Jeremy switched lanes without comment. She directed him through downtown, past the courthouse and the convention center to where the skyscrapers petered out. Their surroundings got seedier and seedier, and then the street she was looking for came into view.
“Take a left at the next intersection.”
He made the turn, and Kira scanned the buildings. She hadn’t been in this neighborhood in months. A yellow sign came into view advertising bail bonds in both English and Spanish.
“Ollie’s office is in the two-story brown building. See?”
“Yeah.”
“You can park here on the right.”
Ollie’s building was the next one down, a 1970s walk-up, and his office was directly above a Korean restaurant. No signage anywhere because Ollie didn’t believe in advertising. He got his business purely through referrals.
Jeremy sailed past the building, and Kira looked at him.
“Why didn’t you stop?”
“It’s under surveillance.”
“What?” She glanced over her shoulder.
“Gray Taurus. One block south.”
He was right. Kira saw a man’s silhouette behind the wheel of the car. How had she missed that?
Jeremy braked at a stoplight, and Kira checked the side mirror.
“Looks like a cop,” she said.
“Maybe.”
A black car slowed in front of Ollie’s building. It was an unmarked four-door with a spotlight mounted to the windshield—clearly a police unit. The sedan parked in front of the building, and a pair of detectives got out, along with a uniformed officer holding a long black tool that looked like a crowbar.
“What do you want to do?” Jeremy asked.
“Keep going.”
The light turned green, and Kira watched in the mirror as the cops filed up the metal staircase to Ollie’s office.
She felt a surge of outrage. “Are they going to break down the door?”
“Maybe they have a warrant.”
Kira looked ahead, picturing them jimmying open Ollie’s door and going through his things. Just the thought of it made her irate.
“I have a key,” she said.
“Want me to go back?”
“No. I’ll come back later.” She glanced at him, not sure why she’d told him that. Not sure why she trusted him at all.
All she knew was that she didn’t want to go in with the cops there. When she went through Ollie’s belongings, she didn’t want police looking over her shoulder. Or trying to prevent her from doing it. Yes, she had a key to his office, but her name wasn’t on the lease, and she wasn’t officially his business partner. Legally, it was a gray area. Kira encountered those a lot, and she’d learned it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
“How’d you get into this?”
She looked at Jeremy. “What, PI work?”
“Yeah.”
“I was a court runner while I was in college at U of H. It’s like a bike messenger, running docs around town between the law firms and courthouses. I met Ollie at one of the firms.”
“So you knew him a while?”
“Six years. We’ve been working together the last three.” Her chest tightened. It seemed like ages ago, but it really wasn’t such a long time.
Ollie had spotted her when she’d been at loose ends and frustrated, in a dead-end job that paid the bills but barely allowed her to keep her head above water. Kira had once planned on going to law school, but the more lawyers she saw up close, the more she realized she didn’t want to be one. Ollie had noticed she had an eye for detail and a knack for talking herself into places where she had no business being. He told her she’d be good at detective work.
Kira looked out the window as the buildings whisked by. She checked her watch. “I’m definitely going to be late now.”
Jeremy didn’t comment, and she snuck a glance at him again. His eyes were squinty behind the sunglasses, and his mouth was set in a firm line. He looked to be in dire need of some sleep.
They pulled into the police station at two twenty. He swung into a visitor’s space, then reached into the back of his truck and rummaged through a duffel bag, pulling out a gray flannel shirt. To conceal his holster? Probably. It was ninety-five degrees out, so that had to be it. He slid his arms into the sleeves, and she watched his long fingers move deftly over the buttons.
Jeremy scanned their surroundings as he accompanied her across the lot to the building. When they entered the lobby, Kira stopped to let her eyes adjust to the dimness.
“Where to?” Jeremy asked, peeling off his shades.
“My interview’s on three,” she said. “And FYI, they’re never going to let you up with that gun.”
“I’ll wait in the lobby.”
She glanced around. The visitors here covered the spectrum, with people in everything from cutoff shorts to business suits, plus an array of cops from various jurisdictions.
She turned to Jeremy, who was watching her closely.
“Well, I should be plenty safe here.” She smiled, but he didn’t smile back. “You can probably take off if you’ve got stuff to do.”
“I’m not taking off.”
“Really, it could get tedious. I was here for five hours last night.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Suit yourself.”
She left him by the door and crossed to the front desk, where she checked in and was directed through security. She rode the elevator up, thinking about Jeremy.
He didn’t fit her idea of a private bodyguard. For one thing, he had a boulder-size chip on his shoulder about something. She didn’t get the sense that it had to do with her, but who knew? Maybe he’d wanted to be assigned to a hotshot like Logan, who worked in a luxury office and went out for martini lunches. Any danger that arose would likely be directed at him. His house had been targeted last night, and everything indicated that this threat, whatever it was, had something to do with his case.
Which Kira was now working on.
She pictured Ollie’s colorless face as he lay bleeding on that floor. She felt a wave of queasiness and tried to shake it off as the elevator slid open.
Detective Spears stood waiting by a row of chairs, arms crossed. She wore a black pantsuit and heels, giving her several inches on the detective beside her.
“Ms. Vance, so glad you could make it,” she said pointedly. “You remember Detective Alex Diaz.”
“Hi.” Kira nodded at the detective, who wore a dress shirt and a tie today instead of the jeans and golf shirt he’d had on last night.
Spears led the way down a familiar hallway and into an interview room. It was a different one from yesterday but furnished the same, with a laminate table and cheap plastic chairs.
“Can we get you some coffee? Water?” Spears checked her watch.
“No, thanks.”
Everyone sat, and Diaz pulled out a file folder. Kira looked the detective over. Short dark hair, clean shave, no rings. He was probably five years younger than Spears, which made him late twenties.
“We’ll get straight to it,” Spears said. “Our investigation is still in the preliminary stages, but everything indicates this was not a typical armed robbery.”
Kira suddenly wished she’d asked for that water.
“We’re treating it as a targeted hit,” Diaz said. He opened the folder in front of him and leveled a look at her.
“You don’t seem surprised,” Spears commented.
“Brock told me,” Kira said. “That’s why his firm hired security.”
“Yeah, we heard about that.” Spears looked at her partner.
“You think he’s overreacting?” Kira asked.