on these new prints. Half of them belonged to me. The others couldn’t be identified. “She may not be in the system. Let me clean up that photo you took, so facial rec can start chomping away at it.”

“How long do you think that will take?”

“As long as it takes. It could be minutes or days.”

While she worked magic with the computers, I wandered over to the first aid station and removed the box from the wall. Inside were the basics. Taking a seat on a stool, I examined my scraped knees which were visible through the rips in my jeans. After cleaning the cuts, I stuck some oversized band-aids on and examined the frayed denim edges. For once, I looked fashionable, minus the bloodstains.

The sound of the gun being disassembled caught my attention. “Serial number’s been etched off. It’s a sloppy job. I can probably pull it by adjusting the light filters and seeing what was underneath,” Samara said.

“No acid wash?”

“Let’s hope not.” She scanned the gun, hitting keys on the computer until she was able to pull the serial number.

“That was easy enough.”

“Hold that thought.” Samara checked the registration database. “Gun is registered to Robert Stahl.” She clicked a few keys. “He’s currently serving a ten year sentence for armed robbery. That was the gun he used to commit the crime.”

“Which means it should be in police evidence or destroyed.” Again, Cross’s words nagged at me. I hated when he was right. I’d hate it even more if a cop fired on me.

Samara turned to look at me. “What are you going to do about this?”

“I’m not sure yet.” I fingered the crushed bullet. “Any chance you can tell me something about the shooter from this?”

She let the bullet roll around her palm. “Ballistics might be able to tell you something. Based on the caliber, it came from a rifle. I’m not an expert in that field, but I’d say it came from a hunting rifle.”

“I concur.” I let the scene replay in my head. The street had been empty. Nothing caught my attention, except the woman walking toward me. I had dismissed the possibility she could have been watching me while I was inside the club. However, she wasn’t working alone. Someone fired that warning shot so she could get away. Whoever fired could have been tracking my movements, tipped her of the direction I was heading, and given her time to intercept. The shooter could have had to reposition or find a vantage point, which would explain why the shot wasn’t fired until I was in hot pursuit instead of when we tussled over her weapon.

“Do you want me to call someone from ballistics in?” Samara asked.

“No. This can wait until morning. First thing, though.”

Samara nodded. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine now. I may not be after Almeada and Cross hear about this.” I pointed to the computer screen where facial rec was comparing the photo I’d taken to the images in the database. “Let me know as soon as we get something.”

“You got it.”

I left the lab and ducked into my office, but I couldn’t get the things I needed on my own. While I had wanted to avoid going to the police, it’d be impossible to color entirely outside the lines on this one. Luckily, O’Connell was on duty until eight a.m. That gave me plenty of time to pay him a visit.

On my way to the precinct, I phoned Almeada. My boss would have preferred being notified, but I’d learned long ago it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. However, the attorney was less than pleased by the late night call and even more disturbed by what I had to tell him.

“All right. Go to the cops and get something on the record. However, the less they know, the better. Based on the gun you took off the assailant, it’s logical to assume someone’s dirty,” Almeada said.

“Cross should be able to monitor the internal happenings,” I said.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that, and I’m going to ask that you refrain from telling me such things in the future.”

“Right, sure.”

Almeada sighed. “Do you need me to meet you at the precinct?”

“No, I have my own connections. I’ll be fine.”

“In the event you get placed in lockup, don’t call me until mid-morning. I’d like to sleep in.”

Resisting the urge to mention it was his case which put me in this predicament, I disconnected and made a stop at the twenty-four hour diner to pick up coffee and donuts. With any luck, I’d make it home before sunrise.

Eighteen

“I thought you were going to call me back,” O’Connell said.

I shook the greasy brown paper bag. “Does that mean you don’t want these?”

He eyed the bag and the drink carrier. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to ask for a favor?”

I sat down in the chair beside his desk and handed him the donuts. “It’s not a favor, exactly. I have a question.”

O’Connell rummaged through the bag until he found one with vanilla icing and sprinkles. “They didn’t have strawberry?”

“They were out, which is why I got that and a chocolate.”

He found the chocolate with sprinkles, took a napkin from where it was folded between two of the cups in the drink carrier, placed it on his desk, and stacked the donuts on top of it. “Go on.”

“Were there any reports of gunfire near Atlantis tonight?”

He picked up one of the donuts. “Did you shoot someone?”

“No.”

Putting the donut in his mouth, he turned to the computer and entered the information. He took a bite. “9-1-1 didn’t receive any reports.”

“What about the gunshot detection system?”

He bit off another piece and put the remainder back on the napkin. He chewed while he clicked the mouse. “That piece of shit system? Half the time it flags nonsense. What time were you thinking?”

“Between midnight and one.”

He stopped scrolling, rocked back in his chair, and picked up the remainder of the first donut. “Do I want to know?” He eyed my ripped jeans. “Did you discharge your weapon?”

“No.” I eased forward in the chair and removed the confiscated gun from the small of my back and placed it gently on his desk. “That’s not the gun that fired the shot either.”

O’Connell gave it a sideways look. “Did you get a new piece?”

“That’s not mine. I found it. Actually, someone dropped it after pointing it in my face.”

“Who?”

“Jury’s out on that one.”

“All right, go sit with a sketch artist.”

“That won’t be necessary.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the photo. “That’s who had the gun. I don’t have a name. I don’t know anything about her, other than she wasn’t very happy to see me.”

“No one ever is,” Detective Thompson said as he scooped up the bag of donuts and grabbed a jelly. “Are those coffees for us too?”

I handed him the mocha. “That vanilla latte is yours, Nick.”

O’Connell ignored the cup. Producing a set of forms I’d seen a hundred times, he put them down in front of me, along with a pen. “You know the drill. Walk me through it.”

“There’s not much to walk through. That lady approached me, pulled a gun, and told me to back off.”

“Back off of what?” Thompson asked.

“She didn’t specify. When I asked for details, she got aggressive. I defended myself. She dropped her gun and ran. The next thing I know, some rando took a shot at me. My guess is it was supposed to be a warning. I didn’t see the shooter. I don’t even know where he was when he fired. But the woman got away, so I came here.”

“Straight here?” O’Connell pointed the end of his pen at the drink carrier.

“I may have made a stop or two along the way.”

O’Connell tucked the gun into an evidence bag and sealed it.

Thompson leaned over to examine it more closely. “The serial number’s been filed off.”

“Whoever did the etching did a shitty job. That gun was used in a holdup. It should be in police evidence or destroyed since the offender is serving out his prison term already,” I said.

“Does the offender have a name?” O’Connell asked.

“Robert Stahl.”

“Do you have any connection to him?”

“None.”

O’Connell glanced around, but the precinct was quiet tonight. Most of the action was downstairs with intake. No one was close enough to overhear our conversation. “Do you think the woman who tried to scare you off is a cop?”

“No.”

“I’ll run her anyway.” O’Connell examined the photo closely before handing my phone to Thompson. “Do you recognize her?”

“Nope.” Thompson put my phone on the desk. “I’ll run her stats.”

“Her prints aren’t in the system,” I said.

O’Connell looked annoyed. “Is there anything else I should know?”

I knew better than to tell him I had the bullet. Unless we found the shooter or the weapon, the bullet was useless. I didn’t need to risk it disappearing from the lab. “Cross thinks this is police corruption. Between the accident yesterday and someone threatening to shoot me today, there aren’t that many other possibilities. Jacobs knew I was looking into things two days ago. Everyone else found out a few hours before the accident.”

“You know Jacobs isn’t dirty,” Thompson said.

“I know, but that gun got into that woman’s possession somehow. This wouldn’t be the first time the department was facing a leak or dealing with a bad apple.”

“How do you always get in the middle of these things?” O’Connell asked.

“It’s not easy.”

O’Connell rubbed his face. “Write out a report. It won’t hurt to have something on record in case things progress. But I hope you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“We won’t know until we ID that woman. I’m kind of hoping she’s the person I’ve been looking for. She fits the description I have,” I said.

“When will you know for sure?”

“After I speak to my client.”

“In the event it is the same woman, give me a call. You don’t need to confront her on your own.”

*       *       *

After I left the precinct, I went home. Martin was asleep when I arrived and gone by the time I woke up. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the luxury of a leisurely morning.

When I arrived at work, Cross was in the middle of his infamous morning meeting. I tried to sneak in, but the conference room wasn’t large enough for that to be possible. Instead, I dropped into a chair beside Kellan and waited for the meeting to conclude and the room to clear.

“Did we ID the woman?” I asked.

Cross shook his head. “Facial rec is still running. Ballistics said the bullet came from a bolt-action hunting rifle, probably a Remington or a Ruger. I should see if any have disappeared from police evidence recently.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. The woman who approached me isn’t a cop.”

“She could be working with someone on the force. Maybe she’s an informant or an offender who never got busted in exchange for a few favors.”

“Careful, Lucien, your bias is showing.”

He cleared his throat and tapped the stack of folders on the table in front of him. “I assume you’re on your way to question our client.”

“And possibly his friends again.”

“A security team will shadow you. If anyone is following you, they will notice.”

“Your security teams aren’t always stealthy. If you’re concerned, you could ask another investigator to watch my back.” I hadn’t worked with most of my colleagues, but Kellan or Renner would do it.

“Security will handle it.” The look on Cross’s face told me what I needed to know. He didn’t care if they were spotted. In fact, he may have wanted whoever was keeping watch on me to see the added security. It was a show of force, a power play.

“Fine.” I headed for the door.

“Be careful, Alex.”

“Always.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, right.”

An armored SUV with four men inside followed me to Dustin Ford’s apartment. Since he’d been accused of murder, he’d been working remotely from home. He hadn’t been fired yet, but the writing was on the wall.

Normally, I wouldn’t have wanted to make the three hour drive to visit a client, but I needed the element of surprise to ensure my client wasn’t lying or concealing key facts from me. Also, the long commute would have made it obvious if I was tailed.

When I arrived at Ford’s apartment, the armored SUV kept going. By the time I knocked on the front door, they had circled and parked on the other side of the street. We were clear.

Ford opened the door in a t-shirt and lounge pants. “Ms. Parker, what are you doing here?”

“I had some questions. Possibly a lead.”

“Come in.” He stepped back so I could enter. “You could have called. I would have met you somewhere so you didn’t have to make the drive.”

“I needed the time to think. Did I wake you?”

“No, I was working.” He gave me a half-smile. “Y’know that whole work from home in your pajamas mentality.”

“Always a big crowd-pleaser,” I said.

“Yeah.” But the look on his face told me his attire may have been the result of depression or hopelessness rather than a desire to be comfortable.

“Do you know this woman?” I handed him the printed copy of the photo I’d taken.

“Should I?”

“I guess not.”

“Who is she?”

“I have no idea. Her prints aren’t in the system, so she doesn’t have a record. She isn’t military or police. But she isn’t wholly uncomfortable around firearms either.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my ways.” I looked around his apartment. The piled-up takeout containers in the trash can said he didn’t go out much. His computer was on, some top-of-the-line thing with multiple monitors, a light-up keyboard, and an expensive ergonomic gaming chair. He didn’t have any framed photos, only art which looked like reprints of famous pin-ups. I continued into the kitchen, spotting a modern dining room table, glass top with cushioned chairs. “Do you mind if we speak in here?”

“Not at all. Can I get you anything? I have soda and water.”

I noted the lack of coffeepot on the counter. At least he hadn’t been lying about that.

“It’d be better if we get right to it. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“I don’t mind if it means you’ll be able to clear my name.” His eyes pleaded with me. “Do you believe me now?”

“It’s never been about believing you, Dustin. It’s been about the evidence.” His desperation made me think he could have hired someone to threaten me as a way to add credibility to his story. But I didn’t think he’d go to those lengths. Also, he had no idea that I planned to go to Sydney’s apartment, which was where I first felt someone watching me.

“Ms. Parker?”

I shook myself. “Sorry. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Maybe I will take one of those sodas.”

“Sure.” He retrieved a can from the fridge and slid it across the table.

I tapped on the top before cracking it open. “I may have a lead on the woman who drove you home. I was hoping that was the lady in the photo I showed you, but that would make things too easy. When I spoke to Mike, he mentioned someone named Caleb. Does that ring any bells?”

“I’m not sure.”

It was time I pulled out my bag of tricks. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Humor me. I want to try to jog your memory.” I waited for him to close his eyes. “The night of the concert, you were inside watching the band. What row were you in?”

“Seventeen. We had amazing seats.”

“It sounds like it. What do you smell?”

He opened his eyes. “What?” He turned to peer at the stove and microwave before pulling his shirt away from his chest and giving it a sniff.

“Not now. That night. Close your eyes and tell me if you remember any specific scents.”

“Popcorn and nacho cheese. Hot dogs and beer.” He smiled. “Norm had gotten the hot dog and beer with a cup of nacho cheese, which he kept dipping the dog into. Ever since he moved in with Natalie, he’s been starving. All he did that night was eat and eat and eat.”

“What about the beer?”

“We all had gotten beers between sets, except Mike.”

“Okay, keep your eyes closed. The band finishes their encore. The stadium empties out.”

“We wait outside near the side doors. The wind picked up. It wasn’t cold, but it was breezy. I thought it might rain.”

“Was anyone else around?”

“At first, there were a lot of people. Some were outside talking. Others were waiting, hoping for selfies and autographs. But as we waited, people got tired and left. That’s when we ended up talking to that other group. Three women and one guy. Well, two, but the first one left. We thought it was kind of perfect because there were four of us and four of them.”

I didn’t need him recapping the same things. “Tell me about the guy who left the group. What did he have on?”

“A band t-shirt. It was one they sold at the concert. He must have put it on over his other shirt. He had on jeans and a bright white baseball cap which matched his bright white shoes. He had dark, curly hair. I’d say he was pretty average.”

“Facial hair?” I asked.

“Not really. Maybe some scruff.”

“What did his friends call him?”

“Cal, I think. Callum?” Dustin opened his eyes. “Caleb.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure now that you brought it up.”

“Have you spoken to Mike in the last two days?” I asked.

“He called to say he had talked to you, that he wished he could do more.”

“Did he mention Caleb?”

“No.”

“Do you remember what kind of car Caleb drove?”

“He called for a rideshare. That’s why he waited with his friends outside. He knew it’d be impossible to get one right after the concert, and he wanted to avoid the surge pricing when everyone was trying to get a ride at once. By the time he left, things had calmed down considerably.”

“Hang on.” Cross Security had pulled Caleb Osbourne’s ID photo. That had been the same man who paid for the non-alcoholic beverages he and his friends drank at Atlantis the week before. “Do you recognize this man?” Based on the description Dustin provided, I hoped I finally had a lead.

Dustin took my phone and zoomed in before zooming out. “I think that’s the guy who left the group. It’s hard to tell since he isn’t wearing a cap here. His hair looks fluffier, and he’s got more of a beard. But that looks like him.”

I took out my notepad and made a few notes, even though none of that seemed particularly useful. “I have a few personal questions to ask.”

“Oh-kay.”

“Who stands to benefit once you’re out of the picture?”

Nineteen

Dustin Ford didn’t have any siblings or half-siblings. As far as he knew, neither of his parents had any extramarital affairs or children with other partners. Of course, he couldn’t say that with utter certainty, but if such a person existed, he had no knowledge of it. That left more distant relatives.

The security team followed me back to the city, keeping a respectable distance five car lengths back. They were easy for me to spot since I knew they were there, but I didn’t notice anyone else tailing me. According to the team leader, he hadn’t seen anyone either.

On the drive back, I called the boss and filled him in on what I’d learned. “I don’t know the specifics, but I’d think some big drug company wouldn’t be family-owned. So I’m not sure how any of that figures in to possible motives, but Dustin stands to inherit a fortune. We should look into trust funds and things of that nature.”

“And the business,” Cross said. “Leadership in the company is a separate beast from ownership. While Ford’s father doesn’t own the entire thing, he started it. He owns the majority and made sure no one could ever take that away as it grew and expanded.”

“I didn’t know such things were possible.”

“How could you not? James did the same thing with Martin Technologies. He inherited it from his father.”

“I didn’t think MT had a board of directors when his father ran things. I thought his father was the only oversight.”

Cross didn’t say anything, which was for the best. I didn’t need to be reminded of how much research he’d done on Martin.

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “Dustin stands to inherit ownership of his father’s drug company at some point in the future. However, if he’s incarcerated or otherwise unable to take possession, what happens then?”

“I’ll look into it.”

“Ha. You don’t know.”

“I said I’ll find out.”

“While you’re doing that, I will pay Mr. Osbourne a visit.”

“Take the security team with you.”

“To conduct my interview?”

Cross let out a frustrated grunt. “Do what you want.” And then he hung up.

After entering Caleb’s address into my GPS, I let my mind review the few things I knew. But the intel was limited. All I knew was Dustin was desperate and so was Almeada. However, someone really didn’t want me looking into the homicide investigation. That spoke volumes.

If Dustin was guilty, no one would care how much I poked around. That had to mean someone else killed Sydney Breeding. I just didn’t know who or why.

My shadow had spotted me at some point. Perhaps at the vacation rental, but my gut said I didn’t pick up the tail until I went to the vic’s apartment. The police knew I was looking into matters. However, I hadn’t told anyone exactly where I’d be or what I planned to do.

Whoever wanted to scare me off hadn’t been watching me. They’d been watching the apartment or the vacation rental. That was the only thing that made sense.

Replaying the events from that morning, I’d passed several people on the street. No one paid any attention to me. The only person who noticed me was the woman who asked why I was standing on top of the dumpster. She must have had two decades on me. She was more than capable of keeping an eye on the rental. She said she didn’t live in the area, but that could be a lie. All I knew for certain was she didn’t ram me with a stolen SUV or threaten me with a loaded firearm.

Dismissing the possibility she was involved, at least for now, I tried to think if I’d crossed paths with anyone else. The guest inside the vacation rental could have seen me through a window or on the security system. But that would be a hell of a coincidence that someone involved in Sydney’s murder happened to be staying at the same rental when I went to check things out.

That left three options. The owner of the rental, someone from the security company who had access to the feeds, or a person whose sole job it was to keep an eye out in case anyone came sniffing around. Each of those possibilities left me with a cold, sinking feeling. Could I have missed the mark?

If I didn’t pick up the tail until I went to Sydney’s, that meant anyone outside the building, the tenant who currently lived in her apartment, or the neighbors I questioned could have tipped someone off. That made more sense, but only if this was more about Sydney’s murder and less about framing Dustin Ford.

This would be so much easier if I could figure out motive. I had narrowed it to the two most likely possibilities, but now I was thinking I’d been hasty in my decision. Something else could be going on. I wasn’t entirely sure what. Maybe Caleb Osbourne could point me in the right direction.

When I parked in front of his apartment, I let out the breath I’d been holding for the last two blocks and rolled my neck from side to side. The long drive had made me tense. Correction, being trapped alone with my thoughts for three hours had made me tense. This better pay off, I thought.

The security team drove past my parked car, scoping out the area before finding a place to park that had a great vantage point. I didn’t wait to see where they’d end up. Instead, I jogged up the walkway to the front door. The intercom system outside indicated I’d have to be buzzed in.

I pressed the button for Caleb’s apartment and waited.

“Who is it?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“It’s Alex. Can I come up?”

The front door buzzed. The metallic release told me it was open. That was easy enough. Perhaps too easy.

When I made it to Caleb’s apartment, I knocked and stepped to the side. No shots were fired through the door, which I took as a good sign.

Instead, he opened his door, confused to see me. A dark, curly mop and thick beard greeted me. “I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong apartment.”

“Caleb Osbourne?” I asked.

He looked even more uncertain. “Why do you want to know?”

“Jeez.” I pushed my way inside, relieved he wasn’t armed. “I told you over the intercom I’m Alex.”

“Do I know you?”

I turned, giving him my best coquettish smile. “Do you think I’m that forgettable?”

“No, not at all. I’m sorry.” He fluffed his hair on one side, a nervous gesture not that dissimilar from my boss’s.

“Don’t be.” I looked around. There was no visible contraband or weapons. “What do you do for a living?”

“I work for HR, monitoring social media usage.”

“You spy on your coworkers’ pages?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but sort of.”

“That’s why you don’t drink.”

His tone shifted from uncertain to defensive. “I don’t drink because I’m an alcoholic. I’m in recovery. Five years and three months.”

“Your friends know. That’s why they don’t drink when you go out to clubs.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you? How did we meet?”

“I’m Alex. I knocked on your door. You let me in.” I smiled at him. “I never said we met. All I asked was if you thought I was forgettable. You made your own inferences.”

“You misled me.” He moved closer. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk.”

“I don’t know what this is, but get out of my house or I’ll call the cops.”

“All right, no problem. Just give me a second to explain. I’m a private investigator. I’ve been trying to track down a group of people who went to a specific concert.” I gave him the date, time, and location. “You and your friends were there that night. It’s my understanding you left early, but the rest of your pals hooked up with a group of guys. May I show you their photos?”

Caleb’s eyes shifted from right to left. “Go ahead.”

I took out my phone and found IDs for Dustin and his friends. “Do you remember meeting any of these men?”

“Briefly. They smelled like booze, but I’d say they were also high. I didn’t want to be around that.”

“Is that why you left? Were you afraid it would challenge your sobriety?”

Caleb nodded. “Why are you asking about them?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

I studied him carefully. “The group you were with at the concert is comprised of your close friends, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Did any of them mention anything to you about these men?”

“I was told from several sources that they had a lot of fun. The details were fuzzy. I assume they didn’t want me to know the extent of what they did.”

“But everyone arrived home safely?”

“Yes.”

“No one was hurt?”

“No.” He gave me an uncertain look. “Are those men dangerous?”

“I’m going to need the names of your friends.”

“And I’m going to need you to answer my question.”

“They aren’t dangerous. One of them is accused of committing a crime that night. I’m trying to prove he didn’t do it. Someone in your group was with him at the time. I’m hoping she can provide an alibi.”

“What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything.”

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. “Is it that bad? Did he rape someone?”

“No.”

Caleb licked his lips. “I don’t think I should give you contact information for my friends without their permission. I’m not comfortable doing that. Please leave.”

“A man’s life is on the line. His freedom. His job. Everything.”

The light bulb went on over Caleb’s head. “You’re talking about Dustin Ford. That was his photo you showed me. I remember seeing him on the news when he was arrested. He killed someone inside his hotel room.”

I resisted the urge to correct him.

He pointed an accusatory finger at me. “There’s no way I’m going to let you harass my friends or threaten them to clear some killer’s name.”

“He didn’t do it.”

He pointed emphatically at the door. “Get out.” When I didn’t move fast enough, he pulled out his phone. “I will call the cops.”

I held up my palms and backed away. “Fine. I’m going. This has been a real pleasure.”

Twenty

I remained in my parked car, keeping tabs on Caleb Osbourne. My gut said he’d reach out to his friends. He’d want to warn them about me or discuss something far more sinister. I didn’t think they had anything to do with Sydney Breeding’s murder, but I had no way of knowing. Assuming they were innocent bystanders wouldn’t help my client.

Almost an hour later, Caleb exited his apartment building. He went down the street and got into a blue compact. My natural inclination was to follow him, but now would be the perfect time to search his apartment.

I hated making decisions like this. This was why I should have insisted Cross have another investigator tail me. Instead, if I wanted to divide and conquer, I’d have to do it with the security team, and they weren’t trained investigators, not that my training had ever made me particularly good at my job. Like I always said, it was better to be lucky than good. Most days, I was neither.

Dialing the security team leader, I kept my eyes on the blue compact. Caleb hadn’t pulled out yet, but he would soon.

“Hey,” I said, “change of plans. Follow the guy who just got into the blue compact. Do not let him out of your sight. But try not to get spotted.”

“Ms. Parker, Mr. Cross told us to stick with you.”

“I need to check something while Caleb’s out. I need you to tell me where he goes and if he’s coming back. Can you do that? I’ll take the heat with Cross.”

“You can’t if you’re dead.”

“I swear I won’t die.” The blue compact pulled out of the space. “Please.”

After a pregnant pause, the team leader let out a huff. “Fine. Don’t die and don’t get maimed.”

“Roger.”

I remained in my car, watching the SUV pull away from the curb and follow the blue compact. Once the vehicles were out of view, I tied up my hair, tucked it into my jacket, put on a cap and sunglasses, and got out of the car.

Someone was nice enough to unlock the door when I buzzed. Of course, I’d hit every button on the intercom in the hopes someone was waiting for a visitor or delivery. Since I’d already been inside the building, I didn’t waste a lot of time making my way to Caleb’s apartment.

Getting in required finesse. The hallway was empty, so I leaned against the doorjamb, shielding the knob with my body while I slipped the picks out of my pocket and went to work on the locks. Caleb had three. But only two were engaged.

I pushed the door open. The lack of a security system made my life easier. But I left the cap and sunglasses on anyway. I didn’t think he had cameras, but with the way things had been going, I didn’t want to take any chances.

My phone buzzed. The security team texted to tell me Caleb was heading west on the expressway. On the bright side, he hadn’t stepped out to grab milk. However, his destination may have been more important than whatever was in his apartment, so I had to hurry.

This would be easier if I knew what I hoped to find. Instead, I performed a quick walkthrough. The living room, dining room, kitchen, and hall closets held nothing of interest. I moved on to the bathroom. Still nothing.

In his bedroom, I found his tablet. I turned it on, but it required a fingerprint or passcode. Fiddling with that would take too much time if there was something better to find. So I put the tablet down and checked the rest of the room. He had a few art supplies on his desk and a canvas with a painting he had started on the easel propped near the window. I had almost given up when a wooden box at the top of his closet caught my attention.

Standing on my tiptoes, I edged the box forward until I could get a good enough grip to pull it down. The brass latch didn’t have a lock. I flipped it open, the hinges squeaking as I lifted the lid. Inside was a Ruger Americana bolt-action rifle.

I snapped a photo of the gun before lifting it from the case. It had recently been cleaned. Every part had a nice metallic sheen. I checked the box of bullets nestled into the foam bedding. Three were missing. That didn’t tell me anything. I took one of the bullets out of the box and tucked it into my pocket.

Without the gun, ballistics wouldn’t be able to tell me if this was the weapon that fired the single shot last night, but maybe they could tell me if they thought the bullets were the same. Admittedly, most bullets were the same. But it wouldn’t hurt to double-check.

Closing the case, I shoved the weapon onto the shelf, pressing it back until it rested in the same spot where it had been before I removed it. Then I returned to the tablet.

My phone buzzed again. The blue compact had gotten off the expressway. Caleb’s destination remained unknown, but the security team told me the exit. That wasn’t too far from here. Depending on traffic, surface streets at this time of day would be faster.

Letting the traffic analysis run in the back of my brain, I turned the tablet on. Caleb’s passcode wasn’t anything I could easily guess. My gut said it was the day he got sober, but I didn’t know when that was and I wasn’t about to start guessing every date based on the year and month he had claimed. That would take too long.

Instead, I returned to the bathroom, but he didn’t have any sort of powder. So I went into the kitchen and found a packet of hot cocoa. Fingerprint powder would have been better, but I didn’t carry such things with me. From now on, I would.

Tearing off the corner of the packet, I carefully sprinkled it on the fingerprint scanner. After giving the device a gentle shake to make sure the cocoa powder coated the entire surface, I retrieved a paintbrush from the cup on his desk and lightly brushed above the scanner. The bristles didn’t even make contact. However, they were close enough that between the air and static cling, the excess cocoa powder was removed, leaving the faintest hint of a fingerprint.

Placing a piece of scotch tape over the scanner, I used my gloved hand to press down on the tape. It took repositioning my finger three times before the scanner read the cocoa powder as a fingerprint, but it worked.

Pulling off the tape, I placed it on the open envelope, took off my gloves, and searched his tablet. After photographing his contact list for later perusal, I checked his recent messages and internet history. I didn’t find anything related to Dustin Ford, Atlantis, or Sydney Breeding.

My phone buzzed again. The blue compact had parked outside a duplex. The security team gave me the address. It was time I got out of here and found out where Caleb Osbourne had gone in such a hurry.

After a quick clean-up, I let myself out of his apartment, flipped the lock on the knob, and continued to my car. When I stepped outside, a cold breeze ripped through me, making the hairs at the back of my neck prickle. It’s just the wind, I reminded myself.

Without the security team shadowing me, I was on edge. But by the time I got inside my car and away from the cold wind, the feeling of unease had abated. I paid extra attention while I drove to the address they provided, but I didn’t feel anyone watching. And I didn’t spot a tail.

It took almost half an hour to reach the location. I’d been right. The surface streets were much faster at this time of day.

The familiar SUV was parked half a block from the building, eight car lengths from the blue compact. I climbed into the back seat. “What do we know?” I asked.

The team leader turned to look at me. “I ran the address. It’s registered to Estelle Giroux. According to the DMV, she’s seventy-two and drives a white Cadillac, but it’s not here.”

“Any idea how she connects to Caleb Osbourne?”

“No idea. Investigations are your job.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” The area appeared safe and quiet. It was an average, middle-class neighborhood, just like the neighborhood where the vacation rental was located. “Have you seen anyone come or go?”

“Osbourne knocked on the front door. Someone opened it and let him in, but the angle’s shit. We didn’t see who.”

“So someone else is inside,” I said. Knocking was out of the question. “It looks like we’ve found ourselves in a stakeout situation, gentlemen. I apologize for the inconvenience and hope you brought snacks. I’ll keep watch from my car. Don’t get made. If you see something, call me.”

“All right.”

After making the trek back to my car, I adjusted my seat and settled in for what I figured would be a long night. Since I had four other men keeping an eye out, I would glance periodically at the intel I’d gathered from Caleb’s apartment. Some of his contacts were easy to identify because their names were attached to phone numbers or e-mail addresses. But that wasn’t true of all of them.

I forwarded the photos I’d taken to Cross Security, hoping they could get started. Presently, they were trying to figure out the connection between this address and Caleb Osbourne. Surely, he came here for a reason. My gut said he’d want to check on his friends or warn them about me. But I didn’t think a seventy-two year old had been with them at the concert. That would have been hard not to notice. Dustin would have mentioned it.

Twenty minutes later, Caleb stepped outside. My phone buzzed. The security team was calling to tell me Caleb was on the move. I squinted at the doorway behind him. An arm reached out and waved. As Caleb turned at the end of the walkway, he waved back before getting in his car.

“Stick with Caleb,” I said.

“Ms. Parker—”

“I know. Our previous arrangement remains. But I can’t be in two places at once, and I have to know who’s inside that house.”

“Be careful.”

“Cross told me the same thing,” I said before I could stop my mouth. “And I will.”

The security team pulled into traffic after the blue compact, which was already turning at the end of the street. I wasn’t sure they wouldn’t lose him, but I’d made my choice. At the very least, I knew where he lived. I could always set up more elaborate surveillance later if he eluded us.

After waiting five minutes, I got out of the car and headed down the street. Knocking wasn’t the best move. It would tip my hand, but I wanted to know who was on the other side of the door. And waiting wasn’t cutting it. Someone, possibly Caleb, had shot at me last night. The shot wasn’t meant to hit me, but I couldn’t be certain the same would hold true next time. And there would be a next time since I had no intention of backing off. That wasn’t how I was wired.

However, I had promised to be careful, so I went up the walk to the adjoining unit and rang the bell. When a woman answered, I pointed to the parallel walkway. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was looking for Estelle. Do you know if that’s her place?”

“Estelle doesn’t live there anymore,” the woman said. “She moved to a retirement facility.”

“It’s called assisted living,” a man yelled from inside.

“Hush, Morty. No one’s talking to you.” She turned back to me. “That’s my husband, Mr. Big Ears Know-It-All.”

“I can hear you,” he yelled.

“Do you know who’s living in Estelle’s place?” I asked.

“Her niece has been keeping an eye on things until they can put it up for sale.” She gave me a strange look. “Why are you looking for Estelle?”

“My mother borrowed her crock pot and wanted me to return it.” The lie flew out of my mouth so easily I wondered where it had come from. I had never uttered such words in my entire life. It must have been a regurgitation from watching too many family sitcoms.

“I say keep it. No one will ever miss it.”

“That’s grand theft,” Morty called.

“It isn’t grand. It’s a crock pot,” she snapped.

I backed away as she closed the door. This was why marriage was a terrible idea. An uncomfortable sensation traveled through me. One I’d grown accustomed to feeling. I’d never survive that long. Sometimes, thoughts like that would lead to panic attacks. Other times, they’d be a relief.

Shaking it off, I pulled out my phone and called Cross. He didn’t answer. Justin, his assistant, picked up.

“Can you find out the name of Estelle Giroux’s niece?” I asked.

“It may take a few minutes,” Justin said.

“Do what you can.” I tucked my phone away, went back to my car, and waited.

Three minutes later, my phone rang. It was Justin. “Violet Hemming.”

“Is that a flower?”

Justin didn’t miss a beat. “I already sent her photo ID to your phone. Good luck, Ms. Parker.”

The woman was striking with high cheekbones and golden blonde hair. A quick internet search didn’t find any social media accounts in her name. However, she did have a professional account for job searches. No photo was provided on that page.

I sent her ID to Dustin and phoned him. “Do you recognize that woman?” I asked.

He sounded happy. Hopeful. “You found her. That’s the woman who drove me to the rental that night. Who is she?”

Instead of providing details, I promised I’d call back as soon as I could and hung up. Then I called Mike, sent him the photo, and asked the same question.

“Viola,” he said. “Or Violet. It was something like that.”

“You remember her name?” I asked.

“Now that I see her face, it must have knocked something loose in my brain.”

“Is there anything else rattling around in there?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“We’ll see.”

Twenty-one

Sitting in the car wouldn’t get me answers, so I rang the doorbell. No one answered. I tried knocking in case the bell was broken, but no one came to the door.

“Ms. Hemming?” I called. Still nothing. “Violet?”

I didn’t know what Caleb had said to her, but I assumed he’d gone to her place to warn her. Why were they so afraid? I had questions about what transpired that night, but I had no intention of implicating them in anything. All I’d said to Caleb was I was hoping to establish an alibi for my client. That was it. What was I missing? Had they done something to Sydney Breeding? Could Violet Hemming be the killer?

The locks on the door didn’t look that difficult to pick, but breaking into her house would not make a great first impression. I’d have to come up with something else. If she went out, I could intercept her.

Returning to the car to mull things over, I dialed Cross Security. “Hey, Justin,” I said when he answered, “can you get me Violet Hemming’s phone number?”

“Yeah, no problem. Does that mean your meeting didn’t go well?”

“She won’t answer the door.”

“Did you knock?”

“Yes, I knocked. I wasn’t expecting her to sense my presence and magically let me in.”

“I just texted you her number. Whatever you do, do not set her house on fire.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.”

I sensed there was a story there, but I didn’t want to know which Cross Security investigator had resorted to such extreme measures. But if I had to guess, my money was on Lucien. He was destructive enough to do something like that.

Keeping my eye on Violet’s half of the duplex, I didn’t see the blinds shift or curtains move. Even when I knocked, she hadn’t peered outside. If I hadn’t seen an arm waving to Caleb, I would have wondered if anyone was home.

Maybe she’d answer her phone since she didn’t want to come to the door. It rang twice. Three times. Four times. On the fifth ring, an automated voicemail message played, some robotic thing that told me to leave a message. Unsure what to say, I asked for a call back and disconnected. On the bright side, she hadn’t sent the call straight to voicemail, so she didn’t ignore it. She just didn’t answer. Maybe she was asleep or couldn’t get to the phone.

Checking the time, I waited. Had she spotted my car? I didn’t think I’d been made. Caleb hadn’t noticed me. If anyone would have been spotted, it was the security detail, and they were long gone by now.

I called Justin again. “What does Violet do for a living?”

“Are you bored?” he asked.

“I’m unsure how to proceed. That means I need more intel. All the intel. And searching for these details on my phone isn’t getting me very far, very fast.”

“According to this, she’s self-employed. I don’t know exactly what that entails. She has a degree in art history with a minor in English literature. Her work history includes an assortment of retail and fast-food jobs. The last one ended ten months ago.”

“Was that her idea or her employer’s?”

“The store where she was working closed a dozen locations, including hers.”

“She’s a victim of downsizing,” I said.

“That would explain the self-employed route. I’ll see if I can narrow that down. She could be applying for different gigs on any of several sites. I’ll check all of them and see what I find.”

“While you’re at it, see if you can hire her for something.”

“Are you serious?”

“That may be the only way to get her to speak to me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Justin was Cross’s right-hand man. He’d find what I needed. At least, that’s what I told myself. But even that lie wasn’t enough to convince me that waiting in my car for something to happen was a good plan. I needed to speak to this woman. She was the only person who could tell me what happened that night. More importantly, she wasn’t dead. At least, I didn’t think she was based on that arm wave.

I had a lot riding on nothing but the lower portion of a person’s arm. For all I knew, that arm could belong to anyone. Deciding I’d wait until after dinner before making my move, in the hopes she’d have food delivered, I gave the security team a call.

They had followed Caleb to another residence. Someone at the office was looking into that address. But he hadn’t stayed there very long. At the present, he was heading back to his apartment.

“Keep an eye on him,” I said. “If anyone shows up, let me know.”

“Ms. Parker, Cross assigned us to provide tactical support to you. This isn’t what we normally do.”

“Now you can update your résumé with additional skills.” I sighed. “In all seriousness, I appreciate the help.”

“You’re going to explain it to Cross.”

“Absolutely.”

When we disconnected, I went back to staring at the duplex. I wasn’t parked that close, so I didn’t think the presence of an unfamiliar vehicle had spooked Violet. My guess would be Caleb did. What did that bastard say? Why did my appearance freak him out?

Again, the thought of letting myself into her house held some appeal. For one thing, I’d be able to verify the woman inside was the same woman from the ID photo, which Dustin and Mike both identified. For another, I could use my charms to convince her to talk to me. However, there was a really good chance I’d end up getting arrested, which would be best to avoid. So I called Almeada.

“I may have found her,” I said.

“Who?”

“The woman who drove Dustin Ford home that night.”

“You mean to the vacation rental?”

“Yes.”

“But she’s dead.”

“No, she isn’t.”

“Ms. Parker, I’m aware of the issue with the morgue, but unless you’re telling me there’s a reanimated corpse—”

“Sydney Breeding didn’t drive Dustin Ford that night. Violet Hemming did.”

“And you can prove this?”

“I’m working on it.”

Almeada asked a dozen questions which required answers, which led to more questions. Most of which I couldn’t answer. While we were having our discourse, a vehicle drove past and parked closer to the duplex, but since the houses were one on top of another, I wasn’t concerned when three men got out of the SUV and headed down the sidewalk. Only when they split up, one continuing straight, the other two turning at Violet’s walkway, did I realize there may be a problem.

“I gotta call you back.” I pressed the disconnect and shoved my phone into the cup holder. Sitting up straighter, I unzipped my jacket halfway and unclipped the strap on my holster. I’d been shot at the night before. I wasn’t taking any chances today.

From here, I couldn’t tell if anyone was armed. They didn’t appear particularly threatening or dangerous. No visible weapons. No chains. The one who rang the bell wore a red plaid long-sleeved shirt. The other had on a navy blue t-shirt. Neither had any suspicious bulges.

I hadn’t gotten a good look at the third guy. He kept walking. Maybe they were neighbors. Since they didn’t have any takeout containers, I didn’t think they were delivery guys.

This could be my chance to get to Violet. If she answered the door for them, maybe I could intercept her. I waited, studying their body language.

They didn’t seem anxious. The one who had rung the bell pressed the button again. He turned to his friend, but the angle was shit. I couldn’t see his expression. All I could see was the shrug of his shoulder. The other guy checked the window and craned his neck, as if checking the side of the duplex. Then he went up the steps to the front porch and kicked it in.

“Shit.” I scrambled to unlock my door. I didn’t know who those assholes were or what they wanted, but I had every intention of finding out.

Before I could get my door open, my window shattered. Glass rained down on me. My peripheral vision caught the edge of a brick flying through my window before someone reached in and grabbed me by the back of my jacket and tried to slam my face into the steering wheel.

I was quicker than he expected and jerked to the side before he could get a good enough grip on the back of my head. Reaching for the door handle, I hoped to hit him with the car door. Instead, he yanked on the back of my jacket hard enough that he dragged me out of the broken car window.

The scraping of the glass against my jacket was like nails on a chalkboard. I kicked and jerked, throwing his balance off. He let go, and I crashed to the ground. I reached for my gun, but it had fallen out of my holster. Rolling, I spotted it near my front tire.

As I reached for it, a terrified scream sounded from the duplex. Grasping my gun, I rolled again, this time away from my car. The two men carried a blonde woman out of the house. One of them had her legs. The other had her upper body. The one holding her arms tried to cover her mouth, but she must have bit him. He shook his hand harshly and slapped her.

The crunch of glass beside me told me my attacker was close. Spinning around, I aimed at him. He tugged my car door open, blocking the shot I fired. I didn’t think he had a gun. He hadn’t used one. In that split second, I kicked the door inward. The resulting bang and muffled grunt told me he’d been hurt. But I didn’t have time to see if he was down for the count.

Instead, I raced toward the two men. “Stop,” I yelled, running too fast to aim. I kept my gun in my hand, but it was at my side.

The man in red plaid dropped Violet’s legs, hurrying to open the rear door. The one in blue shoved her inside and slammed the door.

I kept hurtling toward them. I made it to the SUV as the engine revved. Not wasting any time, I fired at the tires. I had to keep it from moving. The front passenger side tire popped with a loud bang.

No one fired back. They didn’t have weapons.

Tugging on the rear door handle, I hoped they hadn’t thought to lock the doors and that the automatic locks hadn’t engaged yet. The door ripped away from my grip, flying open as the SUV with the flat tire veered onto the street. The tires screeched, the smell of burning rubber much more pronounced on account of the instant flat. A chunk of rubber flew off, making a thudding sound as it landed.

I fired a few more shots, keeping them low for fear of hitting Violet. But my aim wasn’t steady enough to take out the tires on a moving SUV, not after the fight and my frantic race to get to her in time.

I reached for my phone, realizing it was in my car. I stared at the fleeing SUV, memorizing the license plate number, and that’s when the blonde jumped from the back of the vehicle.

They were a block away, but I ran as fast as I could without completely sacrificing my aim. At first, the SUV slammed its brakes, but I fired wildly at the vehicle. Since she was clear, I didn’t care if I hit the occupants. The guy in red plaid must have seen me coming or feared the gunfire because the SUV’s brake lights went dim and the wheels spun as it fought to gain traction at the sudden shift from stop to go.

By the time I reached Violet, the SUV was gone.  

Twenty-two

Officer Mazhari peered into my vehicle, pointing to the flecks of blood and broken glass before shaking her head. “You don’t know where the man who assaulted you went?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t get a good look at him?”

“Not really. Dark hair, beard, white t-shirt with a yellow design. Maybe a logo.” I indicated where the logo had been on my chest. “That was about it, except for how he pulled me out of the car through the broken window.”

“So he was strong?”

I shrugged.

“Big?”

“Bigger than me.”

“That doesn’t take much,” Mazhari mumbled, not intending for me to hear it. I let it go since I hadn’t been much help. She pointed to the parked ambulance where Violet was being assessed while another officer took her statement. “What about the two men who tried to abduct her?”

“I already told you.”

“Uh-huh.” She flipped back through her notes before tucking the pad into her shirt pocket and resting her hands on her hips. “Why were you staking out Violet’s place?”

“She may be relevant to a case I’m working.”

“What case?”

“Ask Detective Jacobs.”

Mazhari glared at me. “It’d be wise to answer my questions.”

“It’d be wise if we wait for a detective. Once he gets here, I’ll talk to him.”

“Ma’am, I’m the responding officer. Until someone notifies me otherwise, this is my scene.”

“I’m looking into a closed homicide investigation. That woman,” I pointed at the ambulance, “may know something about the murder victim or the prime suspect.”

“You said the case was closed.”

“It hasn’t gone to trial yet.”

Mazhari pulled her notepad out again and clicked her pen. “What case?”

Before I could answer, an unmarked pulled up to the scene. I smiled when two familiar faces got out of the car. “It looks like you just got benched, Officer.”

Mazhari grumbled to herself while she made her way to Detectives O’Connell and Thompson. After some pointing and name-calling, Thompson and Mazhari went to speak to Violet Hemming while O’Connell headed in my direction.

Shaking his head, O’Connell whistled. “Didn’t you just get into an accident?”

“That was the company car.”

O’Connell crouched down, sticking the end of his pen into the bullet hole. “I don’t think you can buff that out. I’d suggest covering it with duct tape.”

“I like it the way it is. It adds character.”

“Who fired?”

“Me.”

“He was inside your car?” O’Connell asked.

“No.” I explained the situation and everything that had happened. When I was done, I jerked my chin at the ambulance. “I need to talk to her. After she jumped from the SUV, she was in a daze. She didn’t say much. In fact, she wouldn’t say anything at all.”

“You had a gun.”

“I used it to encourage the men to leave without her.”

“Be that as it may, right now, she’s ours.”

“She could be a witness, an accomplice, or a killer,” I said. “I need to find out which. Dustin Ford’s freedom depends on it.”

“Wait right here.” O’Connell pointed a finger at me. “I mean it, Parker.”

“Yes, sir.” I saluted, adding a playful wink to keep him on his toes.

After a few minutes of deliberation, he returned. “They’re taking her to the hospital to get checked out. After that, we will finish questioning her at the precinct.”

“Is that an invitation for me to join you?”

“No. Stay away for now.”

“C’mon, Nick, don’t you have to take my statement? I’m the victim of an assault. I could have been killed.”

“You said the man wasn’t armed.”

“He could have strangled me, like Sydney Breeding.”

O’Connell assessed me. “You really think this is connected?”

“It has to be.”

O’Connell wasn’t stupid. He’d reached the same conclusion. “Unless you’re interested in protective custody, I don’t need you at the precinct. Not yet. Ms. Hemming is scared. I need her to trust me. If she sees you, I lose all hope of building a rapport.”

“I’m not the devil, Nick.”

“I know, Parker. But someone tried to abduct her while you were parked outside her place. It doesn’t read well.”

“I stopped the kidnappers from taking her.”

“I’ll make sure to tell her where to send the thank you card.” He sighed. “Give me some time to figure this out. If I need something else, I know where to find you.”

Taking out my business card, I handed it to him. “Think about giving this to her. If not, I’ll make a nuisance of myself, and you know exactly how annoying I can be.”

“Don’t remind me.” He gave my car another look. “Impound will process that for evidence. The attacker may have left his prints or DNA behind. Officer Mazhari will give you a ride wherever you want to go.”

I glanced at the cop who appeared even less pleased about this development than I was. “What if I promise to be good? Then can I stay with you?”

O’Connell pointed at the patrol car. “Go. I’ll call you when we’re finished with her.”

“You better.”

*       *       *

I winced as the medic cleaned the cut on my back. Going through the broken window frame had resulted in a nasty slash. I hadn’t noticed it until someone working building security pointed it out when I took off my jacket.

“The glue should take care of it,” the medic said. “Keep it dry. Don’t lift anything heavy for a few days, and keep a bandage over it.”

“Anything else?”

“Use the door next time.”

“Very funny.” I stared at the wall while he sealed the wound. When I turned, Cross was waiting.

“Didn’t we do this already?” Cross asked. “I’m getting the strangest feeling of déjà vu.”

“Thanks for asking. I’m fine,” I said.

“Do you want to explain how this happened? I assigned a security team to keep you safe. Do I need to fire them?”

“Stop being so dramatic. I had two leads. I couldn’t keep an eye on both of them, so we split up. Turns out I made the right choice.”

“What did your lead have to say?”

“Nothing yet. The police are questioning her. I was told to wait my turn.”

Cross muttered to himself. “It’s a good thing I didn’t give you another company car to damage.”

“You must have been psychic.”

Cross waited for me to button my shirt and then led me to the elevator. He pushed the button. “Almeada informed me of your suspicions, and Justin filled me in on your requests. Have you reached any conclusions yet concerning Violet Hemming’s possible involvement in Sydney Breeding’s murder?”

“Like I told O’Connell, she could be anywhere on the spectrum from witness to killer. However, given the three goons who went to her place, I’m guessing she isn’t the killer. I’m also guessing they’re the reason Caleb was spooked and didn’t want to talk to me. I’m also guessing those guys were responsible for totaling your car and firing that warning shot, unless the shot came from Caleb. I found a hunting rifle in his closet.” Remembering the bullet I’d tucked into my pocket, I backed away from the elevator before the doors opened and headed for the ballistics lab.

Cross performed his own about-face and followed me, like an obedient puppy or a nagging mother. The next words out of his mouth would determine which was more accurate. However, he remained silent as I dropped off my bounty.

“Caleb knows what’s going on. He’s how I found Violet. He must have known their club-going would lead me to Violet. Do we know anything about the other people he visited this afternoon?” I asked.

“Person, not people. Troy Danforth. That was the second place he stopped. I did some checking, and Troy is married to Tammy Danforth. Their financials show they purchased five tickets for the concert. I looked into the other charges from that night. They bought slices and burgers right around the time Dustin Ford and his friends placed their orders.”

“Caleb, Troy, Tammy, and Violet.” I counted on my fingers. “That leaves one woman unaccounted for. I should talk to the Danforths and see what they have to say.”

“I sent Kellan to handle it.”

“You don’t trust me with this?”

“You’ve already been made. I thought it was best if we try not to get everyone you speak to abducted.”

“No one tried to abduct Caleb.”

“Maybe that’s because he’s been on the move for most of the day. We shouldn’t assume anything.”

“Careful, you’re starting to sound paranoid.”

Cross glared at me. “Regardless, now that he’s home, the security team remains outside his house. If someone makes a move, Cross Security will be able to intervene. It’ll be much faster than waiting for the police to show up after the fact.”

“You think whoever tried to grab Violet will go after everyone in their friend group?”

“You tell me. It’s your case.”

“I don’t know. I’d be able to tell you if I knew why they went after Violet. My gut says she saw something she wasn’t supposed to. It would explain why she never came forward and why Caleb went to warn her once I showed up at his door.”

“So why did he warn the others?”

“Ask Kellan. You told him to take care of it.”

Clearing his throat, Cross tucked his hands into his pockets. “Fine. We’ll wait to see what he says. In the meantime, get me something on Violet or the people who tried to abduct her.” His eyes narrowed. “There’s something you aren’t saying.”

“Three men arrived in that SUV. Only two were involved in the kidnapping attempt. The third came after me.”

“He spotted you when they arrived.”

“Possibly, or he knew I was there.”

“How?”

“I’m trying to figure that out.”

Cross considered the possibilities. “Have you been checked for tracking devices?”

“I’m clean. So is my phone.”

“What about your car?”

“It’s in police impound, but I don’t see how they would have been able to plant a tracker on it.”

“You started your day at Dustin’s place.”

“The security team was on my ass the entire time. They didn’t see anyone. Are you saying they missed something?”

Cross ran his hand through his hair, thinking. “When did you split up?”

“We split at Caleb’s house. They stayed on Caleb while I searched his place. On the bright side, the lab has a copy of his fingerprint stuck to the hot chocolate packet I swiped.”

Cross stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “Did anyone see you sneaking into the apartment?”

“I assume not.”

“Don’t assume.” He got into the waiting elevator. “Give me Caleb’s address. I’ll pull whatever security footage I can and see if anyone made you.”

Twenty-three

Information overload was almost as bad as no information. Almost. Kellan had returned from his outing. He’d questioned the Danforths about the night of the concert. They didn’t recall Dustin or his friends acting strangely. It had seemed like any other night where they happened to make friends with another group of people.

“They didn’t notice Dustin or anyone else dealing or using,” Kellan said. “Everyone was pretty wasted by the end of the night, except for the non-drinkers in the bunch, but the Danforths thought Dustin was harmless. That’s why they weren’t worried when Violet offered to drive him back to his rental.” He rubbed his lip and cocked his head from side to side, assessing me as if he could tell I’d been in a fight. I didn’t know if he was that astute of an observer or if someone at Cross Security had filled him in. “However, when the story broke about Dustin Ford being arrested for murder, they got worried.”

“That’s normal. Most people don’t want to party with a suspected killer.”

“Some would pay good money for it. Anyway, they said that’s why Caleb got nervous. The group had decided to keep quiet about things for fear they could be targeted or threatened. Since you tracked down Caleb, he figured you would track down all of them.”

“Who did they think would threaten them?” I asked.

“Dustin and his friends. They thought if they got involved or helped the police, Dustin’s friends would retaliate.”

“But they thought Dustin and his friends were harmless. Why did they change their minds? Did they see something?”

“No, they just heard about the arrest and figured the police caught the guy.”

“What about Violet? Did she see anything?”

Kellan shrugged. “They said she didn’t, or if she did, she never told them. I don’t know if there’s any truth to any of it. Nothing they said passed the smell test. But I had no evidence to contradict them, and even if I could, I didn’t think that would convince them to cooperate.”

“Did you offer them protection?”

“Lucien told me to, so I did. If they’re so afraid a killer is coming after them to make sure they don’t testify, they should have accepted. But they didn’t. Not even after I told them that Violet had been the victim of a foiled kidnapping.”

“I told Caleb I was trying to establish an alibi for my client. If he disclosed that to the Danforths, they may not have believed you. They could think we’re behind this, that we work for the killer.”

“That’s the rub.” Kellan pointed to the question mark I’d drawn on a sticky note. “I asked who else had gone to the concert with them, but the Danforths said they weren’t comfortable disclosing.”

“Caleb said the same thing.”

“Now that we’ve IDed almost everyone involved, it shouldn’t be that hard to track down the mystery woman some other way.”

“Amir thinks we’ll have the name within the hour, but I’m not sure it matters,” I said. “Violet Hemming drove Dustin Ford to his rental that night. She’s the one we need to question. Though, I would like to know who the woman was who threatened me last night.”

“Do you think she could be their fifth wheel, so to speak?”

“It depends on if the shot fired came from Caleb’s rifle.”

“He has a rifle?”

I nodded. “It doesn’t do much for us though. I couldn’t take it with me, and I doubt the police have grounds to search his place or confiscate it.”

Kellan peered into my empty coffee cup, but I had switched to cola after the incident, needing the added boost of sugar to keep me going. “You really think Violet saw something heinous at the vacation rental when she dropped Dustin off and didn’t immediately call her friends to tell them about it?”

I pointed to a copy of her phone records. “Nothing indicates that happened.”

“True, but you don’t know where she went after she left. Have you tracked down her rideshare driver yet?”

“We know which service she used, but I haven’t been able to identify the driver.”

“Do you know where she was dropped off?”

“Credit card charges don’t include helpful details like that.” I stuck my bottom lip out and made big puppy dog eyes at him. “Why don’t you call and ask them to start including those details on statements from here on out?”

“If only it were that easy to get powerful men to do what I want.” He gave me an evil grin. “Isn’t that one of your skills?”

I pointed to the door. “Get out.”

He laughed, reaching into the bag of cookies Ginger Rapleman had given me and taking two.

“Enjoy those,” I said. “And make sure there’s no broken glass. They were in the car when I got T-boned.”

He examined them carefully before checking the bag for any holes or punctures. “I’d say they’re still good.”

“Great since I ate three without thinking and wondered if I’d have to pay the medic another visit.”

“Now what did you do?” a familiar voice asked, causing Kellan and me to turn toward the doorway.

The receptionist appeared at Jacobs’ heels. “Ms. Parker, Detective Jacobs is here to see you,” she said, slightly winded.

“I can see that,” I said.

Kellan stuck a cookie in his mouth to keep from offering his own response and pushed his way out the door, grabbing Janet by the elbow and leading her away. Jacobs remained outside my office, waiting for an invitation. I wondered if that was supposed to be symbolic. Instead, I chose to believe Jacobs was more polite than O’Connell and Heathcliff.

“By all means, Detective, why don’t you take a seat?”

Jacobs pulled the door closed behind him, looking uncomfortable in my office. I couldn’t remember if he’d been here before. My gut said yes, but my brain couldn’t think of a specific occasion.

I held out the bag. “Cookie?”

He shook his head. “I thought you were going to come to me first. What the hell happened?”

“I didn’t have anything solid, until I did, and by then, it was too late.”

“When things pop off, it happens fast.”

“Tell me about it.” I rocked a little in my chair.

“O’Connell said you believe Violet Hemming drove Dustin Ford that night and that she’s the woman on the security footage from outside the rental.”

“She is,” I said. “The camera has a blind spot. Instead of going back down the porch steps, she could have stepped down from the side. The camera would have missed that.”

“If that’s the case, how did Sydney Breeding get inside the rental?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Jacobs turned to look at the notes and photos I had taped to the walls. “You still work the same way, Parker.”

“Why mess with perfection?” I waited, but Jacobs was taking it all in and processing whatever facts and theories I had, so he didn’t say anything. “What does Violet Hemming have to say?”

“Not a lot. She doesn’t know who those men were or what they wanted.”

“Do you believe her?”

Jacobs stifled his snort. “Yeah, sure.”

“What about Caleb Osbourne?”

“They’re friends. He told her a private eye knocked on his door and wanted to talk about the night of the concert. He warned her it was only a matter of time before said private eye knocked on her door.”

“Did Caleb tell her not to answer?” I asked.

“Violet doesn’t want to get involved in police matters. Growing up, she was always told to mind her business. That’s all she was trying to do. She doesn’t know anything and doesn’t know why anyone would be interested in her.”

“Did you ask about—”

Jacobs’ sharp look shut me up. “I tried. She’s not talking. O’Connell asked me to back off until he gets more on the men behind the failed abduction. Once we know more, he’s hoping to use that to convince her to open up.”

“Do you think that will work?”

“He offered her protective custody until we figure out who’s out to get her. She jumped at it.”

I raised my finger in the air, but I resisted the urge to shout, ah ha. “She knows something.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Jacobs wasn’t going to give an inch. He was showing restraint by not jumping to conclusions, but then again, that’s how he always operated. He wasn’t the kind of cop to make the evidence fit his theory. “Most people who have close calls want us to keep them safe. That doesn’t prove anything.”

“She was at the concert that night. Her group hooked up with Dustin’s group. She drove him home.”

“She’ll barely admit to that, and even then, it’s like pulling teeth. No hard facts. No nothing. She claims she doesn’t remember much about Dustin. She has no recollection of where this vacation rental was or anything else for that matter. She doesn’t even remember what kind of car it was. All she knows is that it was a car, not an SUV or truck.”

“Wow, those are some hard facts.”

“Tell me what you’ve found so I don’t get blindsided when she starts talking.”

“You mean if, and it’d be easier if you let me in the room with her.”

“It’s O’Connell’s case.”

That was a line if I’d ever heard one. But I let it go. Instead, I filled Jacobs in on everything I’d discovered. He didn’t ask how I knew what I knew, which worked out well for both of us. When I was done, he made a few notes.

“This doesn’t prove Dustin Ford isn’t a killer,” he said.

“It doesn’t,” I agreed, “but three men showed up at Violet’s apartment today. They weren’t there to sell girl scout cookies.”

Jacobs glanced at his notepad again, even though he didn’t need the refresh. “You went to see your client first thing this morning. You showed him her photo. Are you sure you didn’t set things in motion? Wasn’t it Mike who told you her name? Maybe Dustin Ford is a killer, and he had his attorney hire you to find any witnesses so he could have them eliminated.”

Had I read the situation wrong? I didn’t think so, but I hadn’t considered that possibility either. “Do you think them not remembering at first was an act?”

“Possibly. It’s also possible this could be a test to see how easily witnesses could be found. Let’s say Violet saw something she shouldn’t have. Now Dustin’s facing trial, and the DA’s office will be clamoring for witnesses. If you could find Violet that easily, surely whatever investigator the prosecutor hires will too.”

“That would mean Dustin’s friends could be involved. You’re making this bigger, instead of smaller, Jacobs. I think you’re seeing it wrong.”

“I’m not seeing it any way. I’m just discussing the possibilities.”

“Is O’Connell close to IDing the men yet?”

“CSU didn’t pull any prints off your car, but Violet’s doorbell camera got a good look at two of them. They’re a couple of knockaround guys who like to perform the odd job here and there. We’re keeping an eye on their usual hangouts, but we haven’t picked them up yet.”

“Knockaround guys, huh? Who do they usually work for?” I didn’t want to get involved with organized crime. I’d learned that lesson the hard way. However, my boss did some work for guys who made their fortunes through questionable means. So he might know them.

“Whoever needs the work done. It’d be best if you leave it alone, Parker.”

“I agree, but I don’t think Dustin or his friends could afford to hire wannabe gangsters to do their dirty work.”

“They couldn’t,” he said, “but Mr. Ford’s father has the resources and clout.”

“Is he connected?”

“I didn’t think so when I originally looked into matters, but given how much pressure there was to shut things down, I’m starting to have doubts. Money talks, but this was next level.” He gave me a long look. “Watch yourself.”

Twenty-four

Cross found me in my office. Thankfully, he hadn’t barged in during my conversation with Detective Jacobs. Unlike the detective, he didn’t stand on ceremony and wait to be invited inside. My boss entered, took a seat across from me, and cleared his throat.

“No one picked up your trail at Caleb’s,” he said. “They must have been watching you before that.”

“Or they were watching him. Or her,” I said.

“The security team didn’t notice anyone tailing Caleb or staking out Violet’s apartment.” He cocked his head to the side. “I thought you said you saw the SUV arrive while you were waiting outside her place.”

“I did.”

“So they weren’t already there,” Cross said.

“No, but maybe they received a tip. Detective Jacobs said the police IDed the assailants as a couple of knockaround guys. I would have asked if it was Johnny Marbles and Taylor Reese, but Jacobs didn’t want to name names.”

Cross quirked an eyebrow. “Johnny Marbles?”

“I thought you said you watched movies. If so, you should get the reference.”

“Did the detective have anything else to say?”

“Violet Hemming is in protective custody, but she doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to be involved in any of this.”

“Yet, she willingly surrendered her freedom. If things are that dire, why wouldn’t the Danforths have taken us up on our offer to provide protection?”

“I may have mentioned to Caleb that I was trying to establish an alibi for my client.”

“Dammit, Alex. Why the fuck would you tell him that?”

“He was skittish. I was hoping to build trust, to let him know we weren’t after him or his friends.”

“That was dumb.”

“No shit.” I shook my head and reached for a cookie. “I’m human. Mistakes happen.”

“They shouldn’t.”

I bit down hard and stared into his eyes. “I know.” Once I finished chewing, I said, “It gets worse.”

“How much worse?”

“Jacobs suggested an alternative theory which I can’t completely discount. Dustin wanted us to find the witness in order to eliminate her.”

“He doesn’t have the funds.”

“His father does.”

Cross ran a hand through his hair. “How did the police ID the assailants?”

“Violet’s doorbell camera.”

“All right. Go home. You’ve done more than enough for one day. Tomorrow, we’ll go to the vacation rental and see what we find.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Alex. Go home. I have to call Almeada.”

“Do you think Jacobs is right?”

“I sure as shit hope not.”

Flashing back to the day we signed Dustin as a client, I remembered what Cross had said to me in his office. “Almeada thinks Dustin is guilty. If that’s true—”

“Enough. Go home. I’ll update you tomorrow.” He fixed me with a hard stare. “Do not do anything else tonight. You’re done investigating for the day. In fact, I’ll have a security team take you home and keep an eye out in case Jimmy Marbles tries to whack you.”

“It’s Johnny.”

“Who the hell cares? He’s fictional, unless you’re telling me that’s actually this guy’s name.”

I didn’t know what his name was, who he worked for, or who the third unidentified man was. In fact, I didn’t know much of anything, and considering I’d felt like I had an information overload only hours earlier, I must have done something very wrong. “All right, Lucien. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He waited for me to pack up my things before calling a security team and asking them to meet me in the garage. I was surprised he trusted me to ride in the elevator by myself. The team was waiting, and once I was loaded into the back of the armored SUV, they drove me to the apartment Martin and I shared.

The potential threat swirled around my brain, but it didn’t feel real. My stinging back should have told me otherwise. After all, the assault was real. The car accident had been real. Whoever fired that warning shot had been real. But the blonde woman who had confronted me on the street and told me to stay away didn’t feel real. That felt like a misdirect, a magician’s illusion.

Now that I had seen Violet, I knew she wasn’t the woman from the street. Maybe the unidentified blonde was our unidentified concert goer, the fifth member of their group. If that were the case, Caleb could have fired the warning shot using the rifle I found in his closet. All five of them frequented Atlantis often enough that someone on staff, possibly a member of security or the bartender, called to warn them about me.

That may have been why Caleb was so skittish today when I showed up at his place and in such a rush to get me to leave. Maybe he thought I’d have him arrested or worse. But that was speculation. It all came down to one thing. Who sent the kidnappers to grab Violet?

Either I was on the wrong side of this, or whoever killed Sydney Breeding wanted to ensure the truth never came out. Digging through the drawers, I found a legal pad and pen and started over, hoping to separate facts from theory.

So much of what I’d been told was hearsay. I couldn’t believe any of it. Instead, I focused on the facts of the case and the few tidbits I’d uncovered since. It didn’t lead me to any conclusions, only to more theories. Could Violet and her friends somehow be responsible for the murder and framing Dustin?

They met at a concert. It seemed innocent enough. One may even say it was serendipitous. I snickered. Cross would be annoyed by another movie reference. But they met. They had a good time. And Dustin and Violet potentially made a love connection, which is what Dustin’s friends thought when she offered to drive him back to his rental. I didn’t know what Violet’s friends thought, but since they could be behind this scheme, it didn’t necessarily matter what they thought.

All that mattered was Violet showed up, looking enough like Sydney Breeding to confuse the cops who watched the security footage and let their brains fill in the rest of the details. Blonde woman approaches the front door. Blonde woman is found dead inside the rental. Therefore, the blonde woman who went to the front door is the same one they found strangled.

I couldn’t fault Jacobs for that. They looked similar enough. But was it a coincidence that the two shared a striking resemblance? I didn’t know, but it seemed unlikely, in which case Sydney Breeding must have already been dead and Violet was sent, recruited, or hired to intercept Dustin at the concert and find a way to get invited back to his rental.

Whoever wanted to set Dustin up to take the fall would have needed advanced knowledge of his trip and the unit he would be assigned. Or whoever killed Sydney had to find a schmuck to take the fall, determine his whereabouts, and set up a honeytrap of sorts.

I scratched that theory off my list. There were too many moving parts, too many unknowns. No one could have expected to pin a murder on a random person without having a working knowledge beforehand.

Again, I was back to two possibilities. Dustin was playing me, or Violet was involved. And if Violet was involved, dollars to donuts her friends were too.

Everything had moved so quickly that I never had time to build a profile on Violet or any of her friends. Cross Security had started looking into Caleb, but that was to aid us in finding the rest of their group. Now that I found them, I didn’t know much about them. Cross had made sure of that by passing the Danforths off to Kellan.

Grabbing my laptop, I turned it on and performed the basic background check on Violet Hemming. She didn’t have a record. No clear ties to organized crime, but the gangster flunkies who grabbed her performed odd jobs, according to O’Connell. They could have been working for anyone. Or was that a lie I was telling myself so I could avoid the inevitable freak out?

I was an hour into searching social media and dating websites, trying to figure out who Violet Hemming, Caleb Osbourne, and the Danforths were, when Martin came home. He put his bags down and locked the door, giving the deadbolt a look as he twisted it. Usually, if I was home and knew he’d be home soon, I didn’t lock it, which made him realize something was off.

“Hey, handsome. How was your day?” I asked.

He crossed to the island counter, snaking his arms around my waist before kissing my neck. “I can’t complain.” He kissed up my neck until he reached my mouth. It wasn’t a quick peck. It was just enough to leave a girl wanting more, which was his intention. Pulling back, he asked, “What are you working on?”

“Research.”

Those beautiful green orbs held a hint of desire, but there was a lightness to him, a giddiness I hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” I said.

Martin closed my laptop lid with one hand before leaning in closer. “I believe I owe you a round five, gorgeous. I’ve been thinking about that all day.”

“In order to get to round five, we have to go four rounds first. I don’t think I have the energy for that tonight. We may have to prioritize quality over quantity.”

“Don’t we always strive for both?” He nipped at my earlobe. “If you’re suggesting I step up my game, you’re in for a hell of a ride.”

I tugged his open tie loose from his collar and put it on the counter. “Did you close a deal?”

“I’m trying, but I’m not getting much feedback on the matter.”

“I meant at the office.”

“Oh,” he feigned ignorance, “you meant a business deal. I’m close to closing one of those too. Oddly enough, he’s much more vocal about his excitement.”

“Was he screaming your name in ecstasy?”

Martin grinned. “Practically.”

“No wonder you’re so excited.”

He made a face and went into the kitchen to get something to drink.

“Is this about what you told Lucien at the awards dinner?” I asked.

Martin downed half a glass of water, his eyes sparkling. “It’s even better than that. This is a new project. It relies on some of the existing tech and research from that biotextiles project, but it has nothing to do with any of that. It has to do with energy efficiency.”

“How—” I cut myself off, fearing Martin would launch into a lecture that would involve me looking up half the words I’d forgotten from high school chemistry. “What will it do?”

“Basically, it would cut energy consumption in half. We’re talking applications for everyday household appliances, and that’s just the start. The same technology could be used in electric vehicles and other things. Even if we aren’t coming up with cleaner energy sources, we’d be using less energy overall, which would lower costs and emissions. The entire model is a hybrid mash-up.” He must have seen my eyes start to glaze over. “The point is it’ll be good for everyone.”

“That’s a bold statement.”

“I like to dream big.” He finished his water, practically bouncing even as he leaned over the counter, resting his forearms on the marble, and said, “I believe that calls for a celebration.”

“A small one,” I said. “It’s late.” I pointed to the clock. “Don’t you have an early morning?”

“We have an espresso machine.” He gave me a concerned look. “Is everything okay, sweetheart?”

“I got into a tiny scrape at work. Literally, there’s a tiny scrape on my back, but it’s no big deal.” I took his hand. “Come on. I expect you to put your money where your mouth is.”

He smirked. “I don’t think you’d want me to put my money where I’m planning on putting my mouth.”

Twenty-five

Fuck. The walls were closing in, the ceiling getting lower, the dark sucking the oxygen out of the room. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to fill my lungs slowly, but the pounding in my chest and the buzzing in my veins made it hard to do anything slowly.

I knew what it was, even if the occurrences had become a lot less frequent. A panic attack. Usually, I could stop them if I focused my attention elsewhere, but this one had snuck up on me while I was asleep. By the time I woke up, it was already too late. I was too close to the edge.

Every cell in my body screamed at me to bolt. Get out of bed, and find an open space without the walls and the dark. A place with air. Stop thinking about lack of air. You’re fine. You can breathe.

I tried again, hearing a gasp which did nothing to satisfy the burning in my chest or the fear I’d pass out or suffocate if my brain didn’t get oxygen soon. I couldn’t see, but that was because the lights were out. It wasn’t because I was trapped alone in the abyss.

Sucking in another ragged gasp, I ran through the usual exercises to stem the tide by trying to focus on my other senses and my environment. I ran my fingers up and down the silky sheet beneath me, feeling for bumps and indentions from the stitched mattress top. But no matter how hard I concentrated on the textures, my mind was stuck in a loop. A familiar one, same song, but the remix version.

Someone had been watching me these last few days. They’d made several attempts to scare me away, which hadn’t worked. I didn’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t seen the assailant coming or fought him off. Would he have killed me? Wannabe gangsters usually didn’t have any qualms about dropping bodies, but the man who attacked me didn’t have a gun. At least, I was nearly positive he didn’t.

Did the men who attacked Violet have guns? Is that how they convinced her to comply? Or did they simply overpower her and drag her to their SUV, which is how it looked? Had she even tried to fight back?

Those questions didn’t distract me from my mental torment. Instead, they reminded me of the lengths someone would go to keep the truth from coming out. Someone was highly motivated to stop my investigation, which meant they could do just about anything.

My stomach did a flip. My heart slammed harder against my sternum and took a sudden pause before hitting again. “Oh god.” I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. It eked out, along with the last bit of air I’d been rationing.

Martin heard me. “Alexis?”

It was too late to run. I didn’t trust my limbs to hold me upright or not to black out from lack of air. Instead, I sat up against the headboard and pulled my legs to my chest. The oversized t-shirt I wore was taut over my knees, like a tent. I remembered kids in elementary school wearing too big sweatshirts and pulling their legs and arms inside so they looked like beanbag chairs with heads. But even that stupid thought couldn’t get my body to relax.

Martin flipped on the light, finding me shaking and gasping. He maneuvered around until he was kneeling in front of me. “Sweetheart, look at me. You’re okay. Just breathe. Slow and easy. Like this.” He exaggerated his own breathing, so I could follow along.

Seeing him only made it worse. Now I wanted to cry. We weren’t supposed to be back in this place, but we were. I brought us back here. I put another target on our backs, made another enemy with organized crime, and I didn’t even know how it happened or what to do to fix it. My gut said after yesterday’s attempt on Violet, it was too late to drop the case or walk away. I wasn’t even sure if that was something I could do, but I’d try for the man in front of me. Except I didn’t tell him, and now I had to, and I didn’t know how.

Martin inched closer. “It’s okay.”

I shook my head, hyperventilating. On the bright side, the walls and ceiling had returned to their previous positions. “It isn’t,” I squeaked.

He crawled closer, gently grasping my knee to make sure it was safe to touch me before moving beside me and nudging me away from the headboard and encouraging me to lean against his chest. “Shh. Just breathe, Alex. Right now, all I need you to do is breathe.”

I tucked my head under his chin, forcing myself to focus on the feel of his chest rising and falling against my cheek. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I stared at the digital clock on the bedside table behind him and concentrated on the warmth of his body and the smoothness of his skin and the hard planes of his abdominals and pectorals.

Almost fifteen minutes later, I was no longer lightheaded or struggling to breathe, but I was exhausted, utterly drained by the ordeal and the late hour. “I messed up,” I said. “I always mess up. I don’t know how to stop doing this same dance.”

“Sweetheart, it was a panic attack. You can’t always control them. It’s okay.” He pressed his lips against my hair. “Did you have a bad dream?” He waited for me to pull away and sit up to face him before giving me a silly grin. “Was this because we reached the pinnacle of sex, and you’re afraid it will never be that good ever again?”

A burst of laughter shot out of me, but it was just one bark, like a clap of thunder in an otherwise clear sky.

It made him smile, and he rubbed his thumb against my cheek, wiping away a few random tears. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

So I told him.

He brushed his hair back, making it stick out on the sides. “That’s why you locked the deadbolt. I had hoped it was because you doubted I’d ever leave the office.”

“This is Almeada’s case. He hired us to look into things and help him come up with a defense.”

“If that’s the case, Dustin and his family can’t be behind the threats,” Martin said. “Even if they want to eliminate witnesses, they wouldn’t want you to back off.”

“Dustin is estranged from his family. He cut ties with them.”

“But they are footing his legal bill,” Martin pointed out. “They wouldn’t do that if they wanted him to hang, which means they wouldn’t want to make your job harder.”

“What if the investigation implicates them in something?”

Martin considered what I said. “I don’t know their family dynamic. You don’t either, but if they were responsible for Dustin being blamed, they could have hired Almeada to work his magic, but they would have put stipulations on what he can and can’t do. He’s their attorney. He has to follow their wishes.”

“Not if he’s acting in his client’s best interest and his client is Dustin Ford.”

Martin’s cheek twitched, his lips pulling to one side, almost like his face was shrugging. “Almeada wants to win this case because his firm can’t risk losing the pharmaceutical company as a client, which means he will do what the big fish says, not what is in the guppy’s best interest.”

“You don’t think Dustin’s father wants to punish him for walking out on the family?”

“Not by framing the kid for murder or having him locked up for the better part of his life.”

I never understood how Martin could always simplify cases by pointing out obvious factors that I missed or never considered. Usually, it made me feel stupid, but it always made me grateful. “That means there’s something else going on. Some other mobster I pissed off.”

“You don’t know that yet.” He stroked my hair, smoothing it along the side of my face before tucking it behind my ear. “O’Connell is investigating. He knows what we’ve dealt with in the past. He would warn you.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Martin nodded, his eyes clouded, not wanting to recall my prior dealings with organized crime or how badly it broke us. “I don’t care what kinds of rules he’s supposed to follow. Nick considers you family, which means he’d be the first one to tell you to back off or warn you of potential danger. The men who came at you yesterday, who tried to kidnap that other woman, they may have some loose affiliations which make them scary sons of bitches, but that doesn’t mean they themselves are connected or the job they performed so poorly was for a mob boss. In fact, if it was, my guess would be botching it would make that person reconsider who they hire in the future.”

“Why are you being so calm about this?”

Martin’s expression shifted, becoming unreadable behind the business mask he usually wore. “Do you want the sexy, confident answer or the truth?”

“The truth.”

He swallowed, the mask slipping. “You’re freaked out enough for the both of us. I don’t want to cause you to have another panic attack.”

“Do you think it’s that bad?”

“I think you know better now than you did before. And it’s not just you this time. It’s the entirety of Cross Security.”

“Lucien’s done business with organized crime. He has connections,” I said, wondering how many calls he made after I left to find out who was behind this. Could that have been why he wanted to exchange stories that first night when we went to the bar? Had he wanted to confess something to me?

“What is it?” Martin asked.

“I don’t know. But today’s going to be interesting.”

“I need you to be careful.”

“I will,” I promised, “but I have a request, and I don’t want you to fight me on it.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said before I could say another word.

That wasn’t what I was going to say, but I understood his knee-jerk reaction. “Bruiser is finally back at full capacity. I’m sure he’s more than capable, but I want Cross to assign a security detail to shadow you. Bruiser will take lead. He will give them orders, and they can coordinate their efforts through him, but I need you to agree to that.”

Martin considered my terms. “Fine, but I want the same for you.”

“Cross already assigned a team to guard me. They’ve been parked outside all night.”

“Okay.” He flipped off the light, and we snuggled under the covers. Five minutes later, the alarm clock went off.

Twenty-six

I stormed into Cross’s office, despite Justin’s best attempts to stop me. “What do we know, Lucien?” I asked.

Cross yawned. He’d gotten about as much sleep as I had. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced behind me. “Double espresso,” he said. “Maybe a triple.”

“On it, boss,” Justin said.

“But what are you going to drink?” I asked.

“Justin, make that two.”

“I already assumed as much.” Justin lingered a moment longer, debating if he should ask another question but decided to use his best judgment instead.

Cross indicated the chair across from the couch. Once I was settled, he got up from behind his desk, handing me a printed file and his tablet before sprawling out on the sofa.

“Did you identify the wannabe kidnappers?” I asked.

“Don’t ask questions, just read the file.” He closed his eyes, resting the backs of his hands over his lids to block out the light.

Anthony Marcusi and Joey Malone. Neither name rang any bells. I scanned the sheet Cross had marked up with known and suspected associates. They hadn’t done any serious work for any major players, which was good. But that didn’t mean some lesser known wasn’t highly motivated to make a name for himself. But Marcusi and Malone weren’t the brightest crayons in the box. Hiring them for a job was asking for problems. At least, that’s what their extensive rap sheets indicated.

Based on how many times they’d gotten caught, I wondered if they’d ever successfully carried out a job. Unless they took on so many jobs that this represented only a tiny percentage of their crimes. Statistically speaking, that was usually the case, with offenders getting caught less than ten percent of the time. Unless they were particularly inept or unlucky.

Cross had handwritten several notes on the page beside their known associates. All the names were crossed out. Not a single name remained on the list without some explanation as to why these kingpins wouldn’t be interested or involved.

“How many gangsters did you call last night?” I asked.

“Only one.”

“Which?”

He moved one hand and peered at me with his left eye. “Do you really want to know? This has to stay between us.”

“Go on.”

“Luther Bianchi.”

“I thought Bianchi went straight.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know everything that’s going on with everyone else.”

“I’m surprised he took your call,” I said. “I thought he didn’t like answering the phone.”

Cross returned to his previous position. “Things change.”

“What about Almeada?” I asked. “You said you were going to call him. I’m not seeing any notes about that conversation.”

“He assured me Dustin did not hire us in order to eliminate a witness.”

“How would he know that? He thinks our client is guilty.”

Cross’s chest rose before slowly falling. “If Dustin or anyone from Dustin’s family was stupid enough to try something like that, Almeada would file criminal charges against them himself to make an example out of them.”

“We’re talking a multimillion dollar client. I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m not saying Almeada wouldn’t color outside the lines for a client, but he wouldn’t do so unwittingly. He’ll always do what is necessary, but he has to be read in, aware of the circumstances. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark.”

“Are you sure? He always tells me not to tell him things,” I said.

“But he knows what you’re doing. He knows what to expect, even if he needs to avoid culpability and implicating himself or his firm in a criminal act.”

“That’s a fine line. I’m not sure where the bar association would land on that.”

Cross flipped his hands over so he could rub his face before dragging his fingers through his hair, but he didn’t open his eyes. “Almeada has a code. He won’t let someone manipulate him or use him as a patsy. If they are upfront with him, he’ll protect them.”

“Does he think Dustin Ford is guilty?”

“He suspects whoever else may have been involved in the murder is afraid of being implicated, which is why they want to take care of any witnesses or evidence that may exist.”

“Almeada thinks Dustin had an accomplice. Does he have proof?”

“No.”

I considered the theory. “If that’s the case, couldn’t Almeada go to the prosecutor and offer to provide information in exchange for Dustin’s charges to be dropped?”

“He already tried, but Dustin won’t go for it. He claims he’s innocent. That he doesn’t have any information to share. Almeada thinks it’s because his client is afraid or stupid.”

“I don’t get it. A crime of passion, like a strangulation, usually doesn’t have other players involved. What does Almeada think happened in that rental that resulted in Sydney Breeding’s murder?”

“Who knows?” Cross said.

Justin returned with a tray containing two steaming mugs, a prescription pill bottle, and two plates with bagels and cream cheese. He put the tray down. “Do you want something more substantial?” he asked me. “We have the usual breakfast sandwiches, also cereal, oatmeal, and fruit.”

“This is fine.” I eyed the pill bottle as I picked up the coffee. “Thanks.”

“Lucien,” Justin gave our boss a pointed look as he sat up and swiped the bottle off the tray, “do you need anything else?”

“A sledgehammer.”

“I’ll see what I can find in the broom closet.” Justin gave us a final look and left the office.

Cross downed two pills and shoved the bottle in his pocket before picking up the cinnamon raisin bagel. “Migraine,” he said.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“It’s going away. You wouldn’t have wanted to see me two hours ago. Actually, I wouldn’t have wanted to see you two hours ago.”

“Are you saying you want to see me now?”

He snorted. “No.”

“Figured.” I drank my coffee and ate the bagel. “Are we any closer now than we were when I went home last night?”

Cross drained his cup and sat back against the sofa, letting his head rest on the cushions while he rubbed his temples. “Closer to what?”

“Figuring out what the hell is going on.”

“The techs have been building profiles on the other group. When I spoke to Amir three hours ago, he thought they were close to positively identifying the fifth member of Caleb’s group. She’s proving harder to find than he anticipated. Hopefully, he’ll have something for us soon.”

“What about the woman who pulled a gun on me?”

“He’s working on that too.” Cross snickered. “Had I known telling you I didn’t feel well would result in you being nicer to me, I would have tried this a long time ago.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I said.

He opened his eyes, studying me more carefully. “You don’t look much better than I feel.”

“Rough night,” I said.

“It’s your turn to share.”

“Your head hurts. We should avoid unnecessary conversation.”

“Are you planning on attending the morning meeting?”

“Are you?”

He glanced at his open doorway. “Justin, can you take care of it?”

“I’m going to need my own letterhead,” Justin replied from beyond the door.

“You can have it once you bring me the sledgehammer.” Cross stretched out on the couch again. “Check-in at the rental isn’t until two. I’ll meet you in the garage at 1:30. If you miss the morning meeting, I won’t know.”

I held the notes and tablet against my chest as I got up. “Are you sure you’re not dying?”

“If I’m not in the garage at 1:30, you’ll know Justin brought me the sledgehammer.”

Having permission to miss the morning meeting should have made me happy. Instead, it made the situation worse, like things could pop off at any moment.

After stopping by my office to check for messages and e-mails from the techs, I gave the walls of notes and photos another long look. The profiles were nearly complete for the Danforths, Violet Hemming, and Caleb Osbourne. All we were missing were the details on the last member of their group. However, none of the current intel triggered any red flags. No one had money troubles or legal troubles. Yet, somehow, Violet Hemming had gotten onto Marcusi’s and Malone’s radar. M&M had tried to abduct her the previous day, which was why she was now in police custody. Upstanding, mild-mannered citizens didn’t end up the targets of hitmen wannabes.

“Kellan?” I knocked on his closed office door. Usually, he got in around the same time I did, but his office was dark. Since he’d spoken to the Danforths, I figured he’d be a good place to start. I sent him a text, asking if he was on his way to the office, and tucked my phone back in my pocket.

My next stop was to visit Amir and his team. Even though I hadn’t gotten any messages from them, I couldn’t rule out the possibility they’d come up with something helpful.

“Ms. Parker,” a tech showed me the footage from outside Violet’s house, “have you seen this yet?”

“I was there.”

“Just watch,” he said.

The men knocked and waited. When Violet didn’t answer the door, they kicked it in. Malone went in first while Marcusi did a quick look-around to make sure no one had heard the commotion. Then he went in and pulled the door closed as best he could. Two minutes later, they hauled Violet out.

“The neighbors called the police,” he said. “We reviewed the 9-1-1 call, but there was nothing suspicious about it.”

“Did you think there would be?”

“No, but it never hurts to check.”

“What about the footage from the night before outside Atlantis?” I asked. “Were any 9-1-1 calls made that night?”

“Mr. Cross found some CCTV feeds that show the incident, but we never get a look at the shooter.”

“What about the blonde who pulled the gun?”

“We’re processing her ID now. We believe her name is Angie Tanner.”

“Does she know Violet Hemming or Caleb Osbourne? Maybe she likes dancing at Atlantis?”

“I don’t know about all that,” he said.

I scanned the intel on the other monitors, but I didn’t see any details on the woman. “Does she have a rap sheet?”

“No. She’s practically a ghost. Her digital footprint is tiny.”

“Compared to what?”

“Compared to everyone else.” He glanced around. “It’s too soon to say anything yet. Amir likes us to be sure before we volunteer information.”

I looked around, but Amir was nowhere to be seen. “I get that this is his lab, and I respect that. But I’m happy to run down a theory. What are you thinking?” He looked uneasy, so I added, “This can be our little secret.”

“Angie Tanner may be made up.”

“Like a fake identity?”

“Or a new identity.”

“You think she’s in witness protection?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me know when that theory turns into something.” I tapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks.” Now to call my federal agent friends and ask for a favor.

By the time I made it to the elevator, I’d already dialed SSA Mark Jablonsky’s number. That wasn’t a particularly difficult feat since he was number one on my speed dial, but I wasn’t sure if this was the way to go.

Mark answered with a gruff, “Do you know what time it is?”

“The sun is up and the birds are chirping. That must mean it’s late enough to start another fun-filled day.”

“What do you want, Parker?”

“A name came across my desk. Details are fuzzy, but I’m kicking around the possibility this person could be in witness protection. Before the Marshals show up at Cross Security to shut us down, I thought it’d be best to find out for sure in case I have to smooth things over.”

“And you couldn’t call them?” he asked.

“They get uncomfortable answering questions from someone no longer on the job, whose parents are in the program. Since you have contacts, I thought—”

Mark knew why I didn’t want to call. The Marshal Service would pass me off to the case agent, thinking I was calling for a personal reason or to have a message delivered, which I’d prefer avoiding if possible. No one needed a kick in the teeth for funsies.

“What’s the name?” he asked.

“Angie Tanner.”

“They couldn’t have gone with Jane Doe?”

“It must have been taken.”

“I’ll see what I can do. If they show up, tell Cross to play nice.”

“I don’t think he’s capable.”

“Tell him anyway.”

Twenty-seven

Since I was exempt from the morning meeting, I didn’t go inside the conference room. Instead, I waited near reception, watching as my coworkers made their way into the cramped room. However, Kellan Dey never showed. Neither did Bennett Renner.

Had they found out Cross wouldn’t be leading the meeting so they decided to duck out too? I didn’t know, but whatever excuse they had wasn’t helpful. I wanted to speak to Kellan about the Danforths. He had yet to text me back, which could mean any number of things. One being he was ignoring me; another that he was on the way to the office. Renner could have gotten Kellan to answer his call, except he wasn’t around either.

I didn’t like it. But after the night I had, I didn’t like most things. It was time I did something to change that.

After a quick detour to pick up coffee and donuts, I headed to the precinct. O’Connell had been working odd hours lately. First graveyard, then second shift. But with everything that happened yesterday, I hoped he’d be at the precinct this morning.

I arrived a few minutes before shift change. He wasn’t coming off graveyard, which meant he and Thompson hadn’t pulled a double. I checked, but Jacobs wasn’t getting off work either.

So I took a seat at O’Connell’s empty desk, looked around the half-empty bullpen, and wondered if precinct security had gotten lax or if someone in major crimes had told the desk sergeant to expect me. O’Connell knew I’d snoop through his desk, so I leafed through the sticky notes and opened the top drawer. I didn’t want to disappoint him.

In his second drawer, I found Violet Hemming’s file. Since no one was paying me any attention, I took the lid off the cappuccino and opened the file. Violet’s statement didn’t tell me much of anything. Two men forced their way into her house and dragged her into the back of their SUV.

The included photographs showed light bruising on her limbs from where she’d been held or restrained, along with minor injuries related to leaping from the moving SUV. She claimed a helpful Samaritan, me, had tried to stop the men, and that was the only reason she was able to get away. According to this, she had no idea why anyone would want to harm her. She had no enemies. No angry or vengeful ex-lovers, and she didn’t owe anyone any money.

“It’s because you’re a witness to a homicide,” I muttered.

Someone bumped against the back of the chair. I turned, hastily shutting the file. Thompson rolled his eyes, helped himself to the clearly marked mocha in the cup holder, and reached into the bag for a bear claw.

“Wow, Parker, you really brought out the big guns today.”

“Where’s Nick?” I asked.

“He’s on his way. He said he wanted to stop by the safe house before starting work.”

“Safe house?”

Thompson wasn’t in any rush to get a jump on the day. He rocked in his chair, biting into the sugary pastry before sipping his coffee. “Don’t play dumb. You know she requested protective custody.”

“Requested?” I arched an eyebrow. “She asked for it? You didn’t offer?”

“She hinted, so we offered,” he said.

“How did she hint?”

“She mentioned being afraid, unsure who the men were or if they’d be back. She wanted to feel safe. Nick said we could put a unit on her and stash her somewhere until we figure out who the men are who tried to kidnap her.”

“Have you made any arrests yet?”

“No, so you should be careful. Those goons may be looking for you too.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Thompson rubbed his chin. “Oh? Did you come here to ask to be put into protective custody too? Because we have a nice holding cell downstairs with your name on it.”

“Not funny.”

“Let me guess, you IDed them.”

“Marcusi and Malone.”

Thompson wasn’t surprised. “Did a little birdie tell you that?”

“I haven’t spoken to your girlfriend recently. How is she?”

“Detective Sparrow and I are no longer dating.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

Thompson pointed an angry finger at me. “This is why I don’t like you. You don’t play nice.”

“Come on, Thompson. We tease each other. It’s what we do.”

“I’m not teasing. And that’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry.” O’Connell warned me that was a sore subject, but it happened so long ago, I figured the sting had worn off by now.

“Yeah, well, you should have thought of that sooner.” He angrily bit into the bear claw before putting it down on a napkin, wiping his fingers on his pants, and turning his attention to his computer. He was done talking to me.

Men.

I went back to reading the file. Violet’s statement was useless. Details of the event were factual, but her answers to the rest of O’Connell’s questions were vague at best, potentially lies at worst. She hadn’t sustained any major injuries, and the medical report didn’t mention other wounds or older injuries. If M&M had threatened her previously, they hadn’t done so physically.

“Do you have access to her phone records?” I asked.

Thompson ignored me.

I flipped pages, but they weren’t in the file. I checked O’Connell’s drawer, but they weren’t in there either. I couldn’t find any mention of her phone being in evidence. The only items catalogued were the clothes she had on at the time of the assault.

“What about the third assailant?” I asked. “Do you know who Marcusi and Malone run with?”

Again, I got no response.

“Thompson,” I said, exasperated, “I need to know. They could be connected. A mafia hitman could be coming for me. I didn’t mean to piss you off. I’m sorry, but letting me get killed won’t make us even. You’ll have to file paperwork, and you hate paperwork. Plus, you know how Nick feels about me. He’ll be out for a while on bereavement, which means you’ll be stuck pulling his weight and yours. That’s twice as much paperwork.”

He still didn’t answer.

“I’ll fucking haunt you,” I said. “And without corporeal form, there won’t be any coffee or donuts to lessen the blow. Just me nagging the hell out of you nonstop. I’ll ramble incessantly about how you could have stopped it from happening, how you let—”

He looked in my direction. “Shut up.”

I opened my mouth to say something else, but he held up a finger.

“We don’t believe Marcusi and Malone were working for anyone connected. They’re goons for hire. They aren’t guns for hire. They don’t perform wetwork. They may twist arms and break a few bones, but that’s the extent of it. Whoever wanted Violet didn’t want her dead. They wanted to have a chat with her,” Thompson said.

“How do you know they wouldn’t kill her afterward?”

“I don’t, but they had plenty of chances to kill you, and you’re still here, annoying the hell out of me.”

“That’s not reason enough to believe someone won’t come after me now.”

“Why would they? You never shut up. No one wants to deal with that.”

“They want the investigation stopped. They don’t want me to clear Dustin Ford’s name.”

Thompson pretended he didn’t care what I said, but I saw him scribbling notes. He was using our conversation as an interrogation, thinking I wasn’t smart enough to catch on. Normally, I’d say something. But under these circumstances, I didn’t mind.

“Who wants to stop the investigation?” he asked.

“Angie Tanner, for one.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

He gave me a suspicious look, unsure if I was messing with him or serious, but he wrote her name down anyway. “Who stands to gain by Ford going away for twenty to life?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. I don’t even know if that’s why they want me to stop investigating. It could be because the real killer doesn’t want to get caught.”

“Two sides of the same coin.” He made another note. “Violet must know something. Does she?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I want to speak to her. But you won’t—”

O’Connell put his hand on my shoulder. “He wasn’t talking to you, Parker. How are you holding up?”

“I’d be better if someone clued me in on what the police are doing to investigate. Didn’t you say someone was supposed to follow up with me?”

O’Connell looked at his partner. “To answer your question, Thompson, Violet’s still playing dumb. I told her who the men were, the types of people they affiliate with, and painted a very negative picture of why they may have tried to abduct her. She wouldn’t crack. All she asked was that we keep her safe until they’ve been arrested. When I told her they could be working for someone and that even after we take them off the street others could come after her, she shut down. We’ll swing by again later and see if some time to ruminate on things breaks her resolve.”

“Don’t you think we’ll have Marcusi and Malone in custody by then?” Thompson asked.

“Yeah, probably, which may give us more to work with.” O’Connell checked the notes on his desk.

“What about the third guy?” I asked. “Did you get an ID on him?”

“There was no evidence in or on your car. We didn’t find any prints. He didn’t approach her front door, so he wasn’t caught by her doorbell camera. We have a general description but nothing concrete yet. We should know more once we get Marcusi and Malone to talk.” O’Connell plucked a sticky note off his desk and stuck it to my arm. “CSU finished processing your car. You can pick it up whenever you want.”

“I’m not worried about that right now,” I said.

O’Connell nodded at the folder. “Are you caught up?”

“With this, yes. With everything that’s not in here,” I tapped the folder, “no.”

O’Connell picked up a coffee and the bag of donuts. “Let’s take a walk. I could use the exercise.”

I followed him out of the bullpen and down the stairs. We went out the back door to the parking lot. By now, everyone had reported for their shift. Traffic in and out was almost nonexistent.

O’Connell peeled back the plastic lid and blew on the surface of his latte. “Last night, your boss raised hell at the precinct. He wanted to know who attacked you and what we planned to do about it.”

“I never knew he cared.”

“He was freaked out. I’m assuming you are too. You aren’t a morning person unless you didn’t sleep the night before, and you don’t look like you slept last night.”

“I slept a little between working late and the panic attack.”

O’Connell bumped against my shoulder. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t. I can’t have this turn into another Vito. I can’t. Martin can’t. We—” The thrumming in my chest started again, the vibrations spreading through my veins. I stared at the brick wall, focusing on the breeze against my face and the faint scent of hot dogs and coffee. Despite lack of sleep, I wasn’t about to have another breakdown. Not when I had so much to do.

“It isn’t. We’ve had eyes on Marcusi and Malone since we IDed them. The reason we haven’t picked them up yet is because we’re hoping they’ll hook up with the third guy. I’ve already gotten warrants for their phones and internet history, along with access to their financials.”

“Who hired them?”

“I’m not sure, but it wasn’t any of the usual suspects.”

“I need to see those records.”

“Your boss should already have them.”

“Someone handed them over to him?”

O’Connell snorted. “We both know Cross has his ways. The point is this was an odd job. If M&M don’t make contact with the third guy after lunch, I will bring them in, throw them in a cell, and go at them with everything I have until they give me a name.”

“You don’t think they’ll talk,” I said. It was why he was waiting. “But I appreciate the effort.”

“They’ve been through the system enough to know how everything works.”

“You need something you can use against them, something scarier than the charges they face. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, promise me that if you catch a whiff of organized crime, you’ll let me know immediately.”

“Parker, this isn’t that.”

“It looks like it.”

“I think that’s by design.”

Twenty-eight

After picking up my car at impound, I considered my next move. The techs hadn’t gotten anything on Angie Tanner yet. At least, I hadn’t been informed, and since the name brought up hundreds of hits in my search, I’d need more details to find the right Angie Tanner.

Mark Jablonsky would have better luck, especially if the blonde with the gun that had mysteriously disappeared from police evidence had anything to do with the witness protection program. If not, Thompson would find something. I had given him her name to run and the dirty details of our brief encounter.

Since I had some time to kill, I pulled up Troy and Tammy Danforths’ address. They had been with Dustin Ford and his friends most of that night. Perhaps they’d seen something. Even if they hadn’t, I was hoping Violet had told them what happened at Dustin’s vacation rental. Since O’Connell couldn’t get her to talk, I’d have to try to get them to talk. Kellan hadn’t gotten much out of them, but maybe I could be more persuasive.

I cruised toward the Danforths’ place, spotting a silver Cross Security sedan parked nearby. Kellan.

I pulled into the space behind him, flashed my lights, and got out of the car. He hit the unlock, waving at the security team as they drove past us and found another place to park where they could keep an eye on me while I kept an eye on the Danforths.

“What are you doing here?” Kellan asked, grabbing the camera with the attached telescopic lens off the passenger seat before I found myself having to pay for breaking more of Cross’s expensive toys. “I thought you and Lucien were going to the vacation rental.”

“We are. Check-in isn’t for a couple of hours.” I jerked my chin toward the building. “What are you doing here? I thought you spoke to them yesterday.”

“I did. Lucien wanted eyes on everyone. I’m here. Bennett’s keeping an eye on Caleb Osbourne.”

“The boss failed to mention that to me.”

Kellan snorted. “I’d think you’d be used to it by now.”

“Are there any other details about my case that he failed to mention?” I didn’t know what Cross had gotten from the police, but O’Connell made it sound like he knew everything. Hell, maybe he knew where Violet was being kept.

“Not really. Amir should be monitoring their phone and internet activity. But you spooked them, so they’ve been radio silent since yesterday.”

“Me?”

“You are the reason Caleb came here to warn the Danforths.”

“Caleb left the group at the concert. He wasn’t around the rest of the night and had nothing to do with witnessing the murder or providing an alibi for Dustin Ford. So why is he acting like the town crier?”

Kellan didn’t answer, which meant he had yet to come up with a theory. I was having the same problem. Finally, he asked, “Are you sure Caleb went home after the concert?”

“That’s what Dustin and his friends told me.”

“Could Caleb have backtracked and followed them?”

“What would be the point? If he changed his mind, he should have met up with his friends, not stalked them from the shadows.”

“You said he’s a recovering addict.”

“Alcoholic,” I corrected. “I don’t know if that’s true, but research indicates it could be. All I can say is he never drinks at the clubs.”

Kellan reached for his phone. “I know a few guys in charge of local AA meetings. Let me see if anything shakes loose.”

“I thought it was called Alcoholics Anonymous for a reason.”

“Sure.” Kellan didn’t share his connections. But after placing four calls, he hung up. “Caleb hasn’t been to a meeting in a while, but he always shows up to collect his next chip. Assuming he’s not lying to the group, he’s been clean and sober for years.”

“Great, but how does that help us?”

“Maybe seeing his friends wasted made him snap. Maybe he blamed Dustin for it and wanted to get revenge.”

“By strangling Sydney Breeding and leaving her body in the rental?”

“She was passed out drunk when she died, right?”

“I didn’t find anything tying Caleb to her,” I said.

Kellan thought for a moment. “Run through the timeline again.”

So I did.

“What if Dustin stumbled across Sydney at the concert hall or on the walk back to his car? They could have hit it off. Maybe they were thinking of having a threesome. Violet, Dustin, and Sydney. Isn’t that the quintessential straight guy fantasy?”

“Don’t ask me. Neither of us are straight men.”

Kellan laughed. “You have more experience dating them than I do.”

“Stop being cute,” I said. “But I get the point. Caleb followed them. Maybe he had a thing for Violet or maybe he’s more the protective older brother type. Assuming your theory holds water, Violet was sober enough to drive her two inebriated companions back to Dustin’s. But then what happens? Caleb sneaks up the side of the porch, slinks beneath the camera, and goes ballistic on Sydney who is now unconscious, leaving Dustin unharmed? That doesn’t make a ton of sense.”

“That’s the problem, Alex. Nothing about this case makes a damn bit of sense. But Caleb could be involved. I’m not sure why or how, but there could be something you haven’t considered.”

“The simplest solution is usually the right one.”

“Crime of passion? Dustin’s guilty?” Kellan asked.

“No. My client is innocent. But someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make sure we can’t prove it. As far as I know, he doesn’t have any enemies. He avoids drama and confrontation. He always has, at least according to his friends. There were never any incidents at work. The only friction in his life was with his family, but they can’t be behind this. His father is footing the bill.”

“Siblings?” Kellan asked.

“That was my first thought, but Dustin’s an only child.”

“Does he have cousins?”

“A few.” I pulled up what I could find on the pharmaceutical company. It had been a family business. A lot of Dustin’s extended family worked there, from his uncles and aunts to several of his cousins and their significant others. Checking the time, I reached for the door handle. “Wish me luck.”

“Where are you going?”

“To introduce myself to the Danforths and see if they’ll crack. After that, I’m going to get some anti-anxiety meds directly from the source.”

“Do you want company?”

“I think it’s best if I do this alone.”

My conversation with the Danforths was brief. Unlike Violet, they answered their door, but they remembered little from the night of the concert. They hadn’t thought anything of Dustin or his friends. They believed them to be harmless. If they’d realized Dustin was a stone-cold killer, they never would have allowed Violet to drive him home.

At least I finally had proof Violet was the driver, not Sydney. Almeada would need to force them to testify or sign affidavits. If nothing else, I had to hope that would be enough to open the door to reasonable doubt, but a lot depended on Violet. And I hadn’t gotten the chance to speak to her yet.  

“Someone tried to abduct Violet yesterday afternoon,” I said. “Do you happen to know anything about that?”

“Why would we?” Troy asked.

“For one thing, Caleb Osbourne warned Violet about something before he came to see you. What did he say?”

“Just that a private investigator was looking into the murder, that she,” Troy pointed at me, “you, thought we may have seen something. But none of us did.”

“Caleb didn’t hang out with you after the concert, did he?”

“No, but you found him. He figured you must have identified all of us. But we didn’t see anything. We don’t know anything. It was a concert. We got something to eat and went to a club afterward. That’s not a crime. We didn’t do anything wrong. None of us did,” Tammy insisted.

“We didn’t want to get involved after the news broke,” Troy said. “We were afraid the police would question us and we’d have to testify at trial. I’ve always been told it’s best to keep my head down and my nose clean. That’s all we were trying to do. It’s all we’re still trying to do. Clearly, it’s not safe speaking to you. I’d like you to leave now.”

I backed toward the door. Everyone had used that same excuse. I was tired of it. “Who do you think wants to keep you from talking?”

“Dustin or his friends. They were thick as thieves. They’d do anything to cover for him, including making sure none of us could come forward.” Troy pulled open the door, waiting for me to exit.

“That would imply you saw something.”

“We didn’t,” Tammy said.

I looked at her. “Did Dustin have a weapon on him?”

“I don’t know. Possibly, or it could have been in his car.”

“Do you know how he allegedly killed the woman?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“What about you?” I turned to Troy. “Any idea?”

“None.”

“Was Violet with him when they met this woman?”

Neither provided an answer beyond a silent shrug.

I went back to my car, shaking my head. By the time I started my engine, my phone buzzed. Told you.

I made sure Kellan was watching me from the rearview when I said, “Not helpful.”

He shrugged, and I pulled away.

Twenty-nine

The security team waited until I was at the end of the block before pulling out. A blue pickup had gotten between us. It had a busted passenger side turning light and a few chains of gold and purple Mardi Gras beads hanging from the mirror. The beads rocked back and forth as the truck lurched along behind me.

I checked the plate. Out of state. The driver had on mirrored aviators that kept most of his face concealed. He smiled when he saw me checking him out through my mirror and gave a little wave, which meant he wasn’t following me or he was one ballsy bastard.

He had a thick five o’clock shadow and messy brown hair that looked like it had been stuck beneath a hat for too long. I could almost see the sweat line and creases. He wore a t-shirt in a drab color that may have had grease stains or paint splotches. I couldn’t tell. But I didn’t notice a logo. A chain around his neck made me think he had dog tags, but I couldn’t say for certain.

Tapping the button on my phone, I voice-dialed the security team. “I don’t like the look of this guy in the truck,” I said. “He kind of reminds me of the bastard who T-boned me. Have you noticed that truck before?”

“This is the first time.”

“Was he already in the neighborhood?”

“No, he drove past. Nothing indicates he’s following you. What’s the problem?”

“I’m not sure there is one. I may be jumpy. Let’s run his plates, just in case.”

While I waited for someone to get back to me, I continued toward the pharmaceutical company. Three blocks later, the truck turned and the security team closed the distance between us. My phone chimed. The truck was registered to Castel Drying Services. They serviced a lot of homes in the tri-state area, specializing in fixing damage due to leaks and mold. Damn, I was jumpy.

After finding a place to park in a nearby garage, I got out of my car, aware of two members of the security team following me on foot. Under different conditions, I would have protested. But given how I’d reacted to the pickup truck, I figured I needed the backup, if not for my safety, then for my sanity.

The person working the front desk looked up as I set off the metal detectors at the front door. Two members of building security reached for their weapons while they headed toward me.

“Sorry,” I held up my palms, aware of the security team outside the door, “I have a carry permit.”

“Weapons aren’t permitted on the premises,” the person at the desk said.

“I’m here to speak to the CEO. It’s about his son.”

“One moment.” The receptionist reached for the phone while security drew down on me. I could walk myself backward out of the building, but they wouldn’t let me get closer without clearance. I didn’t blame them. Armed lunatics had no right to wander around office buildings. The results were usually catastrophic.

“What’s your name?” the receptionist asked.

“Alexis Parker. I was hired by Mr. Almeada, of Reeves, Almeada, and Stockton.”

“She’s been approved,” the receptionist said, putting down the phone.

Security holstered their weapons, offering me curt nods. “We’ll escort you upstairs.”

I glanced back at the two members of my personal security team. “Wait here.”

They nodded, taking up unobtrusive positions outside.

I followed one guard through the lobby and to the elevator. The other guard trailed behind. I didn’t turn, but I could feel his presence and hear the soft thuds of his footfalls behind me, half a second out of sync with my own steps.

We had the elevator to ourselves as it whisked us to one of the upper levels that required a keycard for access. I didn’t waste my breath on small talk. I had no idea who I could trust and asking questions could get me in trouble. Instead, I waited in the deafening silence.

Once the doors opened, the same guard led the way out of the elevator and down a wide hallway with large, glass offices which looked more like they were meant to be exhibits on display in a museum rather than a functional environment for business to be conducted.

I read the names stenciled on the glass as we went. Once we reached the CEO’s office, his personal assistant picked up the phone to tell him I had arrived. He greeted me with a confused look and a firm handshake.

“Mr. Almeada said he’d take care of everything. Why are you here to see me?” he asked.

“Well, Mr.—”

He stopped me before I could say anything else. “Stick with Bob. I don’t want this to be a formal meeting. As far as anyone is concerned, I have nothing to do with Dustin. He made his intentions clear that he wanted to have nothing to do with this business, so I don’t need anyone knowing I’m helping him. Therefore, I’d prefer if we keep this unofficial.” His tone indicated he’d call Almeada to complain as soon as I left. Cross would have a field day with that, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t just Dustin Ford’s freedom on the line.

“Whatever you say, Bob.” I surveyed the acrylic cases filled with awards. “For what it’s worth, I believe your son is innocent.”

“I already know he is.”

“How?”

“He’s my son.”

That wasn’t an explanation.

“Someone threatened my life. They want me to stop investigating. I found a potential witness, someone I hope may be able to provide Dustin with an alibi.” O’Connell would kill me for disclosing such things, but I had to gauge this guy. Everyone said he wasn’t responsible, but if a blood relative was, I’d need Bob to point them out to me. “That person was almost abducted yesterday afternoon.”

“You found a witness? What did they see? Does Mr. Almeada know?”

“He knows everything. However, after what happened, this alleged witness isn’t talking.”

“Make them.”

I studied him closely. “The only way to do that is to catch the guys who want to silence her.”

“You mean the real killer.”

I smiled at Bob. “I can see how you became CEO. Smart, quick-thinking, handsome.” I was laying it on thick. “A guy like you must be envied by a lot of people. I bet the rest of your family is jealous.”

“Did Dustin tell you that?”

“Dustin didn’t want to talk about his family.”

“He never does.” Bob looked around. “All this could have been his, but he didn’t want it. Instead, look where he ended up. He never listened. He always hung out with the wrong people, wasting his time and talent.”

“Kids, they’ll break your heart.”

Bob nodded. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want him to come out of this okay. You have to –”

It was my turn to cut him off. “I know,” I said, “which is why I’m here. Given everything that’s occurred these last few days, I’m wondering who stands to benefit from Dustin being imprisoned for the rest of his life?”

“Who could possibly benefit from that?”

“Dustin is your only son. This is your business. Half the surnames on the offices I passed are the same as yours. Should something happen to Dustin, who inherits the most?”

“You mean the company?” Bob looked away, busying himself with something on his desk. “Dustin isn’t even in the running for that now. He knows nothing of the business. If I could persuade him, teach him, then maybe, but he’s made it clear he has no interest.”

I wondered if fabricating a murder and coming to the rescue could be some twisted way to force Dustin to reconsider his stance out of guilt or familial obligation for his father saving him. But that was another theory that I’d stick under the ‘too complicated’ umbrella.

“What about your fortune?” I asked.

“My wife will get half. The rest goes to Dustin.”

“Who would it go to if he was out of the picture?”

“It’d all go to my wife, Dustin’s mother. You can’t seriously think she’d want this for her son.”

My own mother wouldn’t bat an eye before stabbing me in the back, but then again, we weren’t related by blood. “No one else in your family or your employ would benefit by Dustin going to prison for a few decades?”

“No one I know would do something like this. We are civilized people. If anyone is framing my son for murder, it’s one of those hooligans he calls friends or some misguided individual he met at work or wherever. Now if you don’t mind, I have business matters to address. Don’t stop by here again.”

Thirty

Lucien Cross was waiting for me in the parking garage when I returned to Cross Security. He dismissed the security team and led me to his waiting Porsche. Tossing the bag he carried into the car, he looked at me over the roof. “Almeada called.”

“I had questions,” I said. “My job is to investigate. I can’t help it if Dustin’s father wasn’t thrilled about it.”

Cross muttered under his breath while he got in the car and slammed the door.

I got in beside him. “Are you sure you want to drive this to the vacation rental? You’ve seen what happened to my car and the company car. Fixing this would cost a lot more.”

“We can’t take a company car. These assholes would know to look for them, and we’re not getting into that death trap.” He pointed to my car, which had duct tape and plastic over the missing window. “It has a bullet hole in the door.”

“My car, my bullet.”

“Do not shoot my car,” Cross warned.

“Hang on, let me write that down. There are so many rules you expect me to follow. I can’t keep them all straight.”

He rubbed his temples and backed out of the space. “Tell me you’ve learned something while on your little adventures.”

“Because that wasn’t the least bit condescending.”

He glanced at me, letting out a low grumble while squeezing the steering wheel. “I take that to mean you’re still in the dark.”

“The Danforths admitted Violet drove Dustin back that night.”

“They weren’t with her. All they know is the two set out on foot for Dustin’s car. We don’t know what happened after that. I’ve already taken the liberty of reviewing whatever footage exists from that night, but the cameras aren’t good enough. Almeada thinks a jury won’t be convinced the blonde is Violet. It could be Sydney. Their features are too close to call.”

“Except for their bra size,” I said.

“Even if Amir can emphasize that specific difference, Almeada won’t use it. The prosecutor would crucify him for that.”

“It’s not sexist if it’s a fact.”

“Do you think a jury would see it that way?” Cross asked. “Even if they didn’t find it sexist, they’d believe it was a form of body shaming. It would bias them against Almeada and Ford by extension.”

“He’ll have to get Violet to testify.”

Cross gave the steering wheel another squeeze. “Has she decided to talk?”

“Not according to O’Connell, but he thinks once he brings in Marcusi and Malone, he’ll be able to convince someone somewhere to say something.” I stared out the windshield. “I’d like to have a word with all involved parties. Can you make that happen?”

“How do you expect me to do that? I’m not magic.”

“O’Connell implied you were. He said you went to the precinct last night.”

My boss glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “You know my stance on homicide investigations. This is out of the norm, so I wanted the cops to know we only have the best intentions.”

That may have been part of the reason Almeada and Cross gave me this case. “That was it? You didn’t get copies of their intel.”

“I didn’t say that. But that is neither here nor there. All that I had to say was that someone isn’t happy about this investigation, and that I will not tolerate my employees being threatened.”

“You think a cop is behind this? Even the abduction?”

“No,” Cross admitted, “but I had to be sure. I don’t have nearly as much blind faith in the badge as you do.”

We fell silent for most of the ride. After we passed the coffee shop and twenty-four hour drugstore, I said, “The easiest way to get to the bottom of this is to get Violet to talk. There are only two reasons I can see why she’s remaining silent. One, she’s implicated in the murder. Two, she knows who’s responsible and was told not to say a word. That’s what Caleb and the Danforths implied, but something’s off. I just don’t know what.”

Cross parked in the driveway and checked his mirrors before turning in his seat. “I hoped we’d get here early enough. The cleaning crew hasn’t left yet.”

“I thought you told me check-in was at two.”

“I may have lied.” He opened his car door. “Stay here and put this on.” He shoved a Yankees cap toward me. “Keep your sunglasses on.” Before I could protest, he closed the door and headed up the porch steps.

Instead of entering the door unlock code, he knocked or rang the bell. From here, I couldn’t be sure which, but a member of the cleaning crew came to the door. They spoke just out of sight of the camera. When they were finished, Cross slipped something into the other man’s jumpsuit pocket and returned to the car.

“What was that?” I asked.

Cross pulled out of the driveway and found a place to park near the coffee shop. “I asked a few basic questions about the property, the off-limits areas, and which bedroom had been used the least.”

“Which bedroom?”

“That seemed like an important question.”

“Why?”

“That mattress should be in the best shape.”

“You’re planning on sleeping there?”

“We’re sleeping there,” he corrected. “The reservation is for overnight. We can’t dine and dash. I thought you understood that.”

“We’re in the middle of an investigation. This isn’t a vacation.”

“No, it’s work.” He got out of the car, looking around while he hopped onto the sidewalk and pulled open my door. “Let’s get some coffee. By the time we finish, the house should be ready for us.”

While we were in the coffee shop, Cross paid special attention to the nearby cameras and the angles. But the rental wasn’t visible from here, and neither was the driveway. If someone had been monitoring the rental to set up Dustin, they hadn’t done it from this location.

After getting our coffees and some sandwiches, we went across the street to the drugstore. They had everything from microwaveable dinners to aisles of toiletries, over the counter medical supplies, and a pharmacy in the back.

While Cross kept an eye out the door, I grabbed a basket and filled it with the basics. I hadn’t planned on spending the night at work, at least not like this. But Cross was right. It would look suspicious if we didn’t stay, and since someone had been watching me or possibly the house, it would be best not to raise any more suspicions. I’d already had three close calls. While the third time was supposed to be the charm, I had to assume one of those had been a practice swing, which meant, the next one would be a home run. And I didn’t need any more holes in my body.

“Let’s go,” Cross insisted while I assessed the candy bar selection beside the self-serve checkout.

“I’ll meet you outside.” I scanned my items as efficiently as someone who’d been doing it her entire life, paid with my credit card, grabbed my shopping bag, and met him beyond the doors. The cleaning crew had left in a white and blue van, the name laser-etched on the side. The Tidy Two.

“I thought you spoke to them when we were researching.” I indicated the van as we crossed the street and got back into Cross’s car. Normally, we would have walked the block to the coffee shop, but he had moved his car for a reason. One he hadn’t shared with me. “Did the guy recognize you?”

“I didn’t use my real name to book the place.”

“What name did you use?”

“Patrick Berman and Calista Frasier.”

“Calista?”

“Those were the names on the IDs I picked up. They were pre-made. Quick and easy.”

“You have a paper guy? I figured you’d have your techs put things like that together.”

“I wouldn’t want to risk implicating them or myself in something like that. It’s easier to outsource. Safer. Less chance of blowback. So I called Freddy. He has a guy.”

“Freddy?”

“Don’t worry about it.” That meant it’d be best to stop asking questions for my own peace of mind. “Once we get inside, we’re keeping the chatter light. You are Calista Frasier. We’re here for an overnight stay. Understand?”

“Not in the least, but I know how to play along.”

Cross grabbed his bag, leaving me to carry in my drugstore purchases. I followed him up the steps to the front porch, keeping the brim of the cap pulled low over my face. After checking the unlock code which had been sent to his phone, he entered the six digits into the electronic lock and pushed the door open.

The smell of sanitizing products assaulted my nostrils. The cleaners were heavy-handed when it came to scrubbing the place. It made me wonder what the last renter had done to warrant such stringent methods, unless those were the standards they applied to every unit, every time.

I glanced around, peering into the bedroom where Dustin had allegedly stayed while following Cross down the hallway and into the kitchen. Cross paid attention to every fixture we passed. Once the hallway opened into the family room/kitchen/dining area, he put his bag down and pulled out a few tools of the trade.

Surprised, I put the bags on the table, pulled out my phone, and typed, You think the place is bugged? I held the screen out for him to see.

He shrugged. “Did you see the patio?”

“Do you think they have an outdoor grill?” I asked, watching as he started scanning for surveillance devices.

“This is our one night away. I’m not in the mood to grill, dear.”

I peered out the vertical blinds, seeing the same things I’d noticed from my spot on top of the dumpster. Nothing had changed. “Are you sure? It could be fun.” I checked the door, reading the placard that included instructions left by the owner to make sure not to leave the door open and to lock it after use. “I’m going to look outside.”

“Fine, but don’t get your hopes up.” Cross wandered through the kitchen, checked the pantry, and moved on to the living room.

I opened the rear door, left it open, and stepped outside. The backyard didn’t contain much of anything. Upon closer inspection, I didn’t see any notable scrapes or damage to the planks which made up the privacy fence. The solid, smooth surface made it impossible to scale. The wood would have splintered or cracked under the weight of a full-grown man. I suspected it would crack under my weight, but there was no way I could reach the top, and even if I could, the angle wouldn’t be conducive for pulling myself up and over. That limited the possible ways someone could have gained access to the rental.

Returning inside, I closed the door. Cross had finished checking the main room and had backtracked to the front door to scan the bedroom and the laundry room. I performed a visual sweep, pausing to stare at the spot on the ground where Sydney Breeding’s body had been found. Given the kitchen counter and the confines of the hallway, Dustin wouldn’t have been able to see the dead woman from the entrance or his bedroom. But that wasn’t enough to clear him.

Cross returned to the kitchen. Clear, he mouthed.

“Honey, since you don’t want to grill, what do you want to eat tonight?” I asked.

“Whatever you want, dear.”

“Really, whatever I want?” The rental owner had left a welcome packet on the counter. I picked it up, skimming the list of rules and provided information. “What do you think about Chinese?”

“The MSG will give me another migraine. How about somewhere a little nicer?”

“Really? You’re taking me out to dinner?”

“We are on vacation.” He made his way upstairs.

While he scanned the upper level for recording devices, I searched downstairs. The kitchen, including the appliances and the items in the pantry and fridge, matched the information left by the owner. There were no surprises. No hidden bags of party drugs or dead bodies.

I tore the living room apart. The only surprise I found was a dusty cheese doodle beneath the pull-out portion of the sectional. The Tidy Two must have missed that. As per the instructions, additional linens were in a sealed bag in the hall closet. The zippers had been secured with a ziptie and an additional charge would be added for using those items.

“Do you believe this guy?” I asked when Cross came down the steps. “There’s a surcharge if you want an extra blanket and pillow.”

“That’s to deter wild parties and additional houseguests. It’s an insurance thing.” Cross pointed to the three locked doors near the kitchen. “It’s also why some rooms are off limits.” Cross pulled out a set of lockpicks from his bag and handed them to me. “Where did we land on dinner?”

“I thought you said you wanted to take me somewhere fancy. What did you have in mind, tiger?” I jimmied the first door open, choking a little when stale, dusty air filled my lungs. On the bright side, I didn’t detect the scent of decomposing remains.

He left the lights off, scanning from the doorway, afraid if a camera was posted inside that it would spot us. “I heard good things about that steakhouse. You know which one I’m talking about.”

“You mean the one you couldn’t shut up about on the drive here? Is that the one you wanted to try, honey?” I tried to see into the room, but it was pitch. The scanner didn’t show any frequencies being broadcast, but before I could reach for a flashlight, Cross stopped me, shaking his head.

He detoured back to the wall panel to check the security system. “Yeah, I’d like a nice steak after that long drive. Is that a problem, Calista? You aren’t experimenting with vegetarianism again, are you?”

“It’s veganism. And if you ever paid a bit of attention to me, maybe you’d know.” I read the security system’s display, but it didn’t show much. Whatever data it possessed wasn’t for our eyes.

Cross pulled out a cable and plugged his phone into the panel. “We are not fighting about that again,” he said, though our conversation sounded cardboard and mechanical.

“Fine. Steak is great, but they better have mashed potatoes or mac and cheese.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to order a salad,” he said.

I moved beside him, studying his screen while whatever application he was running bypassed the security system’s protocols. “I bet you wouldn’t say that to your wife.”

The override program looked like a bunch of gibberish, white text on a black screen. Once it completed, he put his phone away and tucked the cable back into his pocket. “My wife?”

“Yes, your wife. Don’t tell me you forgot about her?”

“What the fuck?” he whispered, giving me an incredulous look.

I shrugged.  

Rolling his eyes, he pointed to the second locked door, and we repeated the process, keeping the lights off in case there were any hidden cameras. “We are not talking about her. Tonight is about us,” he said.

“Fine.” I nodded once he cleared the second room and unlocked the third door. I wanted to search each of them, but he wanted to know we weren’t being spied on before we got down to business.

He finished sweeping the last locked room. “You can cut the act, Alex. The place is clean.” Cross returned the tools to his bag. “I didn’t find any surveillance devices.”

“I haven’t found much of anything, but I barely got started.” I indicated the three unlocked rooms. “I’m guessing that’s where we should start.”

“There’s one more room upstairs I haven’t checked,” Cross said now that we knew it was safe to speak freely. “It’s a tiny door that looks like it may lead to a storage area or the attic. But there’s no lock on it.”

“Why didn’t you check it while you were upstairs?”

“I couldn’t get it to budge.”

Thirty-one

The locked door closest to where Sydney Breeding’s body had been found led to the basement. Down the stairs were an array of old appliances, a desk, and an old bedframe and mattress. A dilapidated refrigerator and freezer chest sat in the corner of the room, unplugged and covered in a thick layer of dust. A table and two stacks of chairs filled out the rest of the room, along with a tool box and various items that one would typically find housed in an attached garage.

Donning a pair of gloves, I sifted through the mess. The disturbed dust made me sneeze. Obviously, the Tidy Two didn’t have access or weren’t paid to clean the basement. Even the wood laminate covering the floor looked like it had a layer of grime since the middle boards were a darker shade than the ones near the sides of the room.

The fridge was empty. The shelves on the door were broken, and one of the drawers was missing. The ice maker inside the attached freezer looked like someone had tried to remove it with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch. The metal was twisted and singed. Tubing stuck out like the snakes on Medusa’s head.

Curious, I checked the manufactured date which was listed on the sticker on the back of the machine. The fridge was only three years old. My guess would be a guest must have wanted to practice for an engineering exam. That would explain the clause in the rental agreement about paying for damaged or nonfunctioning appliances.

The fridge may have been large enough to hold a body, but the body would have been crammed into a ball to fit. That didn’t match the reports I’d seen. So I turned my attention to the freezer chest. That’s where the villain always hid the body in films, and there was a reason for that stereotype.

Unsure what I expected to find, I lifted the lid. The chest was empty. There was nothing inside. The shiny aluminum interior appeared spotless. No water stains. No bloodstains. Nothing of consequence. Only the slight scent of multipurpose cleaner remained.

Surely, the police had searched every room of the rental, even the locked ones. If this chest had been here at the time, they would have searched it too. I didn’t remember seeing any mention of it in the reports, but if there was nothing inside of it, it wouldn’t have made it into the reports.

A few dings on the otherwise smooth surface made me pause. Those could have been from anything. They weren’t particularly deep. I didn’t see any claw marks or scratches, so I didn’t think anyone alive had ever been locked inside. As far as dead, I’d need CSU to determine that, but given the shine and disinfectant lemon scent, I didn’t think even they would be able to find anything.

I shut the freezer chest and checked the rest of the items in the room. No drugs. No weapons, aside from the tools in the box. Nothing indicated a body had ever been kept here.

I repeated my check in the other two rooms. The smaller of the two was the utility closet. The other room was a little harder to decipher. It could have been an office, failed home gym, or spare bedroom. Inside were a treadmill and bike, protected from the dust by sheets. I peered beneath the sheets, seeing the machines were on the pricier end of the spectrum. A few free weights sat on a bench which had permanent indentions from the weights being nestled on the padding for so long. A desk sat on the other side, filled with papers and folders.

“Did you find anything?” Cross asked, appearing in the doorway.

“I don’t think so.”

He leafed through the pages before going to the printer which doubled as a copier. “All I’m seeing are dozens of printed copies of the welcome packet we received.” Cross put the pages back where he found them. “What were you hoping to find?”

“I don’t know.” I turned, fighting to keep from sneezing. “What about the room upstairs? Did you ever get a look at what was behind that tiny door?”

“Storage. Nothing but seasonal decorations.” Cross gestured toward the door. “Make sure you put everything back where you found it.”

That didn’t take much effort. “What about the surveillance cameras?” I asked, joining him in the kitchen.

“I already spliced into the feed. Amir has remote access to everything. We ran a few drills. You were right about that blind spot. It is possible to sneak in and out of the house without being spotted.”

“I figured if the squirrel could do it, anyone could.” I looked around. “Reenact something with me.” I pointed to the ground. “Lie there.”

Cross gave the tile an uncomfortable look before doing as I asked. “You’re paying for my dry cleaning.”

I went down the hall, toward the entrance, turned around, and approached the kitchen. I didn’t stop until I could see Cross. “Dustin wasn’t lying.”

“You don’t know that.” Cross got up from the ground and wiped his hands on his pants. “He’s taller than you. So it’d make more sense if you pretend to be dead and I see how close I have to get to spot you.”

“You just want me to see how it feels,” I said.

“Payback’s a bitch.” He went past me as we switched positions.

Now that I was closer to the ground, I examined the tiles. Sydney Breeding had been strangled, so there was no mess to clean up. Nothing had to be replaced or bleached. The floor hadn’t been damaged. Everything was fine.

“You know, the owner got lucky. I’ve seen some bloody scenes inside hotel rooms. Everything had to be replaced. The carpet, the furniture, all of it.”

Cross appeared at the end of the hallway, almost in the same spot where I’d stood. “Is that an observation, or do you have another theory?”

“An observation for now.”

He approached, offering me a hand up. “Do you want to head out for a while? I planted a few of my own cameras on the doors, so we’ll see if anyone enters while we’re gone since the cameras outside can’t be trusted.”

“We might as well since being here isn’t helping. I really hoped it would.”

“It’s been six months. If there was evidence the police missed, it’s long gone by now.”

“Maybe I should talk to the cleaning crew.” I had planned to, but things had been so hectic.

“I already did that. They don’t know anything. Once the police released the scene, the owner gave them specific instructions to give everything a thorough scrubbing. Afterward, he stopped by to make sure they did a good job, and the listing went back on the marketplace a few days later.”

“Like it never happened,” I said. “But the story was in the news. Murder in a quiet neighborhood. No one connected the dots?”

“Most people who stay here are from out of town. They wouldn’t have heard about it.”

“So Sydney Breeding’s murder didn’t impact business or cause any additional expenses.”

“You think the owner had something to do with it?”

“I have no idea what to think.” I thought back on everything we had in the works. Angie Tanner threatened me, and Violet Hemming was hiding from someone. “I need to see what O’Connell’s learned in the last few hours.”

“I’ll drop you off,” Cross said.

*       *       *

“Didn’t I say I’d call you?” O’Connell asked.

“I was in the neighborhood.” I reached for his notepad. “I see Marcusi and Malone are in holding. Have you spoken to them yet?”

“Have you?”

I shook my head, flipping pages. O’Connell took the notepad away from me and put it back in his pocket. “Did you tell Violet the good news? Has she gone home yet?”

“Not quite.” O’Connell was being extra cagey. “She asked a lot of questions about what those men wanted. When I told her they weren’t talking, she asked me what you wanted.”

“Did you tell her?”

“I did.”

“He lied through his teeth by saying all sorts of lovely things about you,” Thompson said, giving me the evil eye. “Where’s the coffee and donuts?”

“Try the break room,” I said.

“Nick, let me know when she’s gone, so we can get back to work.” Thompson disappeared in the direction of the break room. Apparently, he took my suggestion to heart.

“I thought the two of you were finally getting along. What happened?” O’Connell asked.

“My big mouth.” I sighed. “I made a joke about Sparrow, and—”

“Say no more. You know better than that.”

“I thought he was over it. That was ages ago.”

“That’s because you missed the part where they got back together and broke up again a few weeks ago.”

I slapped him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Hey,” O’Connell rubbed his arm, “that’s assault.”

“Great. Charge me and put me downstairs in holding. I want to make some new friends.”

O’Connell shook it off. “As I was saying, I told Violet you had nothing to do with the men who tried to abduct her. And then she said something I found interesting. She asked how they knew to show up when you were already there.”

“I didn’t call them,” I said. “Cross had a team trailing me. He’s reviewed the footage. As far as we know, I wasn’t followed.”

“But they knew where you were going.”

“They’ve been one step behind me this entire time. I don’t get it.”

O’Connell raised an eyebrow. “Could Cross Security have a leak?”

“I don’t really choreograph my moves. I tend to go where the wind blows.” I considered the possibility. “The cars do have GPS trackers, but I didn’t have a company car when I went to see Violet.”

“Did you spot a tail?”

“That’s the thing. There have been times when I feel someone watching, but no one is following me.”

“What about tracking your phone?”

“I had to get a new one after Angie Tanner smashed mine. Speaking of which, have you gotten anything on her yet? I phoned Jablonsky and asked him to look into witness protection since the lady doesn’t have much of a presence online or in the real world. He never got back to me.” Since I hadn’t heard anything, I sent him a text and put my phone down on the desk.

“She’s not in witness protection,” O’Connell said. “I did some asking around. She allegedly has done work for some top law firms. Maybe you should ask Almeada about her.”

“What kind of work?”

“I’m not sure. She’s not a member of the bar. But she’s been in and out of the precinct a handful of times over the last few years. Sgt. Rostokowski recognized her from the photo you took. Every time Tanner shows up, she has the proper paperwork or credentials, but things go awry soon after she leaves.”

“Awry? Like a gun disappearing from the evidence locker?”

“I have nothing to prove that.”

“What else do you know about her?”

“That’s pretty much it. She’s not a regular around here. She doesn’t work for one specific firm, and whatever she does is questionable at best.”

“Criminal at worst?”

“Like I said, maybe you should ask Almeada about her. Even if he doesn’t know her, I bet he has friends who do.”

I let his words sink in. “Do you think Almeada’s firm has a leak?” I had been checking in to give him updates.

O’Connell rocked in his chair. “That’s for you to figure out. I have enough on my plate.”

Thirty-two

After speaking to Sgt. Rostokowski, I ducked into an empty office and called Cross. He wasn’t pleased by this turn of events. He was even less pleased Amir hadn’t found anything on the woman who’d pulled a gun on me. We had her name, a disconnected phone number, a defunct e-mail address, and a last known address which took us to a mailbox place. The address the mailbox place had on file for Angie Tanner led to a taco joint.

“Maybe we should go there for dinner,” I said.

“She isn’t there. That’s as much a dead end as everything else we’ve found on this woman. We won’t find anything there.”

“Maybe not, but we’d have tacos.”

“I’ll pay Almeada a visit. This isn’t the kind of conversation we can have over the phone,” Cross said. “Are you staying at the precinct, or do you need a security team to pick you up?”

“I’ll be here a while. O’Connell hasn’t taken a crack at Marcusi and Malone yet. They lawyered up as soon as they were brought in.”

“What about Violet Hemming? Is she talking?”

“Only to cast suspicion on me.”

“Be careful.”

“Always.”

Cross let out a huff of disbelief and hung up.

Since I wasn’t going home tonight, I phoned Martin to tell him the news. “Lucien wants me to spend the night with him,” I said. “He even said he’d take me somewhere fancy for dinner, but I’m hoping for tacos.”

Martin made a sound I had never heard before. Amused? Jealous? I wasn’t sure what it was. “Are you serious right now?”

“You know I never joke about tacos.”

“Sweetheart, do you think this is a good idea?”

“I know you don’t like to share. This is a one and done.”

“So was Indecent Proposal.”

“Martin, I’m not—”

“I know, but given your panic attack last night, I thought you’d want to sleep in a safe environment. If this is because you think some mafioso is gunning for you…”

“It isn’t. I’ve been reassured by everyone that isn’t the case.”

“Who exactly is everyone?” Martin asked.

“Lucien and Nick.”

“So I can ditch the protection detail?”

I hedged.

“That’s what I thought.” Martin sighed. “I love you, Alexis. But I know your tricks. Don’t distance yourself. Don’t. Just don’t.”

I was going to kill Cross. “That’s not what this is. If you don’t believe me, call Lucien. Ask him. This was his idea. Not mine. And while it has everything to do with our case, at least that’s the story he’s telling, it has nothing to do with some kingpin wanting to snuff me out. And if it does, no one’s mentioned it to me.”

“Okay.” But it didn’t sound okay.

“When you call Lucien to ask him what’s going on, will you tell him I won’t put out for anything less than a box of tacos?”

Martin laughed, despite himself. “If this is your way of telling me you’re hoping to trade me in for another member of the forty under forty club, I will remind you that I am a sex god. The sex god. Despite what anyone else may claim, those claims have been disproven. I can have sworn statements sent to you if you need proof.”

“First off, I’m waiting for you to hit the big 4-0 before I trade you in for a newer model. Second, you’re not helping your case here, handsome.”

“Forever and always.”

“Forever and always,” I repeated. “I’ll call you later. Don’t ditch the security detail.”

“I’d say don’t sleep with your boss, but you have rules about such things. Just don’t break them this time.”

I fake gasped. “I can’t believe you said that. You were the exception that proves the rule.”

“Well, I have always been exceptional at everything.”

After disconnecting, I returned to the major crimes unit. By now, O’Connell should have Marcusi and Malone in the box. Since I could ID them, I thought it was important that I stick around. Maybe the cops would need me to pick them out of a lineup.

Instead, I ended up wandering toward the interrogation rooms and observing from the other side of the two-way glass. I didn’t recognize the attorney who was representing both men, but his badge told me he worked for the public defender’s office. No high-powered attorney showed up to protect M&M, which made me think O’Connell and Cross had been right, that we hadn’t gotten tangled up in something involving organized crime. If we had, a mafia lawyer would be here instead.

M&M kept their mouths shut. They only answered when they had no other choice. But they wouldn’t admit to anything. Even after being presented with photographic proof, they kept their traps closed. They wouldn’t name names. They didn’t want a deal. They didn’t want anything.

“Do you think they’re afraid of their boss?” I asked when O’Connell stepped out of the interrogation room.

“What are you doing here, Parker? I thought you left.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You shouldn’t be watching this. You’re a witness.”

I followed him down the corridor. “Fill me in. What’s your next step?”

“Now we put in some legwork, see where they’ve been, who they’ve been talking to, and if anyone paid them to do any odd jobs. There wasn’t a paper trail. No money transfers, so the exchange must have gone down in person.”

“Let me know what shakes loose for my own sanity.”

O’Connell gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Fine, but you keep me clued in on everything. And I mean everything. The homicide investigation may be closed, but whatever you stumbled into during your investigation is far from open and shut.”

“You don’t think Sydney Breeding’s murder is connected to whatever is going on with M&M?”

“I don’t know. Besides Dustin Ford, there is nothing in this world that connects Violet Hemming to Sydney Breeding. Thompson and I have gone through everything imaginable. There is nothing. They didn’t go to the same schools, live in the same neighborhoods, shop in the same stores, or visit the same gyms.”

“Ride the same buses or vacation at the same beaches,” I chimed in.

“Nothing connects them. The same’s true of Caleb Osbourne, and every other name you’ve given me.”

“What about the fifth member of their group? The other woman I haven’t been able to identify yet. Do you know who she is?”

“It isn’t Sydney.”

I narrowed my eyes at O’Connell. “You have her name.”

O’Connell scratched the back of his head, looking everywhere except at me. “I don’t want to give it to you.”

“Why not?”

“You wanted to speak to Violet, and someone tried to abduct her. According to Caleb Osbourne, he believes someone broke into his apartment after his encounter with you. The Danforths are freaked out. And don’t think for a second I didn’t notice the Cross Security vehicles parked outside their homes.”

“You spoke to everyone?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all day? I follow leads. I perform my due diligence. I’m a fucking police detective in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.” I stared into his eyes. “I never meant for any of them to get hurt, Nick. I’m trying to stop that from happening. Cross Security is keeping an eye out so nothing else happens.”

“You said it yourself. Someone’s watching you. It’s not safe for me to give you this information.”

“Safe for whom? The fifth member of their friend group? Or me?”

“Both.”

“Nick—”

“As soon as you can guarantee Cross Security and Almeada’s firm aren’t the source of the leak, that the information you’re sharing with them isn’t what put Violet Hemming in danger and isn’t the reason you’ve had so many close calls this week, then I’ll tell you. Until then, keep your head down and stay safe. I mean it.”

“All right. If you change your mind, Lucien and I will be spending the night together at a nice little vacation rental. I’m sure I could convince him to have a threesome or foursome, if Thompson will give me another chance.” Picking up a pen, I wrote Sorry on a sticky note and stuck it to his keyboard.

“I don’t even want to know.”

“You’re right. You probably don’t.” I stared at him. “But Mr. Detective, you’re wrong about one thing. Sydney Breeding and Violet Hemming are connected. More than likely, Violet knows something about what happened to Sydney. That’s why this is happening.”

“I know that. But the only common denominator I have is Dustin Ford. Do you want me to drag his ass in for questioning?”

“No.”

“Then let me get back to what I’m doing.”

On my way out of the precinct, I spotted a silver luxury sedan parked across the street. I paused on the steps as it started its engine. Before it could pull away, I recognized the woman behind the wheel. Same blonde hair. Same confident attitude. The only thing missing was the gun I’d taken from her.

Thirty-three

The license plate on that silver sedan was registered to the pharmaceutical company. I stared at the details on my screen. Angie Tanner wasn’t listed as an employee, but a look into their records showed she’d done contract work for them on occasion.

“Bob’s a big fat liar,” I said when Cross answered his phone. I filled him in on everything that had happened.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“In my office.”

“How did you get back to the office?”

“A cop gave me a ride.” A click sounded in my ear. “Hello?”

Cross hung up on me.

Shaking it off, I resumed my desperate search to track the car via DOT cams. The city had dozens. I should be able to keep tabs on the woman who’d been keeping tabs on me. At least, I thought she had, given our late-night encounter. However, I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been at the precinct to find out what was happening with M&M.

Why was this such a mess? What did Dustin’s father, CEO Bob Priestly, have to do with the murder investigation? Bob had said with the utmost resolve that his son was innocent. Did he believe that? Or did he hire a fixer to make sure that’s how it looked?

According to what Almeada said when he hired us to investigate, Bob Priestly wanted his son to have the best defense. Wealthy men with power usually found ways to hedge their bets and stack the deck in their favor. They didn’t like to lose, and for Bob, this one was personal. He couldn’t lose. His son’s life was on the line.

Cross barged into my office, slamming the door behind him. “I told you to call when you were ready to leave.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t listen or I may not have seen Tanner. She’s working for Bob Priestly.”

“Do you have proof?”

“The car she was driving is leased by the company.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s working for Dustin’s father.”

I turned on him, wondering if he had been holding back on me. “What does it mean?”

“It means someone at the pharmaceutical company hired her.”

“News flash, that company belongs to Bob Priestly.”

“And everyone who stands to benefit by eliminating Dustin also works there. Every single one of them has a position in upper management with the ability to hire contractors like Angie Tanner to work for them. You don’t know this came from Bob.”

My boss had a point. “What did Almeada say when you spoke to him?” I asked.

“A lot of shit about confidentiality which I took to mean they damn well could have an internal leak.”

“Shit.”

“If someone from the pharmaceutical company called and inquired, alleging to be following up on Bob Priestly’s behalf or even on Dustin’s behalf, it’s possible details may have been shared which should not have been.”

“That’s what Almeada said?”

Cross nodded. “Regardless, this doesn’t change anything. We have a duty to our client. We continue the investigation, but from here on out, Almeada gets nothing from us. He’ll get our report when we conclude our investigation.”

“Did he agree to those terms?”

“He insisted on them.”

“All right.” I brushed my hair out of my face. “We should explore that angle now that we know for certain there is an angle.” I reached for a legal pad. “We know Tanner wasn’t working alone. She has a partner or backup. Someone who made sure she got away after threatening me. We should start looking into financials, money transfers, anything that would indicate one of Dustin’s distant relatives hired someone to force us to back off.”

Cross stalked the confines of my office, examining the intel as he went, but he was moving too quickly for any of it to process. “I’m only saying this because these are special circumstances, but I want you to hand over everything pertaining to Angie Tanner and the pharmaceutical company to the police.”

After picking my jaw up off the floor, I reached for the phone. “Are you sure about this? O’Connell has Violet Hemming in custody. We can’t talk to her. The police are already hamstringing our investigation. This could make that exponentially worse.”

A sly smile crept onto Cross’s face. “It’s about damn time you came around to the right way of thinking, but we need these obstacles out of our way. Sydney Breeding has no ties to the pharmaceutical company. I’ve had Amir digging into that possibility since the moment we took the case. If there was something to find, he would have found it by now. We focus our attention on the victim. We let the police deal with the rest. Hopefully, they won’t screw it up.”

“All right.” I called O’Connell.

*       *       *

Cross checked the hidden cameras he’d planted at the rental, but no one had stopped by while we were out. Satisfied the place remained secure, he locked the door, checked the built-in security system, and placed his takeout bag on the table.

I put mine down on the other side and pulled out a chair. Fighting not to yawn, I pulled out my roast beef sandwich and fries, laid them on the table, and sucked down a few gulps of my cherry cola. It wasn’t tacos, but it would do.

My gaze came to rest on the floor where the body had been discovered. “That’s a strange place to kill someone.”

Cross unpacked his dinner, searched the bag for his salad dressing packet, tore it open with his teeth, and squeezed it onto his steak salad. He didn’t bother to look in the direction I was facing. Instead, he took the lid off a container of cheese sauce and pulled out his fries.

“I thought you were worried about MSG giving you a headache,” I said.

“There’s no MSG in this.”

“How can you be sure? It’s chemical goo. Who knows what is in there?”

He coated half the fry in the golden yellow goop and stuffed it in his mouth. “Glass houses, Alex.”

I took another bite of my sandwich, my eyes glued to the spot on the floor. “If you killed someone, wouldn’t you at least try to hide the body? If for no other reason than you wouldn’t want to trip or have to step over it every time you wanted to get something out of the fridge.”

“Dustin Ford didn’t put anything in the fridge.”

“Surely, he must have had leftovers. He returned here after leaving Mike’s. Ginger must have sent him away with food. At the very least, she would have given him some sort of baked good. He would have put it in the kitchen.”

“Yet, it took him an hour after he arrived to get from the front door to the kitchen to find the body.” Cross freed his fork from the cellophane and stabbed at his salad, spearing a piece of steak, a chunk of romaine, and a strawberry. “That has always seemed suspicious to me.”

“Maybe he had a call.”

“Phone records say no. No calls. No texts.”

“Maybe he was listening to a podcast.”

“And he’s unable to listen and walk at the same time?” Cross shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is we find an alternative theory as to who could have killed her. Given everything that’s happened since we began investigating, even if we find nothing, the facts of our investigation may be enough to sway a jury.”

“Is that what Almeada said?”

Cross blotted his mouth with a napkin. “No, but I’m reconsidering a few things.”

“Didn’t I ask you not to do that?”

He snickered. “Well, you discovered Angie Tanner is working for the pharmaceutical company. Dustin’s father could be behind these odd occurrences.”

“That would mean Dustin’s guilty, or he believes his son is guilty. That’s not what he told me.”

“Do you think he’d admit his son is a killer?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

I turned away from the spot on the floor. “Okay, Lucien, I’ll play along. Dustin’s the killer. He hooked up with Sydney somewhere, lured her back here, waited for her to drink herself into a stupor, and strangled her. After which, he leaves her body in the middle of the room for anyone and everyone to find, goes to bed, and then hangs out with his friend the next day, knowing damn well the cleaning crew or the rental owner could potentially stop by and find the body.”

“That’s unlikely. Unless a problem is reported or additional services are requested, the cleaning crew stays away and the owner would have no reason to check up on a guest.”

“Okay, but why come home the next night, wait an hour, and then start screaming? Why not hide the body instead?”

“Where was he going to hide it?” Cross asked.

“The backyard. Inside one of the locked rooms. In the trunk of his car until he could dump her in the East River. Whatever.”

“The camera would have seen him moving her out.”

“He could have bought a big suitcase and stuffed her inside.”

“He wouldn’t be able to get it up and down the porch steps. As far as the backyard, there’s another camera out back, so that’s out. And unless he knows how to jimmy a lock, the other rooms are off limits. By screaming, he establishes a narrative. One where these things happened around him, but he wasn’t a participant.”

We’d gone over this a dozen times. I’d run every scenario in my head at least a million more, yet I still didn’t know if Dustin was innocent or guilty. I’d been going with my gut, even though Cross had wrapped everything up neatly in what some may consider a conspiracy and what others would think was a brilliant move to throw off suspicion.

“Let’s flip this around,” I said. “Dustin is innocent. Someone else killed Sydney. Why leave her body out in the open?”

“Frame job.”

“The killer would have to be confident he didn’t leave any evidence behind. No hair. No prints. No trace. And why leave the drugs? Why not take them to sell or use?”

“Maybe he was into clean living.”

“Which would make the drugs Sydney’s, except her tox was clean.”

“You thought she could have been dealing based on where she lived.”

Cross hadn’t said anything new, but for some reason the way he said it made the words roll around in my brain a little differently. “Dustin and his friends were going to a concert. A lot of people who go to concerts get wasted.”

“I thought you wanted to work through the possibility he was innocent,” Cross said.

“Violet Hemming and her friends were at the same concert. Caleb left because he didn’t want to be around them for the afterparty.”

“What are you thinking? Violet or someone in her group had the hookup and asked Sydney to meet them here to make the exchange? The security footage makes that an improbability, along with everyone’s statements, including Dustin’s that Violet drove him home after they were done partying.”

“Dustin and his friends were done partying. That doesn’t mean Violet and her friends weren’t going to have an after afterparty. She supposedly had a rideshare waiting. She could have been planning to hook up with the others after dropping off Dustin. Maybe she planned to roll him. He was pretty far gone that night.”

“That doesn’t explain how Sydney got inside.”

“Maybe Violet got the unlock code from Dustin’s phone without him noticing. We still haven’t found Sydney’s phone, so we can’t rule out the possibility Violet sent her a text through an encrypted app.”

Cross finished his salad and moved his fries closer. Finally, he turned to look at the spot on the floor. “Violet wouldn’t have been able to move the body, but that doesn’t explain why she left the drugs if that’s why she was here.” He had me there. “O’Connell has access to Violet’s phone. Ask him to look into it.”

“You expect the police to help us?”

“No, but it wouldn’t hurt if he used the resources available to him to assess who wants to harm Violet. Tell him he’s welcome for the tip.”

I sent a much nicer text than what my boss wanted me to say and put my phone on the table. Jerking my chin toward the spot where the body had been left, I said, “Angie Tanner’s a woman.”

“Nice observation.”

“Do you think a woman is responsible and that’s why the body was left out in the open?”

“I have no idea.” He finished the last of his fries and stretched. “Like I said, it’d be difficult to hide the body. Moving it may not have been worth it.”

“What if it was moved?”

Getting up from the table, Cross tossed the trash into the can. “If I don’t stop you now, you’ll do this all night. So we’ll put a pin in the what if game until tomorrow. Right now, I need to get some sleep.”

Thirty-four

I envied people who could sleep in unfamiliar environments. I wasn’t one of them. My head pounded. Lack of sleep the previous night only compounded the problem. Until now, I never questioned the general wisdom that migraines weren’t contagious. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

Cross hadn’t made a peep since disappearing into the guest bedroom. It had a double bed and no ensuite. No wonder most people didn’t choose that one.

I had my pick of the room near the door, the one where Dustin had slept, or the other bedroom, which was upstairs. Instead, I settled onto the couch and stared at the spot on the floor in the kitchen. I’d talked about being haunted by ghosts, but I hadn’t meant it literally. Yet, being so close to a crime scene made me a little uneasy. Mortality staring back at me was never fun.

After turning on the TV, only to find that it required logging in to my personal streaming accounts, I shut it off. Something about this rental made me uneasy. I didn’t trust entering any personal information into a machine owned and operated by someone else, even if it was supposedly secure.

I thought about watching something on my phone or laptop, but my head hurt too much. Instead, I tried closing my eyes. I wasn’t asleep, but pretending to be was the next best thing. Perhaps I could fake it until I made it, so to speak.

After that, all the other nonsense sayings went through my head. My mind finally stopped on dress for the job you want. That brought me back to Dustin Ford.

Families were tough. Whatever his reason, he wanted nothing to do with the pharmaceutical industry. He distanced himself, found another job, a found family, and was figuring things out. He may not have had it all together, but he wasn’t a mess. His life was stable. No priors. No history of violent behavior. No known psychological issues. Why would he snap and kill someone? I didn’t believe he had, but I couldn’t figure out how a body could have ended up inside this rental without him noticing.

Dragging myself off the couch, I left the lights off and made my way to the front door. Starting there, I ducked into the first doorway, which was the bedroom where he stayed, and stumbled inside. He may have flopped onto the bed and not moved until his phone rang the next morning. I was willing to buy that.

I dropped onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling. The bed wasn’t bad. Firmer than I imagined. But given the rental history on this place, even if all the guests slept in this room, it wasn’t seeing that much action. My thoughts went a little X-rated, and I got up, wondering what a black light would reveal and wishing I hadn’t had that thought.

Returning to the living room, I paid attention to the illuminated areas in the kitchen from the digital clocks on the appliances and the blue light coming from the panel on the fridge. Even in the dark, Dustin would have seen the body on the floor. But he hadn’t gotten up. And he supposedly had no reason to venture into the rest of the house before leaving the next day.

Everything could have happened the way he said. Not everyone did a room check when they arrived, even though the welcome packet specifically asked for a walkthrough and to report any issues so as to avoid being blamed for them. Surely, the same instructions had been sent to him when he made the booking. But he probably assumed everything was fine and didn’t worry about such things. That was the approach a lot of people took.

Closing my eyes, I tried to will my mind to quiet and my headache to go away. I was almost asleep, or maybe I had fallen asleep, when a sound made me jump.

The panel on the wall remained green, telling me the security system hadn’t detected a breach. Regardless, I crept to the counter, grabbed my nine millimeter, and waited.

A moment later, several thumps sounded to my left. They weren’t quite footsteps. I wasn’t sure what they were. Lucien?

I moved toward the bedroom he’d selected, wondering if he’d woken up. Maybe he’d made the sound. Shooting my boss may have been something I joked about often, but it wasn’t something I wanted to do, at least not accidentally.

I’d only made it half a step when another thump sounded to my right. I turned, peering through the dark kitchen. No one was in the room. Heading for the sound, I found myself outside one of the previously locked doors. We had left them open, and now I wondered if that had been a bad decision.

Opening the door to the basement, I reached for the light switch and flipped it on. No movement or sound came from below. No one was down there. I closed the door. Another thump sounded to my right. It must have been coming from outside the house.

I moved toward the sink, hoping to peek into the backyard when the glass of water on the counter shattered beside me. The shards blew backward, toward the wall, following the trajectory of a bullet.

Immediately, I dropped to the floor and scurried around the counter. I didn’t hear the shot, but I knew that’s what it had to be.

“Alex?” Cross called.

“Stay low,” I replied. Unsure what was happening and wondering if this could be a bad dream, I pressed my back against the island counter and peered around the side.

Cross had taken up a position against the doorframe. Like me, he was on the ground, but unlike me, he had his phone and his gun. He signaled to me with his screen, so I could see him. “What happened?”

“Someone’s shooting at us.”

“What?” He edged around the doorframe to get a better look. “Where are they?”

“I don’t know.”

Another shot whizzed by, smacking into the wall. Cross raced toward me, like that shot had been a starter pistol. He slid on the tile, like a baseball player stealing third, and crashed into the counter behind me as another shot hurtled toward us. This one impacted the other side of the island counter, making the items inside the cabinet and the oven door rattle.

The shots were getting better, more accurate. Was the shooter inside the house? How had he gotten in?

“He must have infrared or thermals,” I said.

Cross gave me an uneasy look before lifting up and peering over the counter. “I don’t see anyone.”

I heard the thump again. “Get down.” I yanked on his arm, dragging him to the floor a millisecond before another shot flew in our direction. But it wasn’t one shot this time. It was a barrage.

Cross and I hunkered together, getting as low and as small as possible. Glass broke around us, the oven rattled, along with every pot, pan, and lid. Chipped pieces of countertop, some cheap marble alternative, pelted us. Cross pressed closer, shielding me from the larger pieces while we flinched and jerked with every gunshot.

I still couldn’t hear them. All I could hear were the bullets impacting and glasses breaking. The shots had been straight across. Now, they were coming in at an angle. The shooter was getting closer. We had to move.

I shifted toward the side, covering my eyes when the coffee carafe exploded, shooting glass in every direction, including towards me. I peered around the side of the counter, but I didn’t see the shooter. The thumping was louder now, joined by a whirring.

“Shit.” Cross tugged on my arm, pulling me back behind cover. “It’s a fucking drone.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“We have to move.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he pulled me after him as he dashed toward the bedroom.

“Windows,” I said, zigzagging to avoid getting hit even though I couldn’t see the alleged drone. More bullets landed inches from my feet. Pocking the tiles and sending bits of shrapnel into my ankles.

Reversing course, I ran for the basement door. We wouldn’t survive long enough to make it outside. Yanking open the door, Cross burst through, and I shut the door, flipping the lock and jumping back when a bullet banged against it. This was no thump. It sounded more like a battering ram.

Cross had already reached the bottom, searching for something to use to secure the door. I made my way down the steps, keeping my gun trained on our only exit. I didn’t think the drone would get through the door, but the drone operator might. Then again, given the barrage of bullets impacting the door, I didn’t know how long the wood would stand up to the assault.

“Lucien, we need help,” I said.

He dialed 9-1-1, gave our location, a brief rundown of the situation, and hung up. Before I could ask why he did that, he phoned someone else and repeated what he’d already said. “The police have been notified. Their response time is outside five minutes. Be careful. Don’t get shot. We’ll stay holed up in the basement until we get an all-clear.”

I turned on the lights, figuring if the drone relied on infrared the sudden shift in brightness might temporarily blind it. That would buy us a second or two. One good shot could take it out.

“Help me,” I said, moving the desk away from the wall so I could use it for cover.

Cross got on the other side and pulled while I pushed. It scraped against the floor. We moved it across the room. The weight of it shredded the flooring in the center, the same discolored flooring I’d stared at earlier in the day.

Once it was far enough to provide cover without making us automatic targets, Cross went to the bed and fumbled with the mattress. I hurried to help him get it on top of the desk. Then we hunkered down in our makeshift bunker, listening and waiting.

I studied the decimated flooring, wondering if the owner would charge us for the damages. The laminate had practically disintegrated, leaving what appeared to be thick black ash behind. Touching the leg of the desk, I examined the residue left on my fingertips. It looked like earth, but the ground was solid. No one had dug up from below. As far as I could tell, the foundation hadn’t been compromised. But the room we were in sounded like it might be.

The thumping stopped. I peered out, but the door remained intact. Cross gave me an uncertain look.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’ve been better.”

He examined me a little more carefully. “Did you get hit?”

“Not directly. What about you?”

“Not that I noticed.” He checked his phone. “The security team should be arriving momentarily.”

“That’s who you called?”

“The police take too long.” He cursed. “I shouldn’t have dismissed them for the night. I knew someone was gunning for you.”

Those words terrified me. Martin. “How do you know this is about me?”

“Fine, us,” Cross said, exasperated.

The crack of a rifle broke the silence. Footsteps sounded above us. Two sets.

Cross checked his phone.

“Good guys or bad guys?” I asked, looking skyward.

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

Thirty-five

The security team arrived before the police. The rifle shot had been from a former HRT sharpshooter Cross had hired after the man had a meltdown on the job. I didn’t know what that entailed, but I was glad he was on our side.

The downed drone had crashed to the ground. The weapon attached to it was something I’d never seen before, some sort of specially crafted silenced rifle. Military tech was my guess.

Cross held out his hand for a pair of gloves before examining the device. “What happened to the drone operator?”

“We didn’t get a good look at him. He left in a hurry,” the sharpshooter said.

“You should have shot him instead,” I said.

“He was already gone, ma’am.”

I bristled at the word, but it was too early in the morning to mention my hang-ups. We had more important issues. “But he left his toy behind?”

“It seems so.”

“Why did you shoot it?”

“I wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to get up again,” he said.

“We appreciate it.” Cross finished examining the object. “There’s nothing here. No memory card. No recordings. It was remotely operated and meant for one purpose.”

“Killing us?” I asked.

Cross shrugged and snapped several photos. “There’s no serial number. Nothing to indicate where it came from or who designed it. Have you seen anything like this before?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? You had a run-in with a drone.”

“That was about spying, not shooting.”

Cross turned his attention to the sharpshooter. “What about you?”

“I’ve seen similar. A lot of our agencies rely on tech like this. The military mostly, but it’s been filtering down to specialized law enforcement agencies.”

“The DEA,” I said.

The sharpshooter looked at me. “Among others.”

“If we have this tech, anyone could have this tech,” Cross said.

While he and the security team discussed the implications, I turned on the rest of the lights in the house and surveyed the damage. The security system on the wall hadn’t been triggered until Cross’s team arrived. They broke through the front door, which made the alarm go off. We hadn’t heard it from the basement, but as soon as we came up the steps, the beeping and flashing alerted us that it had been activated and said the police were on the way. Although, we’d already notified them.

How did it get inside the house? I wandered toward the front, checking each room as I went. We hadn’t searched the house since our return, but we had no reason to believe it had been compromised. Had the drone been hidden inside prior to our arrival? I didn’t think that was possible. We searched everywhere. We would have noticed it.

The window to the right of the porch hadn’t been broken. It had been cut. A perfect rectangle had been removed from the glass, leaving the edges and frame intact. That’s how the drone got inside without setting off the alarm. The house alarm would only trigger if a window or door was open. But the drone operator hadn’t broken the window for fear the sound would have alerted us. Instead, he’d used a glass cutter to silently gain entry. And it was far enough to the side that Cross’s hidden cameras hadn’t caught the shooter on video either.

I didn’t like this. Until now, almost everything that happened felt a little sloppy and not fully formulated. But this was perfection. A professional hit. The kind of thing that baffled authorities when they found the victims dead days later, except I’d heard the thumping. If that hadn’t happened, the drone operator would have killed Cross and me, and that would have been it. No one would have been the wiser.

“Does it have thermal imaging?” I called, examining a blemish on the wall of the bedroom that hadn’t been there before.

“I’d say it ran off night vision,” someone responded.

That’s why we were alive. If I’d gone to sleep in one of the bedrooms, I may never have woken up. I guess that would have been one way to get rid of the headache, but now I’d never have that luxury since there was a good chance I’d never sleep again.

Feeling queasy, I returned to the living room and found my phone. It was too late to call Martin, but the thought that someone had come for me, that maybe they went to our apartment or house before coming to the rental worried me. So I called Bruiser. He’d just answered when two police cars with flashing lights and blaring sirens pulled up.

“Parker?” Bruiser asked, hearing the chaos on my end of the line. “What is it?”

“Is everything okay at home?”

“Yes.”

“Make sure it stays that way. Cross’s people should be receiving an update soon, but some next gen drone just tried to kill me.”

“A drone? Like hellfire?”

“No, like a rifle,” I said.

Bruiser sounded confused. “Are you sure?”

“I have to go. Be vigilant.” I put my phone down, raised my hands, and got onto my knees.

Cross rolled his eyes but followed suit. The two members of his security team which were inside the house had already disarmed themselves. No one needed to take friendly fire because of a miscommunication. It had already been a bad enough night.

*       *       *

The police took our statements, assessed the damage done to the house, questioned the neighbors, and brought the owner in for questioning. Baron Wells owned and operated eight vacation rentals in the city. They ranged in price based on amenities and location. He did an okay business, but he wouldn’t be topping the list of wealthiest men in America anytime soon.

I watched from the other side of the bullpen while the police took his statement. They’d been granted access to the security cam footage from outside the rental and the security logs. Based on the questions Cross was being asked a few feet away, I assumed whatever override he’d performed on the system must have been flagged.

“Are you okay?” O’Connell put a cup of coffee and a candy bar down in front of me.

“Not really.”

“Did the hospital check you out?”

“Yep.” I indicated the bandages wrapped around my ankles and the band-aid on my arm. “Nothing more than a few minor scrapes. I wouldn’t have bothered, but Cross insisted.” My boss was running damage control, hoping to establish a paper trail that would paint us as victims instead of perpetrators due to his misguided belief that the police department would blame us for the shooting since we had reopened an investigation they had closed. I didn’t buy it, but I didn’t have the bandwidth to argue with him over it either.

“So what’s the problem?”

I stared at O’Connell as if he’d grown another head. “What’s the problem? Are you kidding me?”

He sighed. “I’m on your side here, Parker.”

“It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like you’re doing everything you can to keep me out of this.”

O’Connell glanced around, seeing an officer escorting Wells from the bullpen. Cross was still being asked questions, which he refused to answer without his attorney present. “That’s because someone’s trying to kill you.”

Those words were like a shot of liquid nitrogen into my veins, but I already knew it. So I pretended like it didn’t matter. “You mean to tell me that’s why some remote-controlled gun attempted to take me out? I never would have guessed. They should have gotten a real person to do it instead of a flying robot vacuum. Their chances may have been better.”

“Not according to my scorecard.” O’Connell skimmed my statement. He hadn’t taken it, but he’d been briefed. He knew what happened. He’d seen the crime scene. “Humans failed, so they called in the robots.”

“Soon, they’re going to replace all of us with robots.”

“Alex, stop.”

I fought to keep my game face in place and unwrapped the candy. “How did my life turn into the plot of a sci-fi thriller? The weapon and drone aren’t common. Can’t you track down the shooter that way?”

“We’re working on it.”

I was tired of O’Connell’s nonanswers. We were supposed to be family. Real family, but he was treating me like the red-headed stepchild, or however the expression went. “What do you know so far?” I asked.

“The tech isn’t that hard to come by. The hardware is a little more difficult.”

“You mean the gun.”

He nodded. “Most hobbyists could jerry-rig a drone to carry a gun. The gun is the unique part. The recoil from firing would make the drone unsteady in the air. So stabilizers would have to be built in or the gun would have to be specially made or modified.”

“If it had been any more accurate, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Which is why the rifle attached to it is what we are trying to track. Unfortunately, a few startups have been working on developing that tech for private use, and militaries around the world have been working on their own versions.”

“So you’re saying it could have come from anywhere.”

“Cyber division is checking listings on the dark web. Gangs and vice will see if anything shakes loose from any of their contacts.”

“Try federal agencies,” I said.

“I already put in several calls to the usual suspects. They’ll get back to me. You may have more sway than I do.”

“I already left Jablonsky a message and phoned the ATF. Jablonsky will ask around. My contacts at the ATF are compiling a list of dealers who handle special artillery. I’ll pass that along to you once I get it. Unlike you, I know how to share.”

“Alex—”

“Don’t Alex me. I asked you to let me speak to Violet Hemming, and I asked about Marcusi and Malone. You wouldn’t let me near either. You wouldn’t even give me the name of the other woman who was at the concert that night. Instead, I called you with a tip about Angie Tanner. I gave you everything I had on Dustin Ford’s father and the pharmaceutical company and my theory that one of his relatives could be involved, and you have given me nothing. That’s not fair. That’s not how this works. That’s not how we work. If you were going to change the rules, you should have told me ahead of time.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“I asked you if we would still be friends after the dust settled. I guess I have my answer.”

O’Connell set his jaw. “Are you done?”

“No.”

“Come with me.” He didn’t wait for my objection before getting up and heading into the break room.

Cross caught my eye and gave me a questioning look. What’s going on?

Shaking my head, I pushed away from O’Connell’s desk and followed him into the break room. He kicked out the officer who’d been refilling his mug and shut the door once I entered.

After closing the blinds, he pointed to the couch. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Please.”

“Fine.” I took a seat. “Is this the part where you tell me you were wrong and a kingpin is gunning for me? I already figured that out when I realized the fancy gun that tried to put a hole in me must have cost a pretty penny and been a pain in the ass to get.”

“You think Dustin’s father is behind this?”

“Stop asking me what I think and tell me what you know.” I got up to pace. “Dammit, Nick, I am barely holding it together. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I can’t do this with you right now.”

He took a seat on the couch. “After we spoke earlier, I brought Angie Tanner in for questioning. Since you provided her photo, I was able to hold her for assault. However, she wouldn’t answer any questions, denies she was even in that neighborhood that night, and has provided an alibi that I have yet to punch holes through.”

“She’s lying.”

“I know. But she was also here all night.”

“So she didn’t personally operate the flying death machine. Her accomplice with the rifle may have.”

“She won’t cooperate.”

“You’re going to have to kick her.”

“We’ll assign units to keep tabs on her movements. Given the photo you provided, we were able to get a warrant for her phone records and bank statements.”

“I’ve already seen them. There’s a lot of suspicious shit but no clear-cut smoking gun.”

“I was hoping that would be enough to get us a look at the pharmaceutical company’s expenditures when it comes to hiring consultants and contractors, but the judge won’t grant us access. There’s no evidence to support the claim a company would want to silence a private investigator. This isn’t exactly a whistle-blowing case, and even if it was, that would still be a hard sell.”

“No judge would ever grant that kind of access,” I said. “Why are you wasting your time?”

“Because I don’t know what else to do. No one will talk. I can’t get Marcusi and Malone to roll on whoever hired them. We have yet to figure out who their accomplice is that attacked you, and Violet is trying to win an Oscar for her performance as damsel in distress.”

“Maybe she isn’t acting. She could be that afraid. We don’t know what she saw that night, which is why I wanted to speak to her friends. She may have confided in them.” A thought came to mind. “Do you know if anyone’s made any attempts on them?”

“Officers have been keeping an eye out. There’s been no suspicious activity except for the Cross Security vehicles parked outside their buildings.”

“That’s for their protection,” I said. “Nick, I need to speak to Violet. And I need to know the last name on that list.”

“I’ll give you her name on the condition you don’t go near her.”

“I can’t—”

“Promise me, Parker.”

“I’ll promise on two conditions. First, you get me in a room with Violet.”

“I may be able to swing that. What’s your second condition?”

“You say it.”

“Say what.”

I gave him a hard look. “Spell out exactly why you don’t want me going near this unknown woman.”

“It’s a safety issue.”

“Say it.”

O’Connell looked like I had just told him he had to put his dog down. “Parker…”

“Say it.”

“It’s not safe for anyone to be near you right now, not until we figure out who’s behind this.”

Thirty-six

Stacy Chambers was the final member of the group Dustin and his friends had met at the concert. She was a twenty-seven year old veterinarian who shared an apartment with a roommate, two dogs, and a cat. I wasn’t allowed anywhere near her, but Cross Security employed dozens of investigators. I didn’t have to go near her. Someone else could.

Cross hovered above me. “Are you ready to go?”

“I’m staying here.”

He gave the precinct a disgusted look. “Why?”

“It’s the safest thing for everyone.”

“Don’t give me that, Alex. If you’re afraid another psychopath with a drone is planning a sneak attack, I’ll handle it.”

“All I need you to handle is the Stacy Chambers angle. Talk to her and find out what’s what.” I glanced toward Lt. Moretti’s office where O’Connell was having a closed-door conversation with his boss. “I’ll see if I can get Violet talking. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even have a word or two with Angie Tanner.”

“Do you think she’s still here?”

“Even if she isn’t, Marcusi and Malone are. Someone’s bound to say something.”

“I thought letting you near them could hurt the DA’s case.”

“Ask me if I care.”

Cross smiled. “Welcome to the dark side.”

This wasn’t the dark side. I’d been to the dark side. A part of me never came back, so I feared what another trip would do. Would any of me come back? A shiver went through me.

“Are you okay?” Cross asked.

“Ask me tomorrow.”

Cross scrutinized everyone in the bullpen before turning back to me. “Call when you’re ready to leave. I’ll have a security team pick you up.”

I wasn’t going to argue. “Make sure they’re wearing vests. I’d hate for someone to die because they were standing too close to me. Helmets may also be a necessary accessory.”

“How do you know the drone wasn’t after me? My name’s on the business.”

“But not on the reservation.”

Cross considered my words, a fact we’d both overlooked. “I’ll see what we can dig up, but it’s my firm. If someone wants to stop the investigation, they should go straight to the top with their grievances.”

“I don’t think that’s how things work.”

“We’ll see.” He gave Moretti’s door a final look. “Be careful.”

“You too.”

While O’Connell was getting reamed for the promises he made, I slid in front of his computer and ran a background check on Baron Wells. After scribbling down the addresses for each of his properties, I checked to see if any of them had any hits. Five of the properties had been the scene of a crime or multiple crimes. The list ranged from the innocuous noise complaints to domestic disturbances to home invasions to possession with intent for the occupants.

In fact, there had been several drug charges at those locations. Every one of them stemmed from a call by a neighbor who complained about a wild party or screaming. Sure, people did crazy things when traveling. Musicians and movie stars were infamous for bad behavior at hotels and resorts, at least that had been the trend at one point before cancel culture and brand image became king. But no celebrity would stay in one of these vacation rentals.

Still, human beings were human beings. Parties could easily get out of hand, and emotions often ran high.

I wondered if I were to print a copy of the records if anyone would notice. Clicking the print button, I read the six different printer options. Why did this have to be so complicated? Before I could figure out which printer was which, O’Connell came out of Moretti’s office.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Research. It turns out Dustin Ford wasn’t the only person who allegedly committed a crime in one of Baron Wells’ rental units. There have been plenty of calls over the years.” I pointed to the list on the screen.

“Jacobs looked into it. It was never the same parties involved. The crimes differed and were spread out. I’d chalk that up to the human condition. All vacation rentals have problems. You do realize that a lot of people go away so they can do the things they can’t or won’t do at home. That often leads to trouble. How do you think the saying what stays in Vegas came about?”

“We aren’t in Nevada.”

“Same principle. People do stupid things when they think they can get away with it.” He indicated the computer screen. “Case in point.”

“Looking to see who wants me dead isn’t stupid. It’s smart.” Feeling Moretti’s eyes on me, I turned to see the major crimes lieutenant watching us from his office. “What’s the verdict?”

“Uniforms are bringing Violet to the precinct to answer a few more questions. Now that we have more players or potential players in custody, we want to see if she can ID any of them. While she’s here, we’ll put her in a room and let you talk to her.”

“What about Marcusi and Malone?”

“I can’t get anyone to agree to that.”

“Are they downstairs in holding?”

“Yep.”

“At least tell me you didn’t lock them up together.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Someone should check on that.”

O’Connell gave his desk a look. “I have a lot to do here.”

“In that case, I’m gonna get a cup of coffee and a sandwich from the vending machine. Do you want anything?”

“No.”

I got out of his chair, shaking off the lightheadedness. It had been over thirty hours since I’d slept. My headache had only gotten worse, but I couldn’t think about that now. Instead, I palmed a few ibuprofen, stopped by the water cooler, and gulped them down before going through the double doors.

From there, I took the stairs down to holding. The man in blue was in the cell nearest to me. I nodded to the officer on duty before approaching the bars.

Three other suspects were being held in the same cell. One looked like he was sleeping it off. The other two looked like they were frequent flyers. They didn’t even look up when I approached.

“Anthony Marcusi,” I said.

Marcusi looked in my direction. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

“Only one man calls me sweetheart, and you aren’t him. Got it, doll?”

He eyed me up and down. “What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“I’ll talk about whatever you want. Name the topic.”

“Kidnapping.”

“Anything but that. My lawyer says that’s off limits.”

“What about your friends?”

“You can ask, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“What about your other friend?”

Marcusi approached the bars. He’d done this enough that his face gave nothing away. He didn’t act like he recognized me, but that didn’t mean anything. He winked before grabbing himself and nodding his head downward to make sure I didn’t miss the gesture. “You mean this friend? Because he’d love to say hello to you.”

“I’m talking about the third asshole who got out of the SUV. The one who was too chicken-shit to assist your pathetic kidnapping attempt.” I leaned closer, pursing my lips. “He has something I want.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“The bullet I put in him.”

Marcusi took half a step back, too stoic to give much away, but his eyes shifted a little as he examined my face. “You’re serious?”

“Didn’t you hear a gunshot and wonder why I wasn’t distracted enough not to stop you?”

Marcusi gave me an ugly smile. By now, he must have realized who I was. “You’re full of shit. If you shot him, he’d be dead or locked up.”

“Oh, I definitely shot him.” Well, I shot at him, but Marcusi didn’t need to know the details. “But by the time I finished dealing with the mess you made, he had crawled away. Blood trail only went so far.”

Marcusi scratched the side of his mouth with his thumbnail. “You think I’m dumb enough to incriminate myself? Think again. I know how this works. Tell the cops they need to try harder.” He went back to the bench and took a seat.

I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought I was playing the part of his accomplice’s target. Maybe he didn’t recognize me. That would make this even more interesting. Did M&M have any idea I was outside Violet’s apartment? Or did the third man scout the area, realize I was trouble, and try to distract me from what his friends were doing? Was I attacked due to circumstances and not because I was being targeted or threatened?

Instead of making the same play with Malone, I went past his cell and made sure he noticed me. He didn’t do a double-take. He didn’t look worried or concerned. Again, no obvious signs of recognition erupted on his face.

Instead of blowing my last chance to get an answer, I didn’t try my luck with him. He could wait until I had something solid, if I ever had anything solid. The now too familiar sense of unease started in my stomach and radiated through my entire body. If I didn’t get a name and stop the party responsible, there would be no escaping this.

A wave of dizziness washed over me once I hit the stairs. I stopped, grasping the handrail and waiting a beat for it to abate. Then I went up the remaining steps and rejoined O’Connell in the bullpen.

“I thought you were getting a sandwich,” he said.

“They were out.”

“I don’t like that expression. Are you okay?”

I wasn’t sure how to tell him what I learned without saying the exact words. Lack of sleep had impaired my ability to speak in code or come up with a clever analogy to use. “I’m not sure they recognized me, which could mean any number of things.”

“Are you sure? They’re experts at playing it cool.”

“It’s possible I got it wrong, but I don’t know. I just need this to be over.”

O’Connell sensed the brewing panic. “Take a breath. We’ll figure it out.”

“Nick—”

“I know.” He got up from his chair. “Come on, Violet’s waiting. The sooner you get this over with, the sooner we can get back to work.”

Violet sat with her back straight as a board, her hands knit together while she picked absently at the skin beside her fingernail. When the door opened, she looked straight at us. O’Connell offered her a friendly smile and introduced me.

“You were at my house,” she said.

“I was, but you wouldn’t answer your door,” I said.

She stared at the table. “I was worried.”

“Worried about what?” O’Connell asked.

“You should know the answer to that,” she said.

I leaned back in my chair. “Do you know who those men are who tried to abduct you?”

“No.”

“You’ve never seen them before?”

“No.” She looked at O’Connell. “We’ve been over this. I don’t know what’s going on or why it’s happening. I just want to feel safe.”

“Me too,” I said. “That’s the only reason I’m here. A few hours ago, someone shot up the place where I was staying in the hopes of killing me.”

She glanced at me, unsure if I was telling the truth. “I’m sorry that happened. I can’t even imagine.”

“Alex prevented those men from taking you,” O’Connell said. “She’s a former federal agent turned private investigator.”

“I know,” she said.

“How?” I asked.

“Caleb warned me you were looking into what happened the night of the concert. He knew I didn’t want to talk about that with anyone. He wanted me to be prepared.”

“What happened that night?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to get involved.”

“You are involved,” I said. “That’s why those men came after you and why someone tried to kill me.”

O’Connell flipped open the folder. “You didn’t ID anyone from the lineup.” He took out a photo of Angie Tanner and placed it on the table in front of her. “Are you sure you don’t recognize this woman?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you at least ID the two guys who dragged you out of your aunt’s apartment?” I asked.

She nodded, and O’Connell gave me the affirmative.

“Well, in that case, it’s not your eyesight we should worry about,” I said.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I went to a concert with my friends. That was it. I never asked for any of this. That was months ago. Nothing happened until now. This has to be because of you.” She stared at me. “You led those men to my apartment.”

“It’s not your apartment. It’s your aunt’s apartment. Who knew you were staying there?”

“I don’t know. Everyone. It wasn’t a secret.” She became more agitated. “I don’t know anything. I didn’t see anything. I don’t know why anyone thinks I’m involved in this. I’m not.”

“Did you drive Dustin Ford back to his vacation rental that night?”

“Yes, but—”

“Did you drive his car?” I asked.

“He was too trashed. He gave me his keys. I didn’t—”

“Did you go inside?” I asked.

Her chin trembled. “I called a rideshare. It was waiting when we arrived. I went home. I didn’t stay there. I don’t know what happened. What he did to that poor woman. I don’t know anything.”

O’Connell touched my leg, indicating I should take it easy. But now wasn’t the time to coddle the victim, not when everything was on the line. Instead, I’d fight fire with fire and hope my act wouldn’t lead to an actual emotional breakdown.

“I get it,” I said, my voice cracking. “People have been trying to kill me since I started looking into this case. I can’t sleep. I can’t go home. I’m terrified the people I love are going to end up in the crosshairs. I can’t let that happen. I won’t. The only thing I want to do is walk away from this and hope it goes away. But I sat across a table just like this one while Dustin stared into my eyes and swore to me he didn’t kill Sydney Breeding. And I believed him. So I’m asking, no I’m begging you, to tell me what you saw that night. If he’s lying, I have to know. I have to know that I didn’t put everything on the line for a murderer.” I inhaled a ragged breath, sniffing loudly.

O’Connell shifted uneasily beside me. He didn’t know how much of that was real and how much was an act. Truthfully, neither did I.

I stared at her, waiting, but she didn’t say anything. “Fine,” I said, pushing away from the table. “I can’t hold that against you. But I have to figure out who’s behind this or…I just need to know. We both need to know. Our loved ones need us to know for their safety and for ours. That’s the only way the police can stop them and protect us.” I reached for the door handle. “It’s okay. I’ll find some other way to figure it out. I just don’t know how.”

“She was dead when we got there. At least, I think she was. I don’t know. I saw a woman lying on the kitchen floor. She was blonde and thin. She kind of looked like me, and all I could think was that Dustin was some sicko serial killer, and I fit his type. I didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t do anything. I just left. In fact, I ran, jumped down from the porch, and kept going. My ride picked me up at the drugstore. That was the only place still open, and I didn’t want to wait anywhere alone in case he came after me. But he didn’t. After that, I tried to forget about that night and put it all behind me.”

Thirty-seven

My heart hadn’t stopped racing since the interrogation room. The caffeine may have finally caught up to me. “She should have reported it that night,” I said. “Immediately.”

“Alex.” O’Connell was trying to get me to sit down, but I hadn’t been able to stop moving.

I circled his desk like a shark. “Dustin Ford isn’t a killer. Violet’s statement proves it. Sydney Breeding was dead before he ever stepped foot inside. That’s why these assholes came after Violet. They knew she could clear him, and they are determined to prevent that from happening. This changes everything. I have to call Cross.”

O’Connell rocked in his chair, debating if he should wrestle the phone away from me before I could dial. “That means we’re back to square one on Jacobs’ investigation. More than likely, whoever killed Sydney Breeding hired Marcusi and Malone and sent the drone after you.”

“We have to find out why and how.” A sudden buzzing erupted behind my third eye. I pressed my fingertips against the spot. Was this how a stroke felt? “The cleaning company, the Tidy Two, were the last people inside the rental before Ford checked in, but the last guest had checked out a week earlier. There’s no way Sydney Breeding’s body could have been inside the rental for a week without decomposing.”

“Parker?”

“The ME has conflicting data, so no TOD was established in the final report.” I leaned over to grab the files and the world pitched.

O’Connell caught me before I collapsed. “Hey, Parker.” He patted my cheek with his free hand. “Alex, hey, open your eyes. Are you okay?” He lowered me into his chair. “Let’s get you checked out and make sure the hospital didn’t miss anything the first time.”

“I’m fine.” I tried to get out of the chair, but I was a little too dizzy. “I haven’t slept since yesterday morning. Correction, the morning before that. I just need something to keep me going.” I reached for the remainder of the candy bar, but O’Connell intercepted it.

“You need sleep.”

“I don’t have time. We finally have a break in the case. I’ll sleep later. I have to fix this. I have to—” Real tears threatened to fall this time, and I didn’t think I could contain them. “They tracked me to that rental with Lucien. What if they had gone to Martin’s instead? They have power, Nick. Money, pull, influence. I don’t know. But I can’t go home. I can’t go near him, and I promised him, I promised it would be different this time. But it’s not.”

O’Connell tried to hug me, but I turned away because that would have opened the floodgates.

“Call Cross and fill him in. Then you’re either going to close your eyes for a few minutes in our break room or I’ll have an ambulance pick you up and take you back to the hospital. Jen’s working. She’ll make sure you’re admitted for exhaustion, and I don’t think you want that,” O’Connell said.

“I thought you said you had my back.”

“This is having your back.” He handed me the phone. “Make the call.”

*       *       *

“I wasn’t sure you were ever coming back to work,” Cross said when I stepped into his office.

“O’Connell made me take a nap.”

“He made you?”

I didn’t need to rehash what happened with my boss. I’d lost four hours in the major crimes break room. The only good thing to come out of it was waking up to Thompson telling an officer he couldn’t go inside because I needed to sleep. Obviously, he’d forgiven me, at least enough that he didn’t want me dead. “Update me on what I missed.”

“Kellan spoke to Stacy Chambers. Chambers confirmed the story you heard. After the concert, Violet offered to drive Dustin’s car and take him back to his rental. She showed up at Chambers’ apartment an hour later. Violet was shaking and terrified. She told Chambers the story, but her friend dismissed it.”

“Why would she do that?”

“According to Chambers, Violet has an active imagination. However, when the news broke that Dustin had been arrested a few days later, Chambers told Violet it would be best to keep quiet. That she shouldn’t get involved. That there was nothing she could do, and that it would be safer.”

“Great friend,” I said.

“I understand the impulse.”

“What about the men who attacked us?”

“She didn’t recognize the hired guns. And before you ask, she doesn’t know Sydney Breeding.”

“If they’d come forward sooner, the police would have realized Dustin was innocent. The chances of figuring out what happened to Sydney would have been better.”

“Do you know if they’re dropping the charges?”

“I would assume so. O’Connell said they were back at square one with the investigation.”

“Almeada hasn’t been informed the DA’s dropping the case.” He rocked a little in his chair. “Square one doesn’t mean Dustin Ford gets to walk. It means they have to find new evidence or something to contradict Violet’s statement.”

“The cops aren’t trying to frame Dustin.”

Cross looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. “Do you think they can take it from here?”

“What?” Did he suggest we drop the case, give up, and walk away?

“It’s not our job to identify killers. Our job was to come up with an alternative theory to who could have killed Sydney Breeding. I’d say we’re done,” Cross said.

“That’s splitting hairs.” I stared into his eyes. “Someone tried to kill us last night.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Is that why you want us to let this go?”

“I didn’t say we were letting this go, Alex. I asked if you thought the cops could take it from here. We let them go back over the details of Sydney’s murder, and we focus our attention on who’s coming after us.”

“It should be the same person.”

“Not necessarily.”

I’d only slept four hours, which could explain why Cross was making less sense than usual. “Explain that to me.”

“Angie Tanner.”

“She couldn’t have done it. She was in custody when we were getting drilled by that drone.”

Cross made a face. Did he want to make a dirty joke? Martin would have, but my boss usually wasn’t quite so juvenile. “You showed up at Priestly’s office. He didn’t like that. Tanner works for him. When she threatened you, someone fired a warning shot. Everything tracks. Her accomplice could have operated the drone, or Priestly could be trying to shut us down.”

“So he’s a psychopath who murders everyone he doesn’t like?” I thought about it. “That would explain a lot of those black box warnings on the drugs his company produces. However, in case you’ve forgotten, the person who T-boned me and ran away—”

“Was a coincidence. But Angie Tanner threatening you outside Atlantis wasn’t.”

“That was before I went to see Bob Priestly.”

Cross cleared his throat. “We need to figure out what’s going on inside that company. Do you think we can afford to do that without the police dropping the ball?”

“Focus on whatever you want. I will keep an eye on the police investigation. Just make sure I’m up to speed on everything and that I get updated as new intel comes in.”

“You don’t have to do this, Alex. Murder investigations aren’t what we do, but I will be damned if I let someone attack us without finding out who’s responsible and making sure it never happens again.”

I wondered if someone at the precinct had tipped Cross off to my mini-meltdown. “I’m not a quitter. You gave me a job. I’m going to finish it.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “All right, but this is a two-way street. Whenever you or the cops find something, you better bring it to me. Almeada is our client. He’ll want to know the extent of our involvement once we hand everything over to him.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

When I returned to my office, I checked to see what progress we’d made. Violet’s story checked out. Stacy Chambers had told Kellan the same thing without prompting. When questioned again, Caleb Osbourne caved and admitted he’d heard the same thing from Violet concerning that night. Renner thought Caleb had a thing for Violet and that’s why he went to see her first, that he wanted to be her protector. Chivalry wasn’t dead; it was just making my job harder.

I skimmed their background checks one more time. No violent crimes. No nothing. Caleb’s weapon was registered. I didn’t know why he had the rifle, but he had one. It was his right, I guess.

The police hadn’t made any progress on finding the hit-and-run driver. Cross Security had pulled nearby CCTV feeds and DOT footage, but the fleeing suspect looked like a lot of guys. Beard, cap, sunglasses. I closed my eyes, wondering if I’d seen him before or since. Something told me I had.

Leaving that to simmer on the back burner, I checked on the bullet that the unknown shooter had fired as a warning shot. Without a gun, ballistics couldn’t do much. The weapon I’d taken off Angie Tanner came from police evidence. But since I hadn’t necessarily done things by the book, her attorney argued there was no chain of custody, that I couldn’t prove I’d taken the weapon from his client. Every test we ran, he claimed was doctored.

Cross Security ran a respectable lab, but Angie Tanner’s boss had deep pockets. So deep that the police department didn’t want to deal with the fight. Correction, the commissioner didn’t want to be in the position to pick one side over the other. Lucien would have plenty to say on the matter, but we were fighting this war on too many fronts. It was best to pick our battles, and that wasn’t one of them. Regardless, Tanner was going to get released, even if she hadn’t yet.

With no way of identifying her accomplice from outside Atlantis, I almost wondered if a drone had fired that warning shot. Maybe no one else was there. Maybe the shooter was operating the controller from inside the car she got into when she escaped. They could have returned later for the drone, which could have been parked on top of any building. Why was my life turning into some ridiculous futuristic assassination conspiracy?

Making a note of yet another missing piece in the puzzle, I moved on to the last one. The drone operator from last night. That’s where Cross had focused most of his attention. My boss was excellent at multitasking, but the best way to get him to focus on a single task was to threaten his life. That was better than any ADHD medicine ever invented.

I snorted, wondering if Priestly was behind it. It would make sense. He could have developed this new therapy and figured we’d make the perfect test subjects. Damn, I really needed more sleep.

Cross had pulled footage from every street and neighborhood within a four block radius, believing the shooter must have been relatively close to remotely operate the vehicle. However, Amir postulated it may have had a much longer range. After all, military tech had drone operators flying crafts from halfway across the world. But, like my boss, I refused to believe whoever tried to kill us was that far away. He had to be closer. The real question was how did he get that tech?

I almost fell down that rabbit hole, except the nagging at the back of my mind pulled me away from the edge. I’d already made every call I could. The crime lab was analyzing the drone. They’d call in federal agencies to assist. The dark web was being scoured. Cross Security had gotten their hands on that information and was doing their own search. Someone with expertise in such matters would figure out who had gotten their hands on it. But that could take time. A lot of time.

If I wanted to find this guy faster, I had to do it another way. That meant delving into Sydney Breeding’s murder, again. This time, I wasn’t starting from square one. The research I’d done on the woman and her background would fast track a lot of this. And since I no longer had to worry about Dustin, his friends, or identifying Violet, I could focus on the one thing I’d been glossing over, the location.

My search at the precinct had revealed many of Baron Wells’ properties had been the scenes of crimes. Noise disturbances were a waste, but reports of violence and drugs fit with what happened at Dustin Ford’s rental.

I pulled out the list I’d made and brought up every report I could find. Until Sydney Breeding, no one had died. But crimes usually escalated. The offenders would get braver, bolder, and a lot more reckless, which always led to trouble.

However, O’Connell told me what Jacobs had found. It was the same thing I found. None of the offenders were the same. I spent hours searching, but they didn’t connect to each other, and they didn’t connect to Sydney Breeding. I tried comparing their LKAs, but they didn’t live in the same neighborhood. Sydney was the only one who lived in that questionable building. I wasn’t sure about most of these addresses since many of them were from out of town or even out of state, but I had no basis for knowing if they were from good or bad neighborhoods.

A few had priors for possession or minor offenses, but some of the accused had spotless records, like Dustin Ford. Were any of them innocent and wrongly accused? I thought about picking up the phone to call and ask, but I already knew the answer. Prisons were filled with people who claimed they were innocent. Most of which were not. I’d have to do this another way. But if it wasn’t about Dustin or any of these people, then something else was going on at these rental units. So I dug into the owner, Baron Wells.

His name didn’t ping in any ongoing investigations. I even called Mark Jablonsky to double-check. But he’d decided it was best not to answer my calls, so I dialed my old partner, Eddie Lucca.

“Hey, I don’t have long to talk, but I need a favor. It’s a big ask. Are you ready?”

Lucca remained silent.

“Eddie?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Don’t give me that,” I said. “To be honest, it’s not that big of an ask, but I know how you are about rules and regs.”

“Everything you ask is a big ask. Even getting you to agree to go to dinner is a big ask.”

“Right now, the last place you need to be is near me.”

“What’s going on, Parker?”

“You don’t want to know. Suffice it to say, I’m planning on sequestering myself in my office for a while. You remember when we faked my death that time. It may be something along those lines again.”

“Shit. What do you need?”

“Everything you have on Baron Wells. Open investigations. Ties to organized crime. Anything like that.”

“Hang on.” He typed the name in. “Nothing’s popping up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Dammit. All right. Thanks.”

“Wait,” Lucca said before I could disconnect, “you have to give me more than that.”

“Ask Jablonsky. I’ve made a laundry list of requests that he’s supposedly running down. He can fill you in.”

“All right.” Lucca hesitated. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” But he knew I wouldn’t call unless it was for something simple that wouldn’t jeopardize his life.

Crossing Baron Wells off my list, I went back to staring at the addresses. Since they were owned by the same man, the same vendors and contractors provided services. The Tidy Two came to mind. I’d wanted to look into them since the beginning, but there had never been time. Now, I’d make the time.

Thirty-eight

Cross had said they were clean. On the surface, they looked clean. But the Tidy Two couldn’t be clean. For starters, they knew we were checking into that rental. Cross had spoken to them hours before an armed drone tried to take us out. The reservation had been made using an alias. We hadn’t driven my car, so if someone was following me, they shouldn’t have been able to track me to that rental. Sure, I’d waited in the car, but a cap and sunglasses could only do so much, especially when I was sitting beside my boss, who wasn’t exactly the most anonymous face in the city.

Cross had spoken to Dave Huttley, co-owner of the Tidy Two, when he went to the door prior to our check-in. Huttley may have seen me or thought he did, did some research, and found a photo of my boss. After that, all he’d have to do was wait for nightfall and send in his stealth killer.

Even thinking that made me cringe. Since when did my cases involve B-movie villains? Who in their right mind used an armed drone as the weapon in an attempted murder? Maybe the CIA or elite military units, which meant things like this should not be happening to me. Could I be hallucinating? I hadn’t slept in a long time. Neither had Cross. Maybe we imagined it.

I looked into Dave Huttley, everything from his driver’s license photo to his son’s little league team. The guy looked spotless, like his cleaning company’s name suggested. But I refused to believe it. Instead, I turned my attention to his business partner, Craig Letterman.

Craig Letterman looked a little rough around the edges. It may have been the full sleeve on his left arm and the ring in his eyebrow. But that was stereotyping. Tattoos and piercings were mainstream. I had nothing against them, but it ruled him out as the man who rammed my car. However, that didn’t mean much since Cross declared that to be a coincidence, even though I didn’t buy it.

Coincidences don’t happen, Jablonsky’s voice said in my ear.

Letterman had one prior for drunk and disorderly. He’d gotten rowdy inside a bar. The cops were called. Assault and property destruction charges had been dropped. Instead, it was kicked down to a misdemeanor. He was given two hundred hours of community service, and that had been the end of it. He hadn’t committed any crimes since.

No wonder Cross said they weren’t worth our time, but we had to be missing something. I was scraping the bottom of the barrel. Someone killed Sydney Breeding and left her body inside that rental before Dustin arrived. Since the place had been empty for an entire week before Dustin’s stay, the last people inside were the Tidy Two.

As predicted, I couldn’t find anything to connect them to Sydney or the neighborhood where she lived. Despite the number of close calls I’d had recently, staying in the office wouldn’t solve this case. So I decided to pay the Tidy Two a visit.

Their headquarters was in a strip mall on the outskirts. Upon stepping foot inside, I knew their office wasn’t meant for visitors. The place was tiny. I could see the back door from the front entrance. They had no windows.

Craig Letterman stopped emptying the box on the floor, which contained disinfecting wipes, and peered in my direction. “I’m sorry. We’re not open for business,” he said.

“You’re not open for business?”

“No. We’re a cleaning company. This is our office. If you’re interested in hiring us, visit our website for more details.”

“Oh.” I looked around. The walls were lined with shelves that contained everything a professional cleaning service would need. Several floor-to-ceiling storage cabinets took up most of the back wall. They were locked and required a key. But they’d be easy enough to pick.

Letterman watched me. “If you don’t mind, you can see yourself out.” He gestured to the door.

“Actually, I was hoping you could answer a few questions.”

“Are you looking to hire a professional cleaning crew?”

“Something like that.” The desk in the corner had a computer, printer, and a large oversized calendar, along with a spiral-bound book that begged me to pick it up and read it. But I resisted. “Do you know how to remove bloodstains?”

“Peroxide.”

“Good tip.” I turned to look at him, palming the key off the desk and deciding no one was hiding under the desk or in the ceiling tiles. “I used to have a gig cleaning a spa. Biohazards were the worst.”

He didn’t quite smile, but he relaxed a little. “Should I be worried you’re opening your own cleaning service in that empty unit on the end?”

“No, nothing like that.” Did he really not know who I was? His face gave nothing away. “I happened to see your van parked outside a few vacation rentals. Is that a good gig?”

“You sound like the competition.”

“Do you service all Baron Wells’ properties?”

“As far as I know, we do.”

“I stayed in one recently. Actually, last night.”

“Oh,” he went back to stocking the shelves, “did it meet your cleanliness expectations?”

“It was great. I never would have guessed a woman had been murdered inside the house six months prior to my stay.”

He spun back around, genuine surprise on his face. “What?”

“Yeah, that was my reaction too. It was in the news. She was strangled, but still, you did a great job cleaning up the mess.”

He thought back. “Shit.”

“Do you remember the place?”

“Yeah, when we were called to clean up, we had to wipe up a lot of fingerprint powder. I never knew exactly what happened. Are you sure it was a murder? The city has several cleaners they recommend for jobs like that. I think they contract out. I figured it must have been a burglary. I’ve cleaned up a few of those.”

“So you don’t dispose of bodies on a regular basis?”

He almost laughed until he realized I was serious. “Who are you?”

“Someone looking to hire. You’re cleaners. I wanted to find out exactly what that entailed and the kinds of jobs you do.”

“We clean rentals and offices. That’s it. Nothing more.”

“No body disposal? No crime scene clean-up?”

“That’s not our area of expertise.”

“Okay. Well, if my office decides to switch cleaning services, are you available? Do you have any openings?”

“What kind of office do you run?”

“Security,” I said.

His face gave nothing away, just like my encounter with M&M. When did criminals start taking acting classes? But my gut said this guy didn’t know about any of that.

“Security?” he repeated.

“Y’know, alarm systems, cyber security, things like that.”

“I thought you said you had a gig cleaning a spa.”

“That was a moonlighting thing. It didn’t last long.” I circled closer to the nearest shelves, examining the products more carefully. “Do you have any references I could check?”

“I didn’t catch your name?”

“Did I not introduce myself?”

“No, you didn’t.”

I moved closer to the desk, eyeing the calendar before turning my attention back to the other shelves. More than anything, I wanted to see what was behind doors one, two, and three. “Is that where you keep the bleach and ammonia?” I indicated the locked cabinets with their solid steel doors.

“That’s where our equipment is kept.”

“What kind of equipment?”

He stopped what he was doing and approached me. “I’ve been polite, but it’s time for you to leave.”

“One last question, and then I’ll go.” Slipping my hand into my jacket, I wanted to be prepared in case he attacked. “Do you have any experience operating a drone?”

“Do I look like a twelve-year-old boy?”

“So it was your partner, then.”

His brows knit together. “I want you to leave.”

I gave the chemicals in the box a look as I went past. “I suggest you wear a mask when you clean. I learned that the hard way.”

Outside, I looked around, but most of the shops in the strip mall were out of business or closed at five. The security team remained parked in a dark SUV not far from my car. Committing crimes in front of witnesses was never the way to go, but they were Cross Security employees. Unlike me, they knew company policy and the official company line. So I tried not to think about the implications while I waited for Craig Letterman to finish up inside.

An hour and a half later, he set the alarm and locked the door. He didn’t look around when he left. Nothing about his behavior or attitude indicated he was nervous or guilty. Cross said the Tidy Two weren’t worth pursuing, but if they weren’t involved in last night’s attack, that limited the possibilities to the shooter being someone who was involved in the case. I had to know for sure.

Once I was convinced the coast was clear, I approached the Tidy Two’s HQ and let myself in. Plugging my phone into the panel on the wall, I ran the override program that Amir had been kind enough to develop for our use, and waited for the lights to turn green. Since an alarm didn’t blare and threats of the police being notified didn’t come from the speaker, I went about my business. The open shelves didn’t contain anything of interest, so I didn’t waste my time.

Firing up the computer, I found the log-in information taped to the desk beneath the mousepad. A few keystrokes later, I was in. The computer didn’t contain anything that wasn’t relevant to the business. They didn’t even have solitaire.

Their internet history showed order forms and business e-mails. Nothing more. Their billing forms provided a list of clients. I copied that, along with their invoices and payments. Numbers weren’t my thing, but if anything stood out or failed to balance, I’d notice.

I snapped a few shots of the calendar pages and flipped open the spiral-bound book. It looked like a physical version of everything I’d seen on the computer, but most people didn’t keep two sets of books. That was suspicious as hell, so I photographed every page for later comparison. Then I turned my attention to the locked cabinets.

The first one I opened contained vacuums, floor polishers, and other handheld cleaning gadgets. No weapons. No drugs.

Moving on, I went to the second cabinet. More cleaning equipment, plaster, paint, and plastic sheeting. The sheeting would make it easy to move a body without leaving trace behind, but it also served as a decent drop cloth for any paint job, so I tried not to jump to conclusions.

The last cabinet didn’t want to open. I unlocked it, but it was stuck. I tugged harder on the handle, causing the door to fly out of my hands and bang against the wall with a hollow thud.

Contained inside was a drone similar to the one that tried to kill me and several long metal cylinders, which made me think these could be rifle barrels for that modified weapon. I snapped more photos, unsure what to do. When I reached for the door to secure the cabinet, I noticed the impact had put a hole in the wall. A bag of pills, similar in appearance to what had been found near Sydney’s body, fell from the hole and landed on the ground. I checked the opening, removing pieces of drywall to get a better look, but I didn’t spot anything else hidden inside.

“Clean my ass,” I muttered, snapping more photos. I had to call this in, but I had to figure out how to do it since this wasn’t a warranted search.

I had only taken one photo when my phone rang, scaring me and making me fumble and nearly drop the ringing device. “What is it?” I asked.

“He’s back,” a member of the security team said. “Do you want us to intercept?”

“Standby.” I hoped they wouldn’t let me get killed.

Letterman came through the door slowly, afraid when he’d found it unlocked. “What the hell?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“You.” He glanced around, making sure I was alone and no one was planning to jump him. I didn’t have the heart to tell him a team of professionals was lurking in the shadows only a few steps away. “I’m calling the cops.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“Who are you?” He blocked the front door to keep me from escaping.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Security,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“What do you want?” He held the phone near his mouth, waiting for the call to connect to emergency services.

“I want to know why you tried to kill me last night?”

“What are you talking about?”

I indicated the open cabinets. “Apparently, you are a twelve-year-old boy who tried to turn the real world into a shoot ‘em up videogame.”

He moved away from the door so he could see what I had indicated, but he kept his distance from me.

“9-1-1. How may I assist you?” the tinny, disembodied voice asked through the speaker.

“I’d like to report a break-in. The thief is still here. I have her detained.”

“Ask them to roll a mobile crime lab unit,” I said. “We’ll need evidence collection.”

“Sir, I’m hearing a second voice. Is anyone in immediate danger?”

“Mobile crime lab,” I repeated a little louder, “and while you’re at it, notify Detectives O’Connell and Jacobs that there’s a lead on their homicide investigation.”

“Homicide?” Letterman asked.

“Sir?” the operator asked.

“Please send someone.” He didn’t put his phone away, but he edged a little closer. “Are you planning to kill me?”

“No,” I said.

“Sir?” the operator asked again. “Are you safe? Can you get to a safe location?”

“I’m fine.” He moved closer, keeping the desk between us. “Is that the drone?”

“You tell me. This is your cabinet.”

“I don’t…I didn’t know that was there. It’s not mine.”

“Yeah, right.” I pointed to the bag of pills. “What about those?”

“You put a hole in the wall?”

“That was an accident, but a happy one.”

He looked pale. “You planted that shit. What is this? Some kind of extortion scheme?”

The 9-1-1 operator tried to ask more questions, but we ignored her.

“I told you. I’m a private investigator. Alexis Parker.” I knew that would be recorded. Now I just had to do my best not to incriminate myself in the meantime. “I work for Cross Security. Lucien Cross is my boss.” It’d be nice to get that on the record before some overzealous cop decided to cuff me.

Thirty seconds later, sirens sounded in the distance. Letterman hadn’t taken his eyes off the cabinet. “That was locked. How did you get it open?”

“Locked? I didn’t notice,” I said. “I gave it a tug, and it just popped open.”

“Huttley must have put that there. I’ve never seen it before.”

“Huttley?” I asked.

“My partner.”

“So your partner tried to kill me?”

“I don’t—” Letterman looked a little green. For the first time since finding me inside, he looked away, taking in the rest of the space. “Everything’s where it should be. We had our normal run. I came back to restock and make sure we were good to go for tomorrow. Huttley wanted to get home early. I said it was no problem.” He wasn’t talking to me. He was trying to make sense out of this. “Maybe the drone’s a gift for his kid.”

“What are the pills? Party favors?” I asked.

“Those...” He studied the hole in the wall. “You planted those.”

“Why would I?”

His mouth remained open while he tried to come up with an answer.

Flashing lights joined the sirens, visible through the open door to the office. The blue and red painted the sidewalk in front of the shop and reflected off the two white tiles nearest the doorway. An officer stepped inside, one hand pushing the door wider, the other on her holstered weapon. Mazhari.

“Hey, buddy,” I said. “Long time, no see.”

Mazhari gave me a dirty look. “Not you again.”

Her partner entered behind her, keeping his head on a swivel and eyeing the Cross Security vehicle parked nearby. At least one cop was smart enough to worry about armed men. But the security detail didn’t pose a threat to the police.

“What’s the problem here?” the other officer asked.

“This woman broke into my office.” Letterman pointed at me. “She accused me of trying to kill her and she—”

“Found a bag of drugs hidden in the wall and a drone in the cabinet with some accessories that look a lot like the kind used in the shooting last night,” I said. “This gentleman,” I indicated Letterman, “and his partner Huttley cleaned the vacation rental where I was staying prior to the incident. Lucien spoke to Huttley when we first arrived. Other than that interaction, no one else knew we were staying there. We registered under an alias.”

“Lucien?” the other officer asked.

Mazhari moved deeper into the room, joining me behind the desk. Crouching down, she examined the drone and the rifle barrels. Using her pen, she pointed to a few metal clamps and some tools. “Those could be used to mount the weapon, but I’m not seeing a weapon.”

“What about pieces of a weapon? The thing last night didn’t look like a normal gun,” I said.

“Ma’am,” the other officer interrupted, “Lucien who?”

“Cross,” I said. “The commissioner’s son.” Normally, I wouldn’t play that card, but Cross had been using it a lot lately. At a time like this, I didn’t think it would hurt.

The officer scowled before flipping his notepad closed. “Don’t say another word.”

“Am I under arrest?” I asked.

“One can only hope.” Mazhari straightened. “Stay here. Do not touch or do anything, Parker. Tampering with a crime scene is also a crime.”

I held up my palms. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Then she crossed to Letterman and led him to the door. “Sir, I need you to tell me what happened somewhere a little more private.”

The other officer spoke into his radio. He had his mouth pressed so close to the device, I could barely make out what he was saying. He even lowered the volume, so I couldn’t hear the response. After a final affirmative, he fastened it to his uniform.

“A supervisor is on the way. Until he gets here, I want you to tell me how you came to find these items in this,” he looked around, “lovely establishment.”

Thirty-nine

The officer read his notes. “The door was open?”

“Yep. Like I said, I came here to question the Tidy Two about what happened at the vacation rental. They were the last two people who’d been inside before the shooting started. And six months ago, they were the last two people who’d been inside before my client checked-in and found a dead woman in the kitchen. I thought it was worth the trip down here to ask a few questions.”

“But you didn’t ask those questions.”

“I was afraid to tip my hand. I didn’t know if Mr. Letterman was armed or if there were weapons on the premises. Since he didn’t appear to recognize me, I thought I should try my luck with his associate instead. That’s why I waited. I was hoping Mr. Huttley would show up. But he didn’t. Instead, Mr. Letterman left, and I noticed the lights were still on inside. Being curious by nature, I tried the door, found it open, and thought I should look around.”

“So everything was open? You found it like this?”

“Not exactly.” I indicated the third cabinet. “That door was closed. But I thought I should check to see if anything incriminating was hidden inside. Behind closed doors is where most people hide things. But the door stuck. When I pulled on it, it got away from me.” I indicated the hole in the wall. “And that’s what happened.”

The officer rubbed his forehead.

“She can give anyone a headache,” Mazhari said, coming up beside us. “Regardless, this is illegal trespass. Unlawful entry. Property damage.”

“Does Mr. Letterman want to press charges?” I asked.

Mazhari stared at me. “He’s thinking about it.”

I peered toward the open door. Almeada had shown up, his town car parked behind the police cruiser. The security team must have notified my boss who notified Almeada, unless they took the initiative to call the attorney themselves. Either way, I was in trouble.

“What about the crime lab? We need to find out if those pills are the same as what was found with Sydney Breeding’s body at the same rental where I was almost killed by a drone very similar to that one.” I pointed for emphasis.

“God, you’re like a broken record.” Mazhari rolled her eyes and walked away.

The other cop looked at me. “Once a supervisor gets here, we’ll figure out what to do with you. In the meantime,” he pulled out his cuffs, “I’ll make sure you’re nice and comfortable in the back of our squad car.”

“And if I refuse?”

He looked at me. “I can place you under arrest.”

“In that case, I’d like to speak to my attorney.”

“You can call him once you get processed.” He made me hand over my weapon, turn around, and clinked on the cuffs.

The cold steel slid around my wrists, making my stomach clench and my breath hitch. I hated restraints. My heart beat a little faster. I’d been cuffed several times. Yet, this was the first time I’d had such a severe reaction in years. This case was bringing out the worst in me.

The officer walked me out the door, and that’s when Almeada got out of his car. He approached cautiously, making no sudden or threatening movements. “Why have you arrested my client?” he asked, showing the officer his ID before handing him his card.

“I told you I wanted to speak to my attorney,” I said.

“Has she been read her rights?” Almeada asked.

“I was just about to do that,” the officer said.

Almeada gave him a look. “Noted.” Then he turned his stare on me. “Not a word unless I’m present.”

“Absolutely.”

Almeada turned back to the officer. “What are the charges?”

“Illegal trespass and property destruction.”

Almeada gave me a look. “I’ll have you out in a few hours. Keep quiet.”

Nodding, I got into the back of the squad car and waited. A few minutes later, another two police vehicles arrived. O’Connell and Thompson were in one. I didn’t recognize whoever was in the other, but the brass on his uniform told me this was someone with a lot of pull.

After checking the interior of the Tidy Two’s headquarters, the group emerged. Thompson went to speak to Craig Letterman while O’Connell spoke to the officer who had arrested me. Almeada approached, shaking hands with the police brass before indicating the rear of the squad car.

More words were exchanged. Then, O’Connell opened the door. “What did I tell you about staying out of trouble?”

“I was providing a public service. The door was open. I wanted to make sure they weren’t planning another murder. Did you see what I found? It’s rather disturbing.”

O’Connell spun me around and removed the handcuffs before returning them to their rightful owner. “Did Letterman say anything, admit anything?”

I shook my head.

“Do you think he’s lying?”

“I wish I knew. For what it’s worth, his clueless is convincing.”

“Have you spoken to the other one yet?” O’Connell pointed to the sign for the Tidy Two.

“Dave Huttley hasn’t been here.”

“I’m guessing that makes him your next stop.” O’Connell gestured for Thompson to join us. “The drone and equipment we found, coupled with the bag of pills, should be enough to get us a warrant. Officer Mazhari is bringing Letterman in for questioning. CSU will analyze the pills and dust for prints, but this is their office. That’s more a technicality than a requirement at this point. Their prints should be on everything.”

“Did you find anything else of interest, Parker?” Thompson asked.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I haven’t had time to analyze things, but their calendar and ledger are out in the open. You don’t need a warrant to look at them. The computer may be another story.”

Thompson pulled on a pair of gloves and went inside. O’Connell stood beside me, taking in the circus around us. “You’re lucky Mazhari didn’t notice the security detail waiting for you. She may have wanted to question them as to what they saw.”

“I’m sure their recollection would match my story perfectly.”

“Make sure it does.” He jerked his chin toward Almeada’s town car. The attorney hadn’t left yet, but he didn’t appear to be paying us any attention either. “Did you call him?”

“You know I don’t play like that.”

O’Connell looked around. “Off the record, I’d say you found the guys who tried to kill you.”

“I’m not sure Letterman’s involved. His surprise and denial seemed genuine. My money’s on Huttley.”

O’Connell flagged down Mazhari. “Check Letterman’s alibi for last night.” O’Connell gave her the approximate time. “While you’re at it, see if he remembers what he was up to those two days prior to Sydney Breeding’s murder. I want everything. His schedule. Appointments. The places he and his partner cleaned. And find out if they bought any special supplies with them or if he remembers Huttley or anyone else acting strangely.”

“Anyone else?” Mazhari asked. “Like who?”

“Clients, vendors, neighbors. It doesn’t matter. I want everything,”

“Yes, sir.” Mazhari gave me a final look, shook her head, and walked away.

“No wonder people shoot at you. You suck at making friends,” O’Connell said.

“Don’t I know it.”

*       *       *

It didn’t take long for O’Connell to get the warrant or for us to track down Dave Huttley. He’d gone home after a long day of cleaning and was currently outside, tossing a baseball to his kid, who was practicing his swing. The child, who had yet to hit the ball, couldn’t have been more than six or seven. Perhaps the dark was to blame. The flood lights at the side of the house could only do so much to combat the dark. The shadows may have been throwing him off, or he may have benefitted from hitting off a tee. The few times I’d gone to the cages, I would have benefitted by having a tee.

“He doesn’t look much like a stone-cold killer,” I said.

“Appearances can be deceiving.” O’Connell peered at the house. The lights were on inside. Two cars were parked in the driveway. “Keep your mouth shut and follow my lead. You’re only here to observe.”

“Yep.”

O’Connell shook his head. “Do I have to tape your mouth shut?”

“I’m pretty sure Almeada would file a complaint against you if you did.”

“Just as well. The duct tape roll is almost empty.” He opened his car door. “Mr. Huttley?” He flashed his badge as he approached the man. “Do you have a minute?”

“Give me a second.” He took off the baseball glove and held it toward his son. “Time to wash up, kiddo. Tell Mom I’ll be in soon but to eat without me.”

The kid gave O’Connell an uncertain look. “Okay.” He dragged his bat behind him as he went up the front steps.

“What can I do for you?” Huttley asked, wiping his palms on his pants. He glanced at me, giving a polite nod to acknowledge my presence.

“There was an issue at your office earlier this evening,” O’Connell said. “A drone was found in one of your cabinets.”

“A drone?” He looked confused. “Oh-kay. Why does that matter?”

“Is it yours?” O’Connell asked.

“I don’t know anything about it. Did you ask Craig?”

“He said it was yours.”

Huttley rolled his eyes. “That’s not true. I don’t know anything about them, except when I see kids flying them in the park or around the neighborhood. People hate that. It’s just an excuse to peep on the neighbors, at least that’s what my wife thinks.”

“So you would have reason to store a drone away from your home.” O’Connell glanced at the door. “Level with me. I know how wives can get.”

“It’s not mine, but even if it was, why would that matter? They aren’t illegal. You can buy them at the mall.”

“Alongside the drone, we found the same materials used to construct a weapon which could be mounted to it.”

Huttley squinted, his brow lowering. “What kind of weapon?”

O’Connell didn’t answer. “Where were you last night from ten o’clock to midnight?”

“I was here. Ask my wife. She made me watch that stupid dance competition show and then we put on the news, fell asleep on the couch, and woke up in the middle of one of those late night guys interviewing some singer. After that, we went to bed.”

“Can anyone else verify your whereabouts?” O’Connell asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe the neighbors saw me when I came home. My kid was upstairs asleep. I don’t know what you want from me.” The light bulb came on over Huttley’s head. “Why do you care where I was last night? Do you think I stole a drone?” His answers came quickly. He didn’t have to think. Had he prepared ahead of time?

O’Connell removed the search warrant from his jacket pocket and handed it to Huttley. “I have a warrant.”

“All this over a child’s toy?”

“It’s not a child’s toy,” I said. “It’s a highly specialized piece of military-grade technology.”

“You mean like a drone drone?” Huttley snorted. “Damn.”

“Do you want to revise your previous statement and explain how one ended up inside a storage cabinet at your place of business?” O’Connell asked.

“Nope.” He gestured to his house. “Search away. I have nothing to hide.”

Forty

The search of Dave Huttley’s house didn’t turn up any evidence. However, the search of his car was another story. Hidden inside his trunk was Sydney Breeding’s cell phone. Why he kept it after six months made no sense to me. Maybe it was a souvenir, or he forgot, or he hadn’t realized she’d dropped it when he moved the body.

“I don’t know how that got there,” Huttley insisted, but it gave O’Connell grounds to arrest him.

Thompson joined us at the precinct, shaking his head. “You should have started with the Tidy Two and saved us a lot of trouble, Parker.”

“Did Letterman confess?” I asked.

“No, but he doesn’t have an alibi for last night. The drone we found in the cabinet along with those clamps and metal rods indicate they were being used as scrap parts to construct the one that tried to kill you.”

“So Huttley built the drone?” I asked.

“Search history on their company computer shows videos on how to modify drones to hold additional weight while remaining stable in the air. I also saw a few how-to videos on mounting firearms to drones.” Thompson took a seat behind his desk. “Make of that what you will, but I think you got the guys.”

O’Connell scanned the report he’d been handed. “No prints were found on the drone or any of the related equipment or tools. The same’s true of the bag of pills that fell out of the wall. But the lab says that’s the same compound and stamp as what was used on the MDMA we found beside Sydney Breeding’s body.” O’Connell handed me the report. “Why didn’t you start with the cleaning crew?”

I read the report. Most things fit. The drugs in the wall and Sydney Breeding’s phone in Huttley’s trunk indicated they’d been involved in her murder. The drone and related paraphernalia indicated they’d been behind the unmanned shooting. “Lucien told me they were clean.”

“Cross isn’t the best investigator in the business,” O’Connell said. “Sure, he runs his own firm, but his smarts come from hiring good people. Brilliant people. When it comes to his own investigations, he tends to blunder around until he pisses someone off.”

“Which is what the two of you did last night,” Thompson said.

The evidence supported the conclusion that, at the very least, the Tidy Two were involved. But I still had questions. A lot of questions. “Did you check alibis?”

“I told you Letterman doesn’t have one for last night,” Thompson said.

“What about for Sydney’s murder? Jacobs should have interviewed them at some point. What do his notes say?”

O’Connell didn’t like that question. “Jacobs checked, but they weren’t prime suspects, given the givens. However, I went back over his interview notes, the case file, and did some digging. The Tidy Two worked a lot of jobs in the days leading up to the murder. Most of their time is accounted for with work. In the evenings, Letterman was at a sports bar every night. He never went home alone.”

“He has an alibi.” I didn’t like where this was going.

“Except, Huttley doesn’t. His wife was out of town that week. He was home alone every night,” O’Connell said.

“I’d say they’re in on it together,” Thompson said. “They traded off, so one of them would always have an alibi, making them both look clean.” He grinned. “Tidy.”

“But no confession?” I asked.

“Not yet, but we’ll break them,” Thompson said.

“What about Marcusi and Malone? How do they connect to the Tidy Two?”

“Remember that sports bar Letterman went to when he was establishing an alibi? Where do you think Marcusi and Malone hang out when they aren’t kidnapping people?” Thompson asked. “I spoke to the staff. They’ve seen them talking. It’s not a smoking gun or drone, but it may get us there.”

O’Connell gave me a look. “The techs are searching everything as we speak. They’ll figure things out.”

“What was on Sydney Breeding’s phone?” I asked.

O’Connell shook his head. “The thing was reset to factory settings. Everything was wiped. The techs are hoping to recover what was lost, but we won’t know until they finish. All we have right now are a list of apps she had on her phone and a few photos.”

“What kinds of photos?” I asked.

“Nothing damning. She had some from the sets of her acting gigs and random pictures of squirrels and pigeons.”

“Ugh.”

“What?”

“Pigeons,” I said.

O’Connell chuckled. “Anyway, you’re free to go. Letterman and Huttley have more important things to worry about than pressing charges against you, but keep your nose clean until the dust settles, okay?”

“Sure.” Another thought nagged at me. “What about Angie Tanner?”

“What about her?” Thompson asked.

“Don’t give me that. You know damn well what I’m asking. How does she tie into this? Are you going to tell me she’s the woman Letterman was hooking up with at that sports bar because a woman like her wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that.”

“We’ll figure it out,” O’Connell said before Thompson could offer a response that I wouldn’t like. “Now get out of here before someone tries to put you in a holding cell.”

I didn’t like being forced out of the investigation, but I didn’t need to be at the precinct to go over the facts and evidence. Cross had his ways, and for once, I didn’t take issue with them.

*       *       *

I rubbed my eyes, wondering if staring at the walls for too long could make a person go blind. Most of the work I’d done I’d ripped down or rearranged. But no matter how many connections I found and explanations and theories I came up with, none of it felt right. Trust the evidence. That was tantamount to any investigation, but if I’d trusted the evidence, I wouldn’t have taken the case. I would have blamed Dustin Ford for the murder and walked away. So why should I trust the evidence now?

“You’re spinning.” Kellan entered my office with a plate piping hot from the microwave. He put it down. “Lucien said you wanted tacos, but they don’t travel well. So I brought you back a burrito.”

“Thanks, but—”

“But nothing. You have to eat. I’m not leaving until you do.”

“God, you sound like Martin.”

His grin grew bigger. “Oh yeah?”

“That isn’t necessarily a good thing, especially from my perspective.” I backed away from the wall and plopped onto the couch. The plate burned my fingertips, but I didn’t care. It smelled good. “However, I’m starving.”

“Careful, it’s—”

The initial bite scorched my tongue. I sucked in some cool air to stop the burn. “Ha-ha-hot.”

“Told you.” Kellan picked up a pen and traced a line, following my thought process and the collected evidence. “Seems open and shut. The Tidy Two are running a drug ring, dealing to the offices and rentals they clean. They tidy up and drop off the drugs. Then the buyer makes a reservation or appointment and picks them up. The money for the drugs is funneled through the business, and no one’s ever the wiser.”

“Except Baron Wells pays the Tidy Two, and I have yet to connect him to any of this other stuff.”

Kellan lifted page after page of the printed version of their billing sheets, which I’d tacked to the wall. Beside it were the printed photos I’d taken of the book I found on the desk. “Money doesn’t match. Someone else was paying the Tidy Two. But there aren’t any names or clients listed when it comes to payments, only account numbers.”

“And not bank account numbers,” I said.

“Drugs are a cash business.” He ran his finger along a line before checking with the printout of the files that had been on the Tidy Two’s computer. “I saw a lot of similar things when I was with the DEA. Most minor leaguers weren’t this organized.”

“Are you saying we’re dealing with pros?” I didn’t like that thought. I’d feared investigating had put me in the crosshairs of organized crime. Now, I had to worry that it wasn’t just organized crime but instead a cartel. “Marcusi and Malone do odd jobs. The PD thinks Letterman hooked up with them at a sports bar and hired them to scare away any potential witnesses. That doesn’t sound like the actions of pros to me. Pros would have their own guys.”

“Unless they didn’t want to risk it.”

I blew on the burrito and took another bite. At least it had cooled enough to no longer melt the skin on the roof of my mouth. “That’s another thing,” I said between bites. “When did they find out about Violet Hemming?”

“They clean that unit. They may have been piggybacking off the surveillance footage.”

“Except that didn’t show Violet leaving,” I said.

“But if they dumped Sydney’s body at that rental, they would have known the blonde in the footage wasn’t the dead woman. So maybe they were paying attention to the investigation and trial, learned we’d been contracted to look into it, and followed you.”

The more Kellan spoke, the more I was convinced we had this wrong. “Here’s the million dollar question,” I said.

“I want to see the money upfront.”

“Why did Dave Huttley murder Sydney Breeding? I can’t find anything that connects the two of them.”

From my doorway, Cross cleared his throat. I hated when he did that, which was why he always made the effort to sneak up on me. I needed to put bells on this guy.

“You’re not looking in the right place.” Cross entered my office, eyeing the half-eaten burrito that I held tightly a few inches from my mouth. He sat in the chair across from me, his focus on my dinner. “Alex, I owe you an apology. It was my oversight that led to our close call last night.”

“Forget it. Just tell me where I’m supposed to be looking.”

“The Tidy Two were never hired to clean any of the units in Sydney’s apartment building, but they clean the building across the street from her apartment three times a week. They go there first thing in the morning before the place opens for business. It’s a title loan company, which makes me wonder why it would need to be cleaned so often.”

“It’s a front,” Kellan said.

Cross pointed at him. “Bingo.”

“Can you prove it?” I asked.

“Not yet, but when we pulled surveillance footage from that neighborhood to see if anyone had been following you before the accident, we pulled all the footage. We have roughly a week’s worth of recorded video. The Tidy Two’s van shows up like clockwork. They let themselves inside the place and leave thirty minutes later. They drop a plastic bag in the dumpster outside, filled with who knows what, and then they stop at the coffee shop a block over, where they pick up a white paper bag every time.”

“That’s called garbage and breakfast,” I said.

“Or it’s how they drop off payment for the dope they’re slinging and pick up another batch of narcotics to move.” Cross gave me a look. “Do you know who used to stop by that same coffee shop every day on the way to acting class?”

I took another bite of my burrito, afraid to put it down for fear Cross might eat it. After a final bite, I wiped my hands on the napkin and spoke while I chewed. “How do you know Sydney Breeding went there? You said the footage you pulled was only good for a week.”

“Financials, and I spoke to the owner. Bertha said Sydney always came in before the morning rush. She’d sit in a booth and run lines while she drank her coffee and ate whatever stale pastry or past expiration pre-packaged item was left over from the previous day. Bertha could tell Sydney was struggling, so she tried to help her out.”

“You think Sydney witnessed something.” That made a bit more sense. “Isn’t that nothing more than speculation?”

“It fits,” Kellan said. “That would explain why Huttley and Letterman would kill her and try to frame someone else for the crime. The Tidy Two work as deliverymen. They got caught, so they had to take care of the problem.” He glanced at Cross who was staring at my empty plate. “There’s another burrito in the fridge if you want it, Lucien.”

“Thanks.” Cross waited for Kellan to step out before he said, “You’re not buying it. To be fair, I’m not either. But this is sound. When I first looked into them, the Tidy Two appeared clean. Their records checked out. At least one of them had an alibi for every time you were followed or attacked. I didn’t see it coming, which happens more than it should.”

“It happens to all of us,” I said. “But it doesn’t make a lot of sense. I’ll agree with the whole middlemen theory. That explains how they crossed paths with Sydney and why they’d want to kill her. I’m guessing they murdered her somewhere near her apartment or that coffee shop, dumped her in the trunk, and tried to figure out what to do with her after that.”

“They could have put her in the freezer chest we found in the basement.”

“That wasn’t even cold.”

“It could have been six months ago. I tried plugging it in while we were there. It sort of works. It just hums, which is why they couldn’t have implemented that when the rental had a guest.”

“So they freaked when Dustin booked the place, took her out of the freezer, and left her in the kitchen? Fine, I’ll consider that possible, but why leave the drugs? That connects them to the crime.”

“Does it?” Cross asked. “The Tidy Two are a cleaning crew. They aren’t on anyone’s radar. Until now, until you found the pills in their office, no one had any idea what they were doing. Narcotics wasn’t looking into them. Neither was the DEA.”

I thought about the drugs found with Sydney’s body. “That was a lot of product they left with the corpse.”

“Not for someone who was at a concert, who had ties to the pharmaceutical industry.”

“Cocaine isn’t a prescribed substance.”

Cross chuckled. “No, but it is commonplace for the party crowd, especially the rich.”

“Dustin isn’t rich.”

“His family is.”

“How would the Tidy Two have known those things ahead of time?”

“They spoke to Baron Wells, got the renter’s name, and looked him up. Dustin may have changed his last name, but it’s a matter of public record. It’s not sealed or locked away. The name change was Dustin’s way of distancing himself from his family, not his attempt to conceal his identity from the world.”

“All right, fine. Let’s say I’m good with this, and you screwed up by not finding any of this sooner. In fact, I can get on board by agreeing you screwed up.” I smiled at him. “Does that make you feel better?”

“Get to the point.”

“That leaves me with two questions. First, how does Angie Tanner figure into any of this? And second, why did the Tidy Two have a bag of pills hidden inside their wall? The only way to access them would be to break the wall, so why would they do that?”

“Has anyone ever told you you ask too many questions?”

“You don’t have an answer, do you?”

“Not yet.” He took the offered plate from Kellan. “But once I finish dinner, we’ll dig deeper.” 

Forty-one

“Parker?”

I stretched, banging my hand against the coffee table before rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “What?” I blinked, surprised to find my office dark. The only light came from the hallway and my computer screen.

Bruiser stepped to the side, no longer in silhouette from the hallway lights. “The last time we spoke, you warned me about drones. I felt that warranted an in-person conversation.”

“Where’s Martin?”

“He’s speaking to Cross.”

“What time is it?” I squinted at the computer screen, but the clock was fuzzy.

“2:10.”

I sat up, finding my muscles stiff and sore. “Did something happen? Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” He stood near the chair across from me. “I spoke to the security team. They filled me in on what happened last night.”

“Does Martin know?”

“No.”

“Good.” I combed my fingers through my hair, tugging at the knots while I got up to turn on the lights. “It’s bad, Jones. I don’t know how bad. I don’t know anything at this point.”

The papers on my wall surprised Bruiser. “This looks…complicated.”

“That’s part of the problem.” I pointed to a photo of the drone. “What do you make of that?”

“It’s not military. Too small. The weapon placement doesn’t look quite right. CIA black ops might use equipment like this. Something that runs quiet and has less of a footprint.”

“I don’t think the CIA wants me dead.”

Bruiser backed away from the wall. “Someone could have built it or bought it on the black market.”

“The police are looking into both possibilities. We found instructions and how-to videos on a suspect’s computer.”

“That sounds promising.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Spill. When you called last night, you sounded like you were on the verge of a breakdown.”

Closing my office door, I stood with my back against it, not wanting to be surprised by Martin or Cross suddenly appearing. “That’s because I am.” I sucked in an unsteady breath and stared at the wall above Bruiser’s head. “We’ve been throwing around theories involving organized crime, maybe the cartel. I…” I blinked, not wanting to say the words, “I can’t go home. I don’t want this anywhere near him. Whoever these people are, they aren’t messing around.” I pointed to the drone photo, fighting to keep my chin from quivering. “If I’d been asleep when the flying death machine showed up, Martin would be planning my funeral.”

Bruiser gave me a sympathetic look. “What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know. The police supposedly have the men in custody, but there are other players involved. Some woman threatened me and had a buddy take a shot at me. Some other yahoo rammed my car. And two other goons tried to kidnap our only witness.” Stopping, I wondered why M&M would have been hired to deal with Violet. They didn’t whack people. They only busted kneecaps. “There were three of them. Not two. And the third was never found or identified.”

Bruiser raised an eyebrow. “You have a thought about this?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head, but everything remained jumbled. “All I know for certain is I need to distance myself. My name is on the apartment. If Martin goes there, he could be in danger.”

“Building security should add another layer of protection,” Bruiser reminded me. “It’s why you chose that apartment.”

“Building security can’t do shit if a drone breaks through our balcony doors and starts shooting up the place.”

Bruiser squinted. “What’s the range on that thing?”

“I don’t know.”

He snorted, as if I’d said something funny. “It might help if you knew how close the operator was when the shooting started. But I’d say he was close. That transmitter looks like shit. That would make gaining enough height to strike the twenty-first floor impossible to do from the street.”

“There are other high-rises in the area. You can’t discount the possibility he could gain access to one of them.”

“I’ll do my best to convince Martin to stay at his estate, but I can’t make any guarantees. He’ll want to be close to you. He…” Bruiser searched for a diplomatic way to say what I knew was on the tip of his tongue.

“He doesn’t trust me not to run or have a team of ex-military abduct him and fly him out of the country in the middle of the night.”

“There is precedent.”

“I promised I wouldn’t do that this time.”

Bruiser stared at me, seeing into my mind and heart. “That doesn’t mean shit, and you know it, not when it comes to protecting him.”

“I have to.” My voice cracked, but I hoped he hadn’t noticed. “I love him too much. I have to keep him safe. If anything—”

“I won’t let it,” Bruiser said.

I sucked in another breath. “You just recovered. No one expects you or asked you—”

“You aren’t asking. I’m offering.” He jerked his chin toward the door, warning me he had spotted movement outside my window. “But he would prefer knowing you’re safe too, that you’re at home, with him.”

“I can’t.”

Bruiser nodded.

I blinked a few times, put a phony smile on my face, and pulled open the door as Martin reached for the knob. “Hey, handsome. Are you looking for me or your bodyguard?”

“You.” Martin’s green eyes showed concern. “Are you okay?”

“I was asleep,” I said. “Don’t tell Cross. He hates it when I sleep on the job.”

“Are you ready to go home?”

“I have too much to do. I’m going to stay here and see what else I can accomplish.”

Martin nodded, more to himself than me. “Bruiser, you can call it a night. Meet me here in the morning. Our usual time.”

“Martin, you can’t stay here,” I said.

“I am if you are.”

“Lucien—”

“Lucien doesn’t care.” Martin’s expression told me not to argue. “Don’t you think I’ll be safe in a building crawling with Cross’s personal army?”

“Fine.” I nodded to Bruiser. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He excused himself, leaving me to face Martin alone.

Martin puffed out his cheeks while he took in the wall. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Really? It’s a new one on me.”

Martin gave me the side-eye. “Cross mentioned you had a close call last night.”

“It wasn’t that close. He was there. Backup always evens the odds. In fact, it was two against one. Cross is decent in an emergency, which is surprising. When we first met, I figured he’d panic and hide under a desk.” I laughed. “But we’ve been in plenty of scrapes. It was fine. We’re fine.” I gave Martin a suspicious look. “Did Cross say otherwise?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes bore into me, searching for the lie or maybe the truth. It was hard to tell. I hated the scrutiny, but I’d done enough undercover to be convincing when it mattered. Right now, it really mattered. But Martin wasn’t a mark. He could see me in ways no one else could.

“What are you planning to do about this?” He gestured to the wall.

“Figure out who framed my client and why they did it. O’Connell and Thompson are all over it. In fact, they’ve made two more arrests. That brings our grand total up to five, if my math is correct. But you know how I am with numbers.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Martin wandered to the bar cart in the corner. I never stocked it. The only things on the tray were whatever remained in the few bottles people had given me or left behind. He picked up the bourbon and poured a drink. “Is this your game plan?”

“What?” I asked, but he wouldn’t turn around to face me.

“You’re going to stay here until you figure this out?”

“We’re close,” I said. “But there’s a time crunch. Without hard evidence, O’Connell’s going to have to start releasing the accused.” I checked my watch. “In fact, he already had to let the woman who threatened me with a gun go free.”

“Explain how that came about? Did she get bail?”

“She said I made it up. I can’t prove otherwise. The weapon she used was taken from police evidence. It doesn’t link to her.”

“How do you think she got it?” Martin asked.

“She’s a fixer. Blackmail, favors, stealing, take your pick.”

Sipping his drink, he spun to face me. “Her client must have a lot of pull and a lot of money for her to risk everything by stealing a gun from police evidence. But why go to the trouble? Shouldn’t she have taken the evidence the police had against her client instead? Wouldn’t that have been easier than coming after you?”

“Damn. You always hit the nail on the head. Do you want to switch jobs? I’ll run a company and you can do this.” I waved my hand at the wall.

“Can I dress like Remington Steele?”

“Sure.”

“Y’know, I think this means you’ve made me watch too much TV.”

“Who are you kidding? You rarely watch. You’re too busy replying to work e-mails and reviewing presentations. All those damn charts and graphs.” I made a face. “Correction, I don’t want to switch jobs. But I wish I had your clarity on things.”

“It comes from distance. Not sleeping in the office would be a nice start to gaining perspective.”

Ignoring him, I went to my computer and pulled up everything I had on Angie Tanner, which wasn’t much. Silently, Martin snuck behind me with the stealth of a jungle cat. “Do you know her?” I asked.

“I can make a few calls.”

I looked up at him. “Don’t.”

He rubbed my shoulders. “God, you’re tense.” He moved his thumbs to the sides and back of my neck, which made me sigh. “If we were at home, I’d offer to do something about it.”

“We’re not at home. I’m at work.”

He kissed the top of my head, snagged his glass from the side of my desk, and went to the couch. “In that case, I’ll do what you do on the rare occasion you visit me in the office.”

“What’s that?”

He took off his tie and jacket, unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto the chair before kicking off his shoes and tugging his belt free. “I’ll sleep on your couch.” He settled into the cushions which were still warm from where I’d been passed out for a few hours. “Good night, sweetheart.”

I gave him a sad smile and went back to work. Martin wasn’t stupid. He knew there was a reason for my behavior. Pretending to be oblivious to the danger may have been his coping mechanism or a way to keep me on a more even keel. Instead, I dimmed the lights and fought to keep my anxiety at bay, working more fervently while he slept.

Angie Tanner was no longer in police custody. But how the gun I’d taken from her had gotten back on the street remained a mystery. Internal affairs was looking into the matter. They were examining the logs and pulling internal footage. I didn’t think they’d find her swiping the gun from evidence. I had a feeling she had gotten access to it with help from someone on the inside, but Martin had made a fair point. Why didn’t her inside source pull or plant whatever evidence they needed? And that’s when it hit me. The police didn’t have anything concrete on Dustin Ford. Everything was circumstantial. Removing any of it wouldn’t exonerate Dustin, and adding more evidence to the mix wouldn’t necessarily change the outcome either.

Cross had sent me a message with attached spreadsheets and account information. Nothing connected her to any of the men O’Connell had in custody. We could only connect her to the pharmaceutical company. But we had yet to connect any of Dustin Ford’s distant relatives to the Tidy Two. The cleaning company didn’t have a contract with the company or clean any private residences of those employees.

Why couldn’t this be simple? Why couldn’t there be a paper trail?

I sent a message back to Cross, asking about the third man from the abduction. The police hadn’t made any progress. Cross said they weren’t even trying, but I didn’t believe that was the case. O’Connell wouldn’t leave me hanging, but he didn’t have a lot of time and resources to focus on that with everything else coming at him.

I went back over the connection Marcusi and Malone supposedly had to Dave Huttley and Craig Letterman, but picking up a few games of pool didn’t mean they had masterminded a plan together. If Huttley and Letterman were slinging product for the cartel, why would they get involved with two mooks like Marcusi and Malone? Wouldn’t that be like the Crips palling around with Hell’s Angels? They weren’t even in the same league or playing the same sport. Damn, now I was mixing metaphors.

Deciding I needed to go where the evidence led, I removed the pages I’d pinned to the wall and went over every line in the Tidy Two’s handwritten ledger. Anything damning would be in there, not on the computer, whose records would be turned over to their accountant or potentially searched by an intrepid IRS agent. Old school was always the best way to safeguard secrets. No amount of encryption and password-protection would ever make documents on a networked computer secure, not from the experts.

I already knew the dollars and cents didn’t add up, but I didn’t waste my time with that. The numbers beside the payments meant nothing. Amir was running them through some fancy algorithm he’d created, hoping to find a hidden meaning or solution, but I suspected the numbers had been randomly assigned or based on an insignificant detail, like the date they first did business. Either way, it wasn’t going to help me, so I ignored it.

By the time I sifted through the mess that was meaningless or beyond my capabilities, I was left with nothing but their client and vendor lists. I went line by line, reading each client name and pulling up whatever I could find in our databases. None of them connected to Dustin Ford, his friends, his friends’ parents, roommates, significant others, or his family.

Frustrated, I flipped to the next page and ran my finger down the vendor list. Chemical supply companies. Cleaning supply companies. Hardware stores. Equipment rentals. I slowed down when I reached a list of contractors. Handymen. Repair shops. Window replacement. Locksmiths. Plumbers. Restoration services. Painters. Mold removers and drying services.

The rental unit had some issues which may have been fixed, but given how the front window had been cut and not broken, I started with the window replacement people and worked my way through the list. Somewhere along the way, morning came, and Martin took a shower in the locker room and changed into the fresh clothes Marcal had brought him.

“Come home tonight,” he said, kissing me. “You know how much I hate sleeping on the couch, especially if I’m doing it alone.”

“We’ll see,” I said. Catching Bruiser’s eye, I nodded to him. “Make sure you guys grab breakfast and coffee from our break room before you go. Lucien always has quite the spread, and it’s early enough that my coworkers haven’t picked over it yet.”

“Home. Tonight,” Martin repeated before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “And get some sleep. You can’t survive on caffeine and adrenaline forever.”

“You mean forever and always.”

Forty-two

I was almost through the list. The Tidy Two had contracted out work to a lot of different entities. Since they were the cleaning crew, they had been left in charge of repairing or replacing anything that was damaged. My eyes started to glaze over, my attention no longer on the screen but on my memory of the man who rammed my car and fled the scene. Was it the same guy who yanked me out of the car during Violet’s abduction?

I should have taken a photo of him when he got out of the SUV outside of Violet’s place. That would have made IDing him easier. Cameras in the area should have gotten a glimpse of him, but none of the footage we found was particularly helpful. Still, I had a feeling they were one and the same.

Another memory surfaced, the guy in the pickup who had smiled at me. The security detail said he wasn’t following me. But now that I thought about it, his truck was for a mold and drying service. Could it be the same one that the Tidy Two used? My gut reaction may have been correct.

Just as I reached for the phone to call the security team to ask for more details on the truck and its driver, the phone rang. I leaped out of my chair, my heart racing and my hands shaking due to an exaggerated stress response, likely caused by lack of sleep and too much caffeine.

After a steadying breath, I picked up the phone. “What is it?”

“Ms. Parker,” the receptionist said, “you have a walk-in.”

“I’m busy.”

“I know, but she’s relevant to your case.”

“She?”

“Angie Tanner.”

I wanted to ask if she was armed and if we could dispatch a team to search outside for snipers, but that may have been too dramatic a response. “Stick her in a conference room. Notify Mr. Cross and have a security team keep an eye on her.”

Even though I was curious to see what this woman wanted, I was in no rush to walk into that conference room. Instead, I waited. Forty-five seconds later, my phone rang again.

“What do you want me to do, boss?” I asked.

“Security will search her. Once they’ve determined she isn’t armed and poses no threat, you can go in. I’ll join you shortly,” Cross said.

“All right.” I put the phone down, gave the list of contractors and suppliers another look. Instead of asking for more details, I brought up the information on the mold removal and drying services company the Tidy Two used, searched the business’s website for more details, and found a photo of the owner. It was the same son of a bitch who’d smiled at me from his pickup, only a little cleaner looking.

After sending a request for someone to run him while I was in my meeting, I went down the hallway, waited for the okay from the security team, and entered the conference room. Angie Tanner sat in the chair facing the door. She wore a powder pink jacket and skirt over a dark magenta silk blouse. Her blonde hair was pulled into a severe bun, and she wore gold-rimmed glasses which made her hair shine.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t recognize you?” I asked, sliding into the chair across from her. “Because I do.”

“Ms. Parker—”

“See how easy it was to walk into my office and ask for a meeting? If you wanted to threaten or kill me, you could have done it here. In fact, if you hadn’t pulled a gun on me or had a friend shoot at me, security wouldn’t have searched you. You could have walked right in and blew me away. Bang.” I smacked the table with my palm, making her jump. It gave me the tiniest bit of pleasure knowing I wasn’t the only one with an exaggerated stress response. “Jumpy?”

“I didn’t shoot at you.”

“No, you just pulled a gun on me. I want to know why.”

She let out a mirthless laugh, which reminded me of some lawyers I knew. “You know why. I told you that night.”

“You wanted me to back off the investigation.” I stared at her. “Who hired you?”

She stared at me, but she didn’t answer. “I would think a person in your position would be more interested in why I would risk showing up at your place of business.”

“If you’re here to threaten me, I’ll have you arrested, again.”

“The police have no grounds to hold me.”

“You made sure of that by getting a gun from police evidence. You figured it was safe enough. It wouldn’t trace back to you. And the police may not want to look too hard into the matter for fear they’d find a rat in their ranks.” I continued to stare at her. “I’m tired. What do you want?”

“I came here to tell you I changed my mind.”

“Oh-kay.”

She huffed, frustrated that I wasn’t following along. “You shouldn’t drop the investigation. In fact, you’ve done an excellent job with the investigation. I would like to offer whatever assistance I can provide.”

This sounded like she represented a crime lord. But I wasn’t making any deals with devils. “Who sent you to scare me?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Why did they want me to stop investigating?”

She realized the only way she was getting out of this room was to answer my questions. “The evidence against Mr. Ford seemed undeniable. Even if it had gone missing, the situation and circumstances would not have resolved in his favor. In fact, had anything gone missing, it would have looked like a cover-up.”

I smiled. “His father hired you.”

She pressed her lips together, but her eyes gave it away.

“That’s why you couldn’t pull your magic act and take care of whatever the police had against Ford. But why try to scare me off?”

“Mr. Almeada hired you to look into the situation because he had no legal grounds for a dismissal and his chances with a jury were at best fifty-fifty. Those are not good odds.”

“Which is why I was helping.” Despite what Bob Priestly had said about his son being innocent, the man didn’t believe it. He wanted the world to think Dustin was innocent, but he doubted his own conviction. “What did you think I’d find?”

“We feared you’d find something irrefutable that would be the final nail in Dustin’s coffin,” she said. “I was hired to prevent that from happening.”

“We were both hired to do the same job,” I said.

“Your reputation precedes you, Ms. Parker. Letting a guilty man go free isn’t something you’d willingly do. I was sent to motivate you to back off.”

I tapped a pen against the table, something O’Connell did when he thought. It did nothing to focus my mind, but the repetitive noise kept me alert and awake. “How was that going to help Dustin?”

“It wasn’t,” she said. “But there’s a cardinal rule in the healthcare industry. First, do no harm.”

“That’s funny coming from someone representing a legitimized drug dealer. Have you seen the side effects on most of the shit your boss is hocking?”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

“Right, getting addicted to pain pills is a great alternative.” I stopped tapping. “We aren’t here to debate that. What I want to know is who else was hired to stop my investigation.”

“No one.”

“That’s bullshit. You weren’t alone that night. Someone took a shot at me. And that was after my car got T-boned. And more has happened since.” I watched her face, but all I saw was surprise, concern, and fear.

“I was alone that night. You fired on me,” she said. “That’s why I kept running. I thought you were going to kill me.”

“I chased you, but someone else took that shot. That’s why I didn’t catch up.”

“Whoever fired that shot wasn’t with me.”

I wasn’t sure I bought that. “What about the getaway driver?”

“It wasn’t a getaway driver so much as a waiting rideshare.”

I glanced at her phone which was face-down on the table. “Prove it.”

She picked up the device, unlocked it, opened the app, and showed me when the car was ordered and the receipt. “Is that good enough for you?”

“Not yet. Who else wants me off this case?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” I stared at her. “I thought you said you came here to offer assistance.”

“The assistance is monetary.” She pulled a cashier’s check out of her bag and slid it across the table to me.

I didn’t even look at it before sliding it back to her. “Almeada’s paying me.”

She didn’t seem surprised that I had turned down such a generous offer. “The police phoned first thing this morning. All charges against Dustin Ford have been dropped. However, we feel it’d be in Dustin’s best interest if the actual murderer is identified and apprehended.” She slid the check back across the table with her perfect French tips. “Almeada hired you to get his client off. We’d like to hire you to find the killer.”

My knee-jerk reaction was to say, We don’t do that here. But bringing in a big account would make Cross happy. And it wasn’t like I was dropping the case anyway. “You’ll have to speak to Mr. Cross about that. He makes those decisions. However, I have one condition.”

“What is it?”

“I want to know who’s looking to hire me.”

“I already said—”

“I don’t care. You almost got me killed. Even if the trigger-happy rifleman wasn’t with you, you pulled a gun on me. A loaded gun. A stolen gun. People who can pull off tricks like that, who have the balls to come at me, are usually scary sons of bitches. I want to know who you represent. After that, you can discuss the details with my boss.”

“You already know,” she said.

“I need to hear you say his name. And don’t give me that bullshit line you’re not authorized. I have to know for certain. A miscommunication or incorrect assumption could be my death. No amount of money is worth that.”

She sucked in a breath, glanced around the room, as if it might be bugged, and said, “Bob Priestly.”

Forty-three

I circled Cross’s office. “I’m not sure I buy it. Tanner said she was alone that night, but that shot is the only reason she got away. The waiting rideshare was a nice touch. Talk about perfect timing.”

“She does shit like this for a living, Alex.” Cross rubbed his eyes before looking away from the computer screen. “That doesn’t mean I trust her. In fact, it means quite the opposite. I have a meeting with Almeada later to discuss these matters. Afterward, I’ll pay Bob Priestly a visit.”

“I knew you wanted to sign him.”

“I want him to know that I don’t appreciate his actions.”

“But you’ll sign him anyway.”

Cross shrugged. “We were nearly murdered by a drone. Someone should damn well pay for the physical and emotional distress. In the meantime, Renner is keeping an eye on Tanner. Anywhere she goes, anyone she meets, we’ll know about.”

“I’ve narrowed down the third man, the one who attacked me on multiple occasions.” I showed Cross the workup on Rodney Castel. “That’s the bastard who followed me in his pickup. He veered off so as not to attract attention from the security team, but I had your techs perform a deep dive on his financials. There are several wire transfers between his mold removal company and the Tidy Two. They don’t happen on a regular basis, but there are at least two every month. The amounts vary.”

“Did Amir compare his photo to the crappy angles we pulled from the footage near Violet’s place?”

“Her aunt’s place,” I corrected. “He says it’s inconclusive.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not the same guy.”

“It’s about time you got on board with this. Telling me it was unrelated was stupid.”

Cross scanned the details. “This isn’t enough for the police to make an arrest or get a search warrant.”

“Not yet.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“I’m not sure.”

He smiled like the cat who swallowed the canary. “Before our unexpected visitor showed up, I was planning on dropping by your office with this.” He held out the tablet. “That’s a record of the parts needed to assemble the drone and gun. I traced the purchase history on the harder to find pieces and found a specialty shop that deals in that kind of hardware and tech. The buyer paid cash, but with the proper incentive, I was able to acquire the security cam footage from inside the shop. Hit play.”

I tapped the screen and waited. Cross had the footage pre-loaded. The first thing that popped up on screen was the man with the cap and sunglasses, a little on the scruffy side. The image alone wouldn’t nail down his ID, but it was the same man. First, the accident, then the assault, and now, here he was buying parts to build a weapon that almost killed us. “Did you get a name?”

“He paid cash, but the owner said his name is Rod, and he remembered the guy drove a blue pickup with a logo on the side. It looked like the kind contractors and handymen drive, with ladders and buckets and shit in the back.”

“That still may not be enough.”

“I wouldn’t know,” a bitterness crept into Cross’s tone, “since I’m not a cop, and I have zero desire in learning what is necessary to make a case.” We both knew that was bullshit since he’d gone through the academy, but I didn’t feel the need to point it out. “Bring that to O’Connell, if you feel so inclined. Otherwise, we keep digging.”

“You’re letting me decide if and when we hand this off?”

“You have the most skin in the game. He came after you. Feel free to reciprocate however you see fit.”

I wondered if this was a test, but I was too tired and spread too thin to figure out my boss’s motives on top of everything else. “We know the Tidy Two paid him, but that could be for legitimate work. I need a list of his supposed projects and to find out where this bastard was when everything went down.”

“Do you think he killed Sydney Breeding?”

“I don’t know, but we know one of the Tidy Two alibied out, just like when the drone came for us. Pulling off complicated jobs like that may have required an extra set of hands.”

“Someone had to serve as lookout,” Cross said.

“Something like that. Either way, I don’t want this guy getting cut loose. He’s done nothing but escalate. Now that Dustin Ford is no longer on the hook, Castel should know it’s only a matter of time before someone connects him to the two bozos in custody.”

“Which two?” Cross asked.

“God, I didn’t even consider the possibility he connects to M&M. But he could, I guess.”

Realizing I knew next to nothing about Rodney Castel, I returned to my office in a daze and started at square one, reviewing his profile, looking up his associates, and searching for any acquaintances or friends that connected to this mess.

Castel ran a legitimate mold removal and drying services business. His online reviews were great. He had the certification and training necessary and the pricing to match.

I could only glean so much from his online reviews, but I had tracked most of the reviews to businesses and residences. Without a look at his books or their financials, I had no way of knowing if these were real customers, but they felt real. And they looked real. However, in the last three years, Castel hadn’t focused on advertising and getting the word out. His reviews had dried up.

A quick look at the Tidy Two’s accounts showed they’d been hiring Castel to provide work at the places they cleaned. They covered enough clients and offices that they’d been able to bring him in for a new job every month, or so that’s what the paperwork suggested. Castel would follow up a few weeks later to make sure everything dried properly and remove the fans and plastic sheeting or give the mold infestation a second treatment. It all looked very nice and legal. But I knew better.

Castel had done work at the vacation rental where Sydney Breeding’s body had been found the month before her murder. Since the timeline didn’t match up, the police hadn’t bothered questioning Castel. He’d also done work in Sydney Breeding’s apartment building a month prior to that. He had to be the unidentified third man involved in the kidnapping, but that meant I had to find a way to tie him to M&M.

The easiest way would be to go to the precinct, put Marcusi and Malone in the box, and go at them until one of them cracked. But they’d already proven too stupid to help themselves out of this mess which told me they feared retaliation more than prison. The other way of getting what I wanted would be to go directly to the source.

I was on my way to the garage where the security detail was waiting when the elevator opened in the lobby and Dustin Ford stared at me from the other side of the doors.

“Hey, I was coming to thank you,” he said.

“Thank me?”

“You cleared my name. The DA’s office dropped the charges. Detective Jacobs called and said new evidence surfaced and they’ve reopened the investigation. How did you do it?”

“Luck.”

Dustin snickered. “Trade secret. I get it.”

I stepped out of the elevator, automatically glancing around the lobby, but building security was keeping an eye out and no one suspicious was nearby. Hopefully, Tanner hadn’t lied about working alone, or a sniper could have me in his crosshairs. “Since you’re here, I was hoping you could answer a question.”

“Sure.”

I brought up a photo of Rodney Castel and held it out to him. “Have you ever seen this man before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay.” I found a photo of the company pickup. “What about this vehicle?”

“Um…” Dustin’s face told me he recognized it. “I can’t be certain.”

“Best guess.”

“It was parked on the street the day I went to see Mike. Y’know, the day I found the body.”

“Parked on the street?”

“Yeah, one of the houses on the block looked like it was having some work done. I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I stepped back into the elevator. “I’m on my way out, but Mr. Cross would like to have a word if you have a few minutes.”

“That’s cool. I cleared my schedule for today. Figured I’d stop by here and then go see my friends and share the good news in person.”

I sent Cross a text, waited for the elevator to let me out on B1, and pressed the button for Cross’s floor. “I’m glad things worked out, Dustin.”

“They never would have if you hadn’t believed me,” he said.

The doors closed, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a little lighter. The risk was worth the reward.

*       *       *

Castel Drying Services wasn’t an office. It was Rodney Castel’s apartment. More accurately, it was his truck. That was the only thing with signage. The business was registered out of state for tax purposes, but Castel lived locally in a crappy apartment not far from several of the vacation rentals the Tidy Two cleaned.

Remaining in my car, I wanted to make sure Castel wasn’t around. His truck was gone, but that didn’t mean he was. For all I knew, he left his truck at a job site.

Shadows moved within his apartment. It was a good thing I hadn’t gone inside. After what felt like an eternity, the light patterns settled. A few minutes later, the front door opened. Rodney Castel stepped out, squinting against the sun while he fumbled to put his sunglasses on and lower the brim of his baseball cap.

On the plus side, where he was going, he wouldn’t have to worry about spending too much time outdoors. An hour a day, tops. He went down the street, maintaining a steady pace. He didn’t look around like someone who realized they were being watched, and he didn’t move in a mechanical way either, like someone trying too hard to act normally. My gut said he didn’t know I was here.

After waiting at the crosswalk, he turned down the next street and disappeared from view. I debated if I should follow, but his apartment called to me. Since he had no other rentals or holdings I had found, I assumed whatever he had to hide was here. The illegal dive we’d done on his financial activity didn’t show any payments to storage units. Whatever damning evidence existed would be inside his apartment. It had to be.

Silently, I got out of the car and entered his apartment building. The security team remained on alert. If Castel returned, they’d see him coming and warn me. Before entering the building, I covered up with a cap and sunglasses similar to Castel’s and straightened the fold on my turtleneck, using it more like a mask to conceal the rest of my face. With a pair of gloves and my hair tightly secured, I wasn’t too worried about leaving forensic evidence behind.

Letting myself into his apartment didn’t take much. The locks were basic. The two-pin tumblers yielded in defeat after a few twists. No alarm system sounded, not that I expected to find one.

The place wasn’t by any means tidy. Tools and equipment lined the walls in organized chaos. I found everything needed to move a body, but those were all common hardware store items. The Tidy Two had many of the same things in their office.

After snapping a few photos of anything of interest, I searched the rest of the studio apartment. The only item of interest was Castel’s workstation. His desk contained a heavy-duty laptop with thick casing to protect it from falls, bullets, and collapsing buildings. At least, that’s how it looked to me. It also had one of those printers beneath it to generate invoices on the go.

The drive Amir had created to bypass biometrics worked like a charm and logged me into his system. On Castel’s computer, I found tutorials on welding and machine design, drone concept art, and videos on how to build your own stealth attack drone. The instructions on Castel’s computer were much more in-depth than what I’d found on the Tidy Two’s computer.

I made a note and moved on to check his records. Like the Tidy Two, Castel had his own bookkeeping spreadsheet. From the way it looked, he’d been working exclusively for the Tidy Two for the last twelve months, possibly longer. I couldn’t be certain since I only found the current fiscal year’s accounting.

I copied that and checked the rest of the files on his computer. A folder named Babes contained nothing but details on Dustin Ford and his family. The information had been compiled over the last four months, well after the murder and indictment. Was Castel planning to blackmail Dustin, or was he going to leverage the intel he had on the murder, pointing the finger at the Tidy Two, to get the case dismissed for a hefty sum?

After saving a copy of the files onto a drive, I turned off the computer and checked the broom closet. No drones. No bodies. However, the coat closet had a false back. When I slid it open, I found a hunting rifle and the remote for a drone. Rodney Castel had tried to kill me.

Forty-four

O’Connell found Detective Jacobs and me waiting at his desk. After leaving Castel’s apartment, I’d gone straight to the precinct. I couldn’t arrest Castel. I just hoped I’d found enough for the police to build a solid case.

“It’s not my birthday,” O’Connell said. “And I’m not seeing any cake. Is this an intervention?”

Jacobs gestured to O’Connell’s chair. “Ask Parker. She called this meeting of the minds.”

I tapped on Thompson’s desk. “Pay attention. I don’t want you to feel left out.”

Thompson’s eyes shot daggers in my direction, but he stopped what he was doing and made himself more comfortable in his chair. “Get to it. Unlike you, we have actual work to do.”

“About that.” I broke down everything I knew and had learned, along with whatever show and tell I had to corroborate my theories. The video footage may not have been damning on its own since Castel did a decent job keeping his identity concealed by otherwise innocuous accessories, but coupled with his financials and the connections we found, the footage could no longer be ignored or dismissed.

“We’ll have to verify some of these things,” Thompson said, reaching for the phone. “I’ll get the Tidy Two moved back into interrogation.” He slid a legal pad toward me. “Give me the name and address of the shop owner who sold Castel the drone parts. We’ll need to verify this with him.”

“All right.” I scribbled it down, hoping Cross had told him to cooperate when the police came knocking.

Jacobs crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands beneath his armpits and leaving his thumbs sticking out in two thumbs-ups while he rocked forward and back on his heels. “That’s a lot to miss.”

“The timing was off,” I said.

Jacobs thought for a few seconds. “Have you retraced Sydney Breeding’s steps from her final days?”

“Not yet. I have her schedule for that week, but I haven’t had time to reach out to everyone yet,” O’Connell said.

Jacobs nodded. “Give that to me. I’ll run it down. We may not be able to determine exactly when she was killed, but we need to find out who saw her last and when she disappeared from her own life. That will inform on when she may have been killed, and we’ll need that if we want to make sure the homicide charge sticks to Castel.”

O’Connell shuffled through the items on his desk before handing a folder to Jacobs. “Good luck.”

Jacobs tapped the folder and gave me a look. “Nice job, Parker.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said

“Except it was.”

“It was an honest mistake.”

“But a mistake nonetheless.” He headed for the double doors.

O’Connell swiveled to face me. “Is this everything?”

“That’s everything on Castel.” I filled him in on the situation with Angie Tanner. “She said she was alone that night. I’m not sure I buy it, but if that’s true, anyone could have been out there.”

“Do you think the shot came from Castel?”

“Probably, but that may be harder to prove. I’m not sure it’s even worth pursuing.”

“But you’re sure he’s the guy who T-boned you?”

“Yep.”

“And he followed you?”

“Yep.”

“And don’t forget, he took a ride with Marcusi and Malone when they went to abduct Violet,” Thompson chimed in. “Which means he’s working with them. Or they are working for him. Do you have any knowledge of that, Parker?”

“I haven’t found anything yet. The only connection to Marcusi and Malone I’ve found is the sports bar where they played a few games of pool and darts with the Tidy Two.”

“Right, and we know the Tidy Two connect to Castel. Was he also at that bar?”

“I don’t know.”

Thompson shook his head and made a tsk sound. “Why don’t you know that?”

O’Connell stifled a laugh. “I’ll send a few officers down there to flash around photos and ask questions. I’ll also see about pulling DOT footage in case we can spot Castel tailing you.” O’Connell pulled a pen from the cup on his desk and placed it on top of a legal pad. “Give me dates, times, and locations of everywhere you’ve been since taking on this case. Also, if you remember the routes you took and if you made any stops along the way, write that down. We’ll need to analyze all of it.”

“Okay.” I started working while Thompson and O’Connell made calls and got clearance for the footage they needed. “You know what I don’t understand?”

“Basic decency?” Thompson said.

I stuck my tongue out at him. “How did anyone know where Violet was staying? Do you think one of her friends could be involved?”

“No way,” O’Connell said. “I checked. Then I double and triple-checked. They are clean.”

“The bastard’s been following you,” Thompson said. “It stands to reason you led him there.”

“They didn’t show up until hours later,” I said.

“That doesn’t mean anything. He could have followed you to that address, did some sleuthing of his own, and came back later with reinforcements. Except you were still there, so he had the wannabe gangsters go after Violet while he came after you.”

“He wasn’t armed,” I said.

O’Connell squinted at me. “Are you suggesting Castel didn’t attack you that afternoon?”

“No. It was him. But his goal changed. That day, he wanted to scare me. To scare Violet. He wanted the investigation shut down. The same when he rammed me. He could have shot me then. But he didn’t. He may have wanted to injure me, but not kill me.”

“But you kept on, like a damn cockroach,” Thompson said. “So he got fed up.”

“He got scared,” O’Connell said. “Marcusi and Malone got arrested, and you and Cross were snooping around the scene of the crime. He knew it was only a matter of time. He had to stop you before it was too late.”

“I want to talk to the Tidy Two,” I said. “They’ll be able to break it down for us. They hired Castel. They should know what jobs he’s taken and where he is.”

“Once we find him, we’ll bring him in,” O’Connell promised. “But this is a lot. We need to be methodical. Thompson and I will go in first, establish the basics, get a feel for what’s going on, and see what they can tell us. Once we have our foundation set, you can join us.”

“Fine.”

“Until then, why don’t you say hi to Violet? She’s been camped out in our conference room. Now that you have news, maybe she’ll be more trusting and tell you something useful.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Who knows? But I’m sure if she knows something, you’ll find a way to get it out of her.”

“Maybe I can’t,” I said. “But I know someone who can.”

*       *       *

I watched Dustin Ford and Violet Hemming chat. When Dustin first arrived, Violet had been apprehensive. She’d spent the last six months believing the man she met that night was a killer. But once Dustin opened up about the hell his life had been since that night, they were able to commiserate together.

“I became so paranoid,” Violet said. “I was convinced you were out to get me.”

Dustin chuckled, running a hand through his hair, uneasy with her comment. “I didn’t even know your name. All I knew was you weren’t dead, and that’s what the police kept insisting, that the woman who brought me home was dead in my kitchen.”

“That’s why I was afraid,” she said. “I thought you’d want to kill me because I saw something, or one of your friends would come after me, threaten me or whatever. That big guy was kind of scary.”

“Norman?” Dustin laughed more sincerely this time. “The only thing he could kill would be an all-you-can-eat buffet. He’s a big softie.”

“Well, I didn’t know,” Violet said. “You have to see it from my perspective.”

“I do. Totally. For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry.”

“Me too.” She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you.”

“It’s a great way to determine who your real friends are. People who really know me stuck by me. Everyone else.” He shook his head. “At least now, I should be able to get back to work without the stares. My boss had me working remotely. I feared I’d have to get a new job, but I kept thinking what’s the point, I’m going to be in prison anyway.”

“I get it. After all this happened, I unloaded on my friends, and things seemed okay. But a few weeks later, I kept thinking someone was watching me. I’m sure it was in my head, but I couldn’t shake it. That’s why I jumped at the chance to move into my aunt’s place. Someone had to help get her things in order, and it gave me a chance to escape my life, except that didn’t work out.”

I cleared my throat, a trick I’d learned from Cross. “I don’t mean to eavesdrop,” I said, even though that was the entire reason I’d been camped out in the same conference room, pretending to work on the list for O’Connell. “But it’s a tiny room. You said you thought someone was watching you.”

Violet nodded.

“Do you remember any workers in the area? Maybe a cleaning crew or mold removal services?”

“I have no idea.”

“What about a blue pickup?” I found a photo on Castel’s website and showed it to her. “Have you seen this before?”

“I think so, but there’s probably a bunch of them servicing the city.”

“There’s only one.” I showed her a photo of Castel. “Do you recognize him?”

“He looks like a lot of guys.” She looked me in the eye. “He’s the one who did this, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Dustin said before I could reply.

“Did he hire those men to abduct me?” she asked.

“The police are determining the logistics as we speak. But you said you felt like you were being watched, and that it didn’t start until a few weeks after the incident,” I said.

“Uh-huh.”

“What about once you started staying at your aunt’s place?”

“Not so much, not at first, but I remember one day I was on my way back from picking up some things at my place and getting that creeped out feeling again. When it wouldn’t go away, I called Caleb to keep me company. He said he circled the neighborhood but didn’t see anyone and figured I was imagining it. After that, everything was okay until he came to warn me about you.”

“Why did Violet’s friend want to warn her about you?” Dustin asked me.

“Miscommunication,” I said.

“It’s because we thought you were a killer,” she said.

“Oh,” Dustin said. “That tracks.”

“Do you remember what day that happened?” I asked.

“Not really. It was a Sunday. I remember because Caleb was off work. It must have been about two months ago. It was raining that day.”

I entered the details into a text message and sent it to the office. I didn’t remember how many Sundays it had rained in the last few months, but with any luck, there were only one or two dates. That would make it easier to pinpoint and pull security footage and DOT feeds. “Do you remember what time it was when you headed back to your aunt’s place?”

“I’d say around four,” Violet said.

“Great.” I sent the message. “If someone was following you, we may be able to spot him on the footage.”

“You mean the mold removal guy,” she said.

“That would be my guess.”

Forty-five

I stood in the back corner, staring at Dave Huttley. Thompson and O’Connell were seated in front of him. We’d already gone over everything with Craig Letterman, who’d easily identified Rodney Castel and told us everything about the man’s business, their interactions at the office, the socializing they did outside of work, and how Castel had been to their office a few times in the last week.

Letterman had shut up when asked about the creative ways they kept their books, and he had nothing to say or add when asked again about the drone, the drugs, and the numerous attempts and threats on my life and Violet’s. He insisted he had nothing to do with any of that, and he stuck to his story.

Dave Huttley appeared to be the appropriate level of concerned. He had hired an attorney who sat beside him, guiding him through the questions. After exchanging a few whispers, Huttley spoke up. “I’ll admit we keep two sets of books, but it’s not because we’re dealing drugs or anything else for that matter. A lot of times, clients are willing to pay us under the table. It’s how we avoid taxes and how we often choose to pay our contractors. Some of them don’t necessarily have the proper documents necessary to perform the jobs they are more than capable of handling. That’s the only reason we do things that way.”

“The IRS won’t be pleased,” Thompson said.

“That’s the least of my worries right now. I want you to understand the drone you found and the drugs in the wall aren’t mine. I don’t even know how something like that could get into the wall.”

O’Connell scanned a copy of the ledger. “You pay Rodney Castel a lot of money. I never realized mold was such an insidious thing. It must be everywhere.”

“Clients point it out to me. Most of the time, it looks like built-up dust or mildew, but they insist I have an expert review it. Rodney’s our guy.”

“The clients insist?” I asked.

Huttley looked at me. “People like Baron Wells don’t want guests to complain or sue if a health condition is triggered by mold spores. Some of the offices we clean have a similar theory, fearing workers could sue if they are exposed to toxins. I don’t know. We’re the clean-up guys, but this has turned into a major concern in the last eighteen months. I’m guessing there must have been some kind of article or interview that gained a ton of attention and made people flip out. I don’t really know. I also don’t really care. They pay us, and I pay Rodney. We get a percentage of his fee, so it’s a nice bonus. The only extra work we have is cleaning up after he finishes a job.”

“What does that entail?” O’Connell asked.

“Lots of dusting and vacuuming. Wiping up drywall and sawdust. Stuff like that.”

“Did Rodney Castel do any work in your office?” I asked. “Is that why he was there so much this past week?”

“He gave us a free assessment half a year ago,” Huttley said. “A pipe had burst behind the wall. He came in with fans and made sure everything was nice and dry after the plumbers fixed the pipe. He’s been back this week to reassess and make sure we don’t have a problem. He called it a professional courtesy.”

“Have you ever left him unattended in your office?” O’Connell asked.

“Sometimes. When he’s working, we tell him to lock up. That’s about it. We know this guy. We’ve been working with him for ages.”

“He’s been out drinking with you guys too. You socialize. He’s a friend. Someone who has your back,” Thompson said. “Someone you’d help out of a jam.”

“Sure,” Huttley said.

O’Connell reached across the table and took the pad Huttley had scribbled on. “This is the list of places where Castel performed jobs for you.” He scanned the list. “And these are the dates?”

“That should be everything, based on the printouts you showed me from our records. I don’t know any of that off the top of my head,” Huttley said.

The attorney sighed. “I want it noted that my client is cooperating. That he has answered your questions and has even admitted to the only crime he is committing. You can’t seriously be charging him with attempted murder. What you have is circumstantial at best.”

“That’s why we’re having this little chat,” Thompson said. “We were hoping he could make things clear for us. The more he says, the better his odds of getting to see his son without armed guards monitoring their exchanges.”

Huttley shrunk in on himself. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“Do you know where Castel is now or where he might be?” O’Connell asked.

“You think he did these terrible things you’re accusing me of,” Huttley said.

“Once we find him, we’ll ask him. But we have to find him first.”

“He said he had to check on the Lennox place.”

O’Connell pushed the paper toward him. “I’ll need the address.”

After exiting the interrogation room, O’Connell sent officers to track down Rodney Castel and bring him in for questioning. A warrant was in the works for his apartment, and a surveillance team was keeping an eye out in case he returned. The evidence I’d been able to provide, along with whatever else Cross had turned over, and the statements made by everyone involved were more than enough for a judge to let the police take a look. But things were slow to get moving.

O’Connell sat down, eyeing Dustin and Violet in the conference room. “They make a cute couple.”

“They aren’t together,” I said.

“Not yet. Give it another forty-eight hours. They went through a trauma. It will bond them.”

“She thought he was a killer.”

“Maybe she likes bad boys,” Thompson suggested.

“Guys, how about we focus on what really matters?”

Thompson chuckled. “You don’t think love matters? I’m amazed Martin puts up with you.”

“Me too,” I said.

O’Connell rolled his eyes. “Fine, let’s get back to it. What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know yet, but we have yet to figure out who’s supplying the drugs. The Tidy Two won’t say. Marcusi and Malone won’t talk. And the expense reports and books we’ve found don’t spell it out for us,” I said. “Frankly, I don’t necessarily care where they came from as long as whoever supplied them doesn’t come after me.”

“Self-centered too.” Thompson shook his head. “I really don’t get it.”

“Neither do I.” My phone buzzed, and I opened the message Cross had sent. It contained a video file. Upon pressing play, I immediately realized what he’d found. “Turns out Castel was stalking Violet. She said someone was watching her, but she never saw him.”

“She overlooked the work truck,” O’Connell said. “A lot of people do.” He took the phone from my hand and watched the footage. “This is from a few months ago. He’s been keeping her in his sights that long.”

“He must have had a reason,” I said. “I’m guessing he didn’t want to end up in prison.” I reminded O’Connell of the intel I’d found on Dustin hidden inside Castel’s apartment. “Originally, I thought Castel might try to extort the family to get Dustin released.”

“He may have figured having Violet come forward would be enough,” O’Connell said.

“That would explain why Marcusi and Malone were hired to take her and not kill her,” Thompson said.

“Castel was with them when they arrived. He must have hired them.” I looked at O’Connell. “Can I have a chat with Malone?” I’d already tried my luck with Marcusi. It was time I gave door number two a chance.

“I don’t see what good that’s going to do. They won’t talk, but Cross Security is so involved in the investigation, there is no point in keeping you out of it. I’ll run it by Moretti, but as long as the LT’s good with it, I’m good with it,” O’Connell said.

“Great.” I waited, mentally running through whatever lies and leverage I could use to get Malone to talk.

As soon as O’Connell gave me the okay, I headed for the interrogation room. Joey Malone was waiting inside. He still didn’t appear to recognize me, but he had no reason to know who I was. He hadn’t followed me to Violet’s. He’d been taken there by Castel, who already knew about Violet and me.

“Mr. Malone,” I flipped the chair around and straddled it, “does anyone ever get you confused with the guy on Cheers?”

“Which guy?”

I shook my head. “Never mind.” The public defender gave me a curious look, but he was content to see where I planned to take this. Most cops who conducted interviews didn’t start with such a clever icebreaker. “I’m Alex Parker, by the way.” I gave him my winning smile. “I’m a former federal agent who has been assisting on a murder investigation which oddly enough connects to that pathetic kidnapping attempt.”

“I didn’t kill anyone. I’ve never killed anyone,” Malone said.

“I didn’t say you did, but there were three of you in the SUV that afternoon. Only two of you went to pay Violet Hemming a visit.”

“Allegedly,” the public defender said.

“If that will make you happy, then sure. Allegedly. But there’s nothing alleged about it. I was there. I saw you when you arrived, and I watched the three of you get out of the vehicle. You and Marcusi went to Violet’s. Your friend circled around.” I held the smile. “I was the one who shot at you.”

“Shit,” Malone said.

The attorney looked increasingly uncomfortable.

“Allegedly,” I said before he could voice a protest. “Except, again, those weren’t alleged bullets. They were actual bullets which the crime lab pulled out of the actual SUV your client was driving.” I waved my hand dismissively. “But I’m not here about any of that. In fact, I have friends in all sorts of places. That’s what happens when you’re a federal agent. You meet the most interesting people and do a lot of interesting jobs. Since Violet wasn’t injured, the damage to her aunt’s property was kept to a minimum, and I survived your friend assaulting me, I may be able to convince the prosecutor’s office to drop the charges and have my friends in the police department give you a pass on this one. What do you say?”

“Why would you do that?” the attorney asked.

“You know why.”

“She’s after a bigger fish.” Malone wasn’t stupid. “The thing is I’m no snitch.”

“Your friend is in a lot of trouble.”

Malone snorted. “Too bad you don’t know who he is.” He glanced at the attorney. “Allegedly.”

“That’s not really how you use the word in this scenario,” I said.

“But—” Malone tried to argue, but I kept going.

“His name is Rodney Castel. He masquerades around as a guy who gets rid of mold and moisture. A real hero, except when he’s buying weapons and committing assaults and murders. So if you don’t want to cooperate, maybe I’ll spin things the other way. Those friends I mentioned would be just as happy painting you as an accomplice. Maybe I should tell you about some of the charges Mr. Castel is currently facing and you can decide if you want to be associated with those instead.” I ticked them off on my fingers as I went. “Murder. Assault. Possession with intent.”

“Stop,” Malone said. He leaned over and spoke to his attorney.

“We’ll need something in writing. You aren’t a cop. You have no standing here. The promises you make mean nothing. Get my client a deal, and he’ll tell you whatever he allegedly knows about Mr. Castel and their alleged dealings.”

I smiled. “See, Joey, that’s how you use the word allegedly.”

Forty-six

“Is it over?” Cross asked when I returned to his office later that night. “Did the police arrest that son of a bitch?”

“That’s where O’Connell and Thompson were heading. They didn’t want me to stick around and gloat. They said I should go home and get some sleep. That I look like death warmed over.”

Cross gestured to the bar cart, but I shook my head. “Almeada sent over that bottle as a thank you.”

“I thought he hired me.”

“He doesn’t know what you drink,” Cross said. “I don’t either, so I told him to stick with gin. And I’d get you something nice.”

“What would that be?”

“How about a bonus? You’re the reason we signed Bob Priestly. I’ll give you ten percent on that account.”

“Which you can apply against the debt I owe you. Somehow, you always figure out a way to make everything work for you.”

He smirked and sipped his drink. “I’ll take you for tacos.”

“Rain check.” I sighed. “This is over, but it’s still a mess. Dustin went through hell, so did Violet.”

“At least no one tried to kill us.” Cross snorted. “Oh wait.”

“I’m not used to seeing you in such a good mood. Is this what happens when you bag a new client? Or is this because you solved a homicide?”

“This isn’t our first. You’ve done too many of these since coming to work here. Let’s take a break from murder for a while.”

“This was all Almeada.”

“Next time, it won’t be. So just don’t.”

I yawned. “Whatever you say, boss.”

“You sound like Justin. Get the hell out of here. Go home. Get some sleep. Take half a day tomorrow. I’ll see you after lunch.”

“Wow, a whole half a day.”

He rolled his eyes. “You look like you could use the sleep. I know I could.” He stopped me before I could leave his office. “Have the police worked everything out?”

“Castel hired Marcusi and Malone and took them to pick up Violet. Malone said he didn’t know why they were grabbing her. All he knew was that they weren’t supposed to rough her up too much. My guess would be Castel planned to threaten her or deliver her to Bob Priestly in exchange for a hefty sum in the hopes that would be enough to have the case dismissed.”

“Castel feared you were getting too close.”

“That’d be my guess.”

Cross nodded. “Castel had eyes on the rental the entire time. Once you went poking around, he must have run the plates and found them registered to Cross Security and put two and two together.”

“Any excuse to keep me from using a company car ever again,” I said.

“I’m still considering whether you should have access to expensive company equipment. Anyway, I’d say that’s when all that started.” He quirked his head to the side. “What’s wrong?”

“I still can’t figure out if he killed Sydney or if the Tidy Two did her in. Castel must have hidden the body in the freezer chest in the basement. When the place got rented out, he went back to move the body and decided to frame the guest. I just wish I knew why.”

“She must have seen something.” Cross reminded me of her proximity to the Tidy Two and their shared breakfast place. “Or she heard something.”

“We’ll never know.”

“The Tidy Two did work in that neighborhood. I made some calls. I’d say they were moving product.”

“Who did you call? Your drug dealer?”

Cross grinned. “Freddy couldn’t be certain, but I sent him photos of the pills you found in the wall with the dealer’s stamp. He was pretty sure those were getting sold around lower income areas and raves. Nothing high end. None of the designer shit he’s used to handling.”

“So Sydney saw a pickup or exchange, overheard the Tidy Two discussing it, and ended up dead because of it.”

“It happens a lot,” Cross said.

“I know.” But I’d seen the interrogation and had spoken to Letterman and Huttley before they were arrested. They were cagey, but if they were engaged in tax evasion, that may have been why. Their denials about the drone parts and the bag of pills in the wall sounded sincere. Was I losing my mind? “The only thing I don’t get is why they had a bag of pills stashed in their wall. They didn’t have easy access. It was a stupid place to keep them.”

“I’d say it was brilliant. If authorities caught on and raided the place, they wouldn’t break through the walls looking.”

“But it was one bag. The inventory wasn’t that large. The payday on that would have been decent but not astronomical. It was MDMA, not an opioid. Street value’s a few thousand, not hundreds of thousands.”

“Maybe they were skimming and selling on the side,” Cross suggested.

“Did Freddy tell you who they may have been slinging dope for?”

“Only low-level dealers operate out of that neighborhood. Even if the drugs trickled down from a cartel, by the time they reached our guys, there would be so many disconnects that we have nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“You’ve said a lot of things to me on this case that turned out not to be accurate. Why should I trust you now?”

Cross glared at me. “Good night, Alex. Go home. That’s an order.”

“Night, Lucien.”

Before leaving the office, I sent a text to Bruiser to ask where Martin was sleeping tonight. Asking Martin directly would have resulted in too many questions, and I had to prepare for the inquisition that was sure to come from my odd behavior these last few days.

The apartment, Bruiser replied. I tried, but he won’t listen. He wants a shorter commute. He doesn’t believe you’ll meet him at home.

I’m heading there now. Won’t he be surprised? After sending that reply, I put my phone away. I couldn’t remember the last time I slept long enough for it to count as something more than a nap. The last time I had tried to sleep, I had that panic attack. So I was already running on fumes. Having a serious conversation at the present wasn’t advisable, but Martin would want to talk. He always wanted to talk. It would bother him until we had it out.

I ran over a few talking points in my head, but I couldn’t rehearse this conversation. All I could tell him was that I had to save my client and feared things would take a turn. Eventually, the gruesome details would come out. I tried to remember what Martin already knew, but I couldn’t recall what I’d said to him. I’d told so many people things about this case that I’d lost track. Next time, I’d have to keep a notebook or make myself a voice recording.

When I arrived at our apartment building, it was dusk. The street lights had come on, and everything was that calm blue. Not dark or light. Just blue.

Dragging myself across the street, I was almost to the front door when a parked pickup truck on the corner caught my eye. No, no, no.

It was dark enough that I couldn’t make out many details about the truck, but I called O’Connell anyway. When my call went to voicemail, I hit the disconnect and hurried to speak to the doorman.

“What’s with the truck?” Neighborhoods like this didn’t see a lot of vehicles like that.

“Building maintenance needed help getting some work done.”

“Mold?” I asked.

“A leak,” the doorman said. “Let’s hope it doesn’t get to the point of mold.”

“Shit.” I raced for the elevator, but when it didn’t immediately open, I made a mad dash for the stairs. Twenty-one floors was a lot, but Martin and I liked to run them for fun. With all that training, I’d get up them quickly enough. Right now, every second counted.

As soon as I reached the top, I gulped down air and phoned O’Connell again. “He’s here. Castel is here. My apartment. Hurry.” When I reached my apartment door, I found it open.

Ice ran through my veins. Pushing the door open, I moved silently inside. The lights were on. We didn’t have a lot of knickknacks or gadgets, but the place looked like it had been tossed. Some of the kitchen cabinets were open. The cushions were off the couch. A closet door was ajar.

Keeping my head on a swivel, I moved through the main room of our one-bedroom, wondering what Castel hoped to find and praying he had left. What if he found Martin?

Bruiser would have escorted Martin upstairs. At the first sign of trouble, Bruiser would have investigated. There would have been a fight, but I didn’t see any blood. My heart hammered so hard in my chest I figured the neighbors could hear it.

Our apartment wasn’t very large. The only enclosed rooms were the bedroom and attached bathroom. However, I tried to force myself to move methodically and check everywhere. The kitchen was clear, same for the living room. I moved past the balcony door, noting the lock remained in place. No one was outside, unless they’d been locked out there.

Entering the bedroom, I found more signs someone had been here. The closet had been searched. Half of Martin’s wardrobe lay in a heap on the floor, the rest haphazardly clinging to the hangers. The drawers were open and the bed unmade. The mattress was hanging off one side, as if it had been lifted and dropped back into place. What was this guy hoping to find?

I moved into the bathroom, finding everything covered in plastic sheeting. The vanity was open. The shower was empty. I turned, glimpsing movement in the sliver of mirror viewable from the open vanity. My gun had been leading the way, but our bathroom was small. Too small.

Rodney Castel had been hiding behind the bathroom door. Once I was deep enough into the room, he shoved the door forward, hitting me with it and forcing my gun to drop onto the counter. I moved to grab it, but he had a knife. Knives in gunfights were pointless except in close-quarters situations. And this was definitely close-quarters.

He slashed at me, forcing me to jump back, away from the gun. He didn’t make a move for it. Instead, he continued to come for me, lunging and stabbing in my direction.

“Why couldn’t you back off?” He slashed at me again, forcing me to weave and jump to avoid the blade. “You had every chance. I gave you every chance.”

“I’m stubborn,” I said.

He sliced the air, catching the upper part of my arm when I didn’t move far enough out of the way. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The evidence you have. Your notes. Whatever it is you have against me. Where the fuck is it?”

“The police have it. They have everything. It’s over. You’re caught.” I kept my eyes on him, swaying and moving to stay away from the swinging blade. “Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t have a choice, like now. You left me with no other choice. I tried to make this painless. Why couldn’t you have been asleep that night?”

“You made the drone?” I kept my hands up and my body in a defensive fighting stance, unsure how to fight back with the wild swings he kept taking. There had to be something I could use to block the blade.

“I wanted it to be painless. I’m not a sadist. I thought that would be more merciful.” He raised the blade and rushed me. I delivered a push kick to his sternum, forcing him back toward the door.

Grabbing a towel off the rack, I gripped both ends, twisting it and hoping to use it to avoid the swinging blade piercing my flesh. “Is that why you strangled Sydney after she was passed out?”

“She didn’t feel it,” he said, pain or remorse creeping into his voice. “I didn’t want to do it.”

“There’s always a choice. Put the knife down. Let’s talk this out.”

My words renewed the fire in him. He let out a scream and charged, knife raised in the air. He tried to jab it into me, but I looped the towel around his arm, slowing the blade, and twisting away from it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in the right position to flip him, and I didn’t have the upper body strength needed to do it with nothing but sheer muscle and determination. Instead, I twisted harder, spinning back toward him and hoping to elbow him.

But I’d miscalculated by getting so close. He used his empty hand to grab the towel and yank it away from me, using my own momentum against me. I released the other end, spinning myself into the shower wall while he stumbled backward.

“Why did you kill her?” I asked, hoping the question would make him angry and sloppy.

“She knew what we were doing.”

“We?”

He rushed me again, the blade slicing down the front of my shoulder. Any closer, and he would have gotten my neck. I kicked into his upper leg, where his thigh connected to his pelvis. Castel hinged forward, an oof escaping his lips. I followed that with a knee toward his chin, which I hoped would put him down. Instead, he sliced across, catching my shirt and my stomach with the tip of the blade.

The sting reminded me to be more careful, but it threw off my balance. I crashed to the hard tile, the impact more jarring than the knife. He gripped the blade in both hands, towering over me as he planned to plunge it into my chest.

Digging my heels in, I pushed myself backward, sliding across the tile and wedging my body between the vanity and toilet. The force of his intended move made him tilt forward, and I kicked him hard in the shin before twisting and performing a leg sweep. He landed hard, and I used that opportunity to grab the toilet tank lid.

I swung for his skull, feeling the porcelain solidly connect as something ice cold drove upward into my side. Fire followed, burning, even as Castel collapsed in an unconscious heap.

Looking down, I saw the growing red amidst the pre-existing crimson smears. The hilt of the knife lay nearly flat against my stomach. I made it three steps toward the door, recovering my gun from the sink, before I tripped on the plastic sheeting and landed in the doorway.

Forty-seven

“Stay here.” Bruiser’s voice traveled. That wasn’t his usual soft rumble. That was an order, one that was loud enough to rouse me out of the fog. I’d been staring at Rodney Castel for an indeterminate amount of time, confident that I’d shoot him if he moved. So far, he hadn’t, but I wasn’t sure how well I’d been watching either.

“In here,” I called, my own voice breathy. Was it always this hard to breathe?

“Parker?” Bruiser appeared in the doorway, his weapon out.

“Restrain him. I called the police, but they’re slow.”

“Is he the only one?” Bruiser asked.

“I hope so.”

Bruiser pulled zip ties from his back pocket, bound Castel’s wrists and ankles, and dragged him a few inches so he could fasten another set of ties to the exposed pipes. Once he was convinced Castel wasn’t going anywhere, he checked his pulse.

“Is he dead?” I asked.

“No.”

“What about me?”

“I’ll leave that determination up to the professionals.” Bruiser knelt beside me, ripping the bottom of my shirt to expose the slashes without disturbing the lodged blade. Fashioning a gauze donut to keep the knife from moving, he grabbed the rest of the medical supplies we had in the cabinet. “Hang in there.”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Martin entered the bedroom. “Alex?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“She’s not,” Bruiser said.

“Judas.” I winced as he slid me out of the bathroom and away from the bastard who’d inflicted the damage. Once I was in the bedroom, Bruiser remained in the doorway, calling 9-1-1 and informing them what happened while Martin tended to me.

Martin knelt at my side, unsure how to proceed. Bruiser had performed damage control on the worst of it, but the less crucial slash marks continued to bleed. Martin brushed my hair back, kissing me quickly, which stole what little breath I had left. The world dimmed. “Alexis, hey, I’m here. Everything’s okay now.”

I snorted, tears coming to my eyes. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Martin lifted my head into his lap, his eyes on my side and the soppy donut bandage while he called for help. He wasn’t calling 9-1-1. I wasn’t sure who he was calling. I didn’t even care. All I wanted to know was why Castel killed Sydney Breeding.

Seconds later, emergency services raided our apartment. Patrol officers secured the scene and kept an eye on Castel while EMTs assessed my injuries first. They didn’t ask questions, at least none that I remembered, but I was losing consciousness fast.

Everything dimmed. Martin remained near, but all I wanted was to tell him to put some distance between us. An entire continent or ocean would have been good, but the words never left my lips. I was out as soon as the needle went into my arm.

*       *       *

Martin had squeezed into the hospital bed beside me. I remained on my back. The slice across my stomach had been superficial. The ones on my shoulder and upper arm required more than a band-aid. A couple stitches here, some glue there. I could be an arts and crafts project. The worst was that final stick. But the doctors said I’d been lucky. The blade lodged against the underside of my ribs, missing my lung by mere millimeters. However, the resulting fluid build-up had made breathing difficult. If the paramedics hadn’t arrived when they did, things could have ended up a lot worse.

For now, I was stuck here, under observation for the next forty-eight hours before I could go home. But I didn’t want to go home. This time was too close. If Martin had gotten home before I did, I didn’t want to think what would have happened.

“Stop that,” Martin said from where his forehead was pressed against my temple. “Don’t spiral. Don’t.”

“You’re not psychic,” I said. “The only reason you know what I’m thinking is because you’re thinking the same thing.”

“I’m thinking the same thing because I know you, not because I believe any of it.”

“What if—”

“Bruiser would have been there. He would have handled it. We would have handled it.”

“I had a gun, Martin. But that didn’t matter.”

He kissed my cheek, wiping a stray tear from my eye with his thumb. “I’m not saying you couldn’t handle it, but that doesn’t mean I need you to save me. We are not going back to square one. We’ve come too far for this. I love you too much. We’ll work through it. We’ve done it before. We’ll do it again.”

“Sell the apartment. I don’t ever want to see that place again.”

“Okay. We’ll find something else.”

“Don’t you dare put my name on it. That’s how he found it. That’s how he got inside. No amount of security is a hundred percent. We’ve had too many problems because of it. I won’t sign anything. Not again. Not ever.”

“Alex…” Martin had insisted we own the property together. He wanted something tangible and legal that would inextricably tie us together. He was afraid I’d walk and wanted a way of stopping that from happening.

“Please.”

He kissed me again. “We’ll discuss it later.”

Even though I’d won the fight, I felt like I’d lost the war. When I couldn’t take staring at the ceiling any longer, I reached for the remote, hissing when something internal caught.

Martin gave the IV bag a look. “Are you sure you don’t want a hit of morphine?”

“No,” I said. “I just want to watch cartoons.”

“I hear they’re better when you’re high.”

I laughed, which made the sting sharper. “No.”

Martin climbed out of bed, figuring the extra space would help the situation. But it didn’t. It only made me miss the physical proximity.

“We have to find a better solution,” I said.

“If Lucien ever put that damn tech to use instead of dicking around with prototypes—”

“I’ll work on having that expedited,” my boss said from the doorway.

I looked in his direction. “Even in a hospital, you still pull off the same tricks. I’m putting a bell on you. Maybe some kind of alarm that triggers my phone whenever you get within a hundred feet of me.”

Cross snorted, placing a bag of tacos on the tray beside my bed. “I told you to take half a day, not half the week. You’ll do anything for a few extra days off.” He nodded to Martin. “I’d love to have a chat about production. Do you have any time this week to discuss?”

Martin looked at me, but I was too busy trying to snag the bag of tacos off the tray table to be of any use to anyone. “Call the office and tell them I said to pencil you in for Friday.”

“I’ll do that.” Cross pushed the tray table over, so it hovered above my lap. “Have you spoken to O’Connell or Jacobs?”

I nodded while I smoothed the wrapper against the table and reached for the sour cream packet. Hot sauce wasn’t recommended at the present. “You were right about the Tidy Two and Sydney, at least that’s what Castel admitted. Castel said the three of them were running the operation themselves, using the rentals to move product and make a profit, but Sydney saw them make a pickup from their supplier. They told Castel, who sought her out and tried to honeytrap her. They went to that sports bar, got her extremely drunk, and when she passed out, Castel finished her off. The bartender remembered seeing them there, and Jacobs found footage. She’d been dead a few days before she was discovered, but they’d been keeping her refrigerated in that freezer.”

“Not frozen?” Martin asked.

“The freezer didn’t work that well,” Cross said. “It’d get cold but not below freezing.”

“According to the ME, that may have slowed decomposition without causing the obvious signs she’d been thawed.” I took a bite, savoring the taco. “After that, Castel became paranoid. He wanted to create his own insurance policies. He had plans to leverage everyone, from Dustin’s family to framing the Tidy Two. He thought if things got really bad, he’d do everything he could to make them go down for the murder.”

“DOT footage showed his truck near their office,” Cross said. “He stowed the drone parts there before he attacked us.”

“The police aren’t certain, but they think Castel left the drugs with Sydney on purpose and put the bag in the wall of the Tidy Two’s office when that first happened in case the police made the connection so he could pin everything on them.”

“But they never realized it.” Cross helped himself to a taco, ignoring my glare. “But we did.”

Martin ran his fingers through my hair to get my attention. “I’ll call the realtor. Don’t go anywhere while I’m gone.”

“I won’t.”

He gave me a look like he didn’t believe me. “We’ll talk about that later too.” He nodded to Lucien. “You and I will chat on Friday.” His tone told me I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near that. After all, I already had enough of a scolding.

Cross waited for Martin to leave before he sat in the chair. “What’s that about? Are you moving?”

“The only thing I want to do is run as fast and far away as humanly possible.”

“From this job?”

“From Martin.”

Cross squinted at me. “Is there a reason for that?”

I gestured to my side.

“Suck it up, Alex. Anything worth doing comes with risks. He knows that. And you absolutely know that. Love isn’t any different.”

“That’s why you live thousands of miles away from Jade.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

Cross exhaled. “Because we’re going to get there. One of these days, she’ll have accomplished what she needs to, and I’ll be ready. But being together is our goal. You’ve already gotten there. Don’t fuck it up.” He cracked a smile. “That’s an order.”

Note from the Author:

No matter what case Alex is assigned, she always finds herself in trouble. It follows her around like a stray. But she continues to persevere and hopefully learn from her past mistakes.

Thank you so much for giving this book a try. I truly hope you found it exciting and that it kept you entertained. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. I wouldn’t be able to continue writing these characters without you and your support. 

See what’s next for Alexis Parker in Dark Truths (Alexis Parker #28):

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Amazon AU

*       *       *

Looking for a holiday treat? Check out James Martin’s Holiday Shopping Guide, a fun novella set during the winter shopping season and filled with fun surprises for Alex as the couple tries to celebrate the holidays. This isn’t the typical mystery/thriller and is written entirely from James Martin’s perspective:

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Amazon AU

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

G.K. Parks is the author of the Alexis Parker series. The first novel, Likely Suspects, tells the story of Alexis’ first foray into the private sector.

G.K. Parks received a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science and History. After spending some time in law school, G.K. changed paths and earned a Master of Arts in Criminology/Criminal Justice. Now all that education is being put to use creating a fictional world based upon years of study and research.

You can find additional information on G.K. Parks and the Alexis Parker series by visiting our website at

www.alexisparkerseries.com

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Full-length Novels in the Alexis Parker Series:

Likely Suspects

The Warhol Incident

Mimicry of Banshees

Suspicion of Murder

Racing Through Darkness

Camels and Corpses

Lack of Jurisdiction

Dying for a Fix

Intended Target

Muffled Echoes

Crisis of Conscience

Misplaced Trust

Whitewashed Lies

On Tilt

Purview of Flashbulbs

The Long Game

Burning Embers

Thick Fog

Warning Signs

Past Crimes

Sinister Secret

Zero Sum

Buried Alive

Trouble Brewing

Balance Due

Hostage Situation

Damage Control

Dark Truths

Liv DeMarco Novels

Dangerous Stakes

Operation Stakeout

Unforeseen Danger

Deadly Dealings

High Risk

Fatal Mistake

Imminent Threat

Mistaken Identity

Malicious Intent

Controlled Burn

Lucien Cross Novels

Fallen Angel

Calculated Risk

Light Them Up

Champagne Problems

Knife’s Edge

Julian Mercer Novels

Condemned

Betrayal

Subversion

Reparation

Retaliation

Hunting Grounds

Lexie Sarconi Novels

Burglary Blues

Break-ins and Bouquets

Compromised Undercover

Killer Getaway