Liam walked her through the logistics, including the security system that would be installed at her house and monitored remotely. To Jeremy’s surprise, she didn’t push back on that at all.
Kira Vance was an odd mix. Quiet one minute. Opinionated the next. Her body language was all over the map—open, defensive, friendly, evasive. He got the feeling she was hiding something, but he didn’t know what.
Whatever it was, he’d find out.
Liam shot him a look, and Jeremy knew he’d picked up on it, too. Despite her seeming cooperation, Kira wasn’t on board with this plan, and that made her a wild card.
“And what about you guys?” she asked Liam.
“What about us?”
“You’ve got a whole crew of people covering us, round-the-clock surveillance, rolling shift changes. Are you guys local, or is this a traveling assignment?”
“We’re based about a hundred miles north of here in Cypress Springs. You know it?”
“I’ve driven through,” she said. “Not much to it.”
“We’re headquartered there, and we’ve got room to spread out. Simulations, firearms training, whatever we need to do. We’re on the road about forty weeks a year, and the rest of the time we’re training.”
“That’s a lot of travel.”
“Our agents are used to it,” Liam said. “In this case, we’ve got a block of rooms at an extended-stay motel near downtown.”
“Extended-stay.” She looked at Jeremy. “So does that mean you all will definitely be covering us through the Quinn trial?”
“Under the current plan, yes,” Liam said.
She didn’t look happy with this news, but she was done resisting. At least openly.
“That about covers it.” Liam checked his watch. “Do you have any more questions?”
“No.” She smiled. “Think I’m all set.”
“Good. Then I’ll leave you to it.” Liam stood and gave Jeremy a warning look before walking away. It was subtle, but Jeremy caught it because he’d been working with Liam for years.
Kira watched him go. Then she turned to Jeremy as he pulled out his wallet.
“Thanks for the ambush,” she said.
“Anytime. You ready?”
She wasn’t ready for any of this, but it looked like she was going to fake it.
“Absolutely.” She grabbed her bag. “Let’s go.”
Hunan Court was a narrow storefront between a lash studio and a high-end dog groomer called Mud Puppies.
“How do you want to play this?” Diaz asked. “You want me to go in there and ask for him?”
“Let’s wait,” Charlotte said, pausing by the grooming place. The window display featured an array of frosted dog treats that looked far more appetizing than the protein bar she’d had for lunch. “We need him away from his boss, so he’ll feel free to talk to us.”
She glanced up and down the sidewalk. At one end of the strip center was a dry cleaner, and at the other was a boutique coffee shop.
The restaurant door opened, and Ryan Conyers emerged. He held a pair of brown shopping bags in one hand and a cell phone in the other.
Diaz stepped forward. “Mr. Conyers.”
The kid glanced up, startled. His gaze jumped to Charlotte.
“Us again.” She beamed a smile at him. “Hope you don’t mind if we talk for a minute.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not supposed to—”
“We insist.” She stepped between him and the little blue hatchback with the delivery sign on top. “This shouldn’t take long. Let’s grab a seat over there.”
She and Diaz corralled him to the coffee shop, where they snagged a table under a red umbrella. Ryan looked uneasy as he set his bags on the table.
“I really have to get this delivery out.”
“We understand.” Charlotte sat down and pushed a chair toward him, and he gave her a wary look as he sank into it.
Ryan had long blond surfer locks, which went well with his sun-brown skin and faded Rip Curl T-shirt. Diaz was looking him over, probably noticing the pipe-size bulge in the pocket of his cargo shorts. He took a chair next to the witness, scooting it just a little too close for comfort.
“We checked out what you told us,” Diaz said. “According to your manager, you left the restaurant at six ten to make a delivery to three ninety-two Stone Brook Trail in River Oaks. The time’s printed on the order receipt.”
Ryan drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair. “That’s right.”
“You had a delivery before that.” Charlotte took out her notebook and flipped it open. “Three eighty-eighty Lark Street, one block over, correct? James and Lisa Macey.”
The kid paled under his tan.
“You remember who answered the door?” Charlotte asked.
“Uh, the woman who placed the order? Mrs. Macey?”
“Do you remember what time?”
“I don’t know.”
“You told the officer last night that you went immediately from that delivery to the Logan residence on Stone Brook,” Diaz said, “and that there were already police cars on the street.”
“Uh, I—”
“An officer saw you pull up at six fifty-two. That sound about right?”
He glanced from Diaz to Charlotte, total deer-in-the-headlights.
“We’re just curious about the timing,” Charlotte said. “Say it takes five minutes to get from here to River Oaks. Call it ten in traffic. That puts you at the Macey residence about six twenty.” She shrugged. “Seems to be a chunk missing in there.”
He swallowed.
“How long does it usually take you to make a delivery?” Diaz asked.
“About, I don’t know, ten minutes.”
“Ten? Really?” Charlotte tipped her head. “Even when a woman invites you inside?”
He looked at Diaz for help, but the detective just stared at him.
“Look, Ryan.” Charlotte leaned forward. “We don’t care what you and Mrs. Macey were doing in her bedroom—”
“It wasn’t her bedroom!” His voice cracked on the last word. “I swear. We were out by the pool.”
“Wasn’t it raining?” Charlotte looked at Diaz.
“Think so.” Diaz shook his head. “That doesn’t really add up, Ryan.”
“No, I swear. She has this big patio. She offered me a joint, and what was I supposed to do? She’s a good tipper.”
They watched him, letting his words hang there.
“Why’d you lie to us?” Charlotte asked.
“I didn’t. We hung out for, like, fifteen minutes, tops. I left before the sirens.”
Bingo. Charlotte looked at her partner.
The Maceys’ street backed right up to Logan’s. The shortest driving route between the two houses went straight down Lark Street, which was where detectives believed the killer had made his escape after fleeing through Logan’s back door and scaling the fence.
“Then what?” Charlotte asked.
“Then . . . I don’t know. I chilled in my car for a minute and checked some baseball scores and then headed over to Stone Brook. There were some sirens, and when I got there, there were already a couple cop cars in front of the address.”
Charlotte stared at him, trying to drill a hole into his soul, where she hoped he had some sort of a conscience.
“Come on, Ryan.” Diaz softened his tone. “Think about the timing. You had to have seen something.”
Ryan’s shoulders drooped, and Charlotte felt a surge of adrenaline.
“There was a guy, okay?” He looked at Charlotte.
“Where?”
“Down the block. Lark Street. When I came out of the house, he was getting into his car.”