Charlotte tamped down the urge to jump all over him. Maybe the guy was a valet. Or a neighbor. Or a guest at the party two blocks away.
“What did this man look like?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He was walking away from me.”
“What was he wearing?”
Ryan sighed and rested his arms on his knees, like he was struggling to remember. “Shorts. And a gray sweatshirt with a hood.”
Diaz leaned forward. “Did he have a ski mask or gloves on?”
“What? No!” He looked panicked now. “Nothing like that. I would have said something.”
“What else?” Charlotte asked. “Race? Hair color?”
“He was a white guy, okay? Brown hair. He had a gym bag with him. I figured he was going to work out.”
“Are you sure you didn’t see his face?” Charlotte searched his eyes, but it felt like he was telling the truth now. “Not even from the side?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“What about his car?”
He nodded. “Sure, that I could see. It was a black BMW.”
Kira stood naked in her steamy bathroom, relieved to be away from people for the first time in hours. She wiped the foggy mirror with her hand and checked out her face. Without makeup, it looked worse than this morning. The bruise on her cheek had turned blackish purple, and her cut had reopened, so there was a brand-new scab where she’d caught the chunk of porcelain. She dampened a tissue and cleaned it up as best she could, but there was no getting around the fact that for the foreseeable future, she was going to look like she’d run into a big fat fist.
Another reason to duck out of seeing her parents this weekend. She’d have to think of a plausible excuse. She also needed to dodge her brother, who’d left a message on her phone this afternoon.
Kira, it’s me, pick up. What the hell? I heard you were at the scene of a shooting last night.
Jack was a firefighter with Houston FD and had friends in law enforcement, so his sources were a touch more informed than Ruth Hovis, their parents’ neighbor. Kira needed to make sure Jack didn’t relay whatever he knew to their parents. The last thing she needed this week was a barrage of worried phone calls.
Kira wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out of the bathroom, letting the steam escape. She crossed the hall to her bedroom and checked her phone on the dresser, hoping for something from Ollie’s mystery caller. She’d dialed the number earlier and left a message on a generic voicemail but hadn’t heard back. She hadn’t heard from anyone, in fact, since Brock had called wanting his update, and Kira had convinced him to give her more time.
Kira rubbed eucalyptus-scented moisturizer on her arms and legs. She took her wide-tooth comb into the living room and stood in front of the TV, combing her hair as she caught the tail end of House Hunters. A couple was looking at a home in Atlanta, with the wife proclaiming that the countertops were “unbearable” and the entire kitchen needed to be gutted. Kira imagined what the woman would say about Kira’s 1980s appliances and warped linoleum floor.
Her phone chimed, and she grabbed it. It was her brother again.
“Hi, Jack.”
“ ‘Hi’? That’s it? Why didn’t you call me back?”
“Sorry.” She sat down on the sofa and tossed her comb onto the table. “I’ve been slammed today.”
“Jesus, Kira. What happened last night? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” But her brother knew her too well to believe that. “Shaken, mostly. And Ollie—” Her voice broke on the word.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “They’re still investigating, but they think it’s related to this trial he’d been working on.”
“The Quinn murder.”
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you working on that, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Kira . . .” He had that protective-older-brother tone now, and she needed to change the subject.
“How’s Aiden?” she asked.
“Sick. Emily took him to the doctor today. Another ear infection.”
“Oh, poor thing.”
“And you’re changing the subject.”
“I know. And I’m sorry, but I’m really wiped out tonight. Can we talk about this later?”
“I’ll try you tomorrow. I’m off through Saturday.”
“Sounds good. Give Aiden a hug for me.”
“Be careful, Kira.”
“Same goes for you.”
She hung up and stared down at the phone. She and Jack were straight with each other, always had been. He didn’t hound her about the hazards of her job, and she showed him the same courtesy. Their mother gave them both enough grief already, and they didn’t need any more. But Kira knew Jack worried about her. More than a few times, she’d been confronted by an angry husband after she’d uncovered details of an affair. And a deadbeat dad had taken a baseball bat to her windshield one time. She’d never proved who did it, but she knew it was him. So, yeah, her job wasn’t exactly risk-free, but whose was? Her brother put out fires for a living, and he accepted the risks with a stoic nonchalance that Kira admired.
She crossed her messy living room and parted the blinds to check the carport. Still no Gina, and it was almost eleven, so she was probably at her boyfriend’s tonight. Kira also saw no sign of her security detail, even though Trent had told her he’d be in the area.
After the diner, Kira’s workday had been a bust. She’d made the rounds by Ollie’s office and his house, but both locations still had police units parked out front, and she’d decided to cut her losses. Jeremy had delivered her home, where they found a Wolfe Security crew parked in front of her house in a black Suburban, waiting to install the new security system. After making introductions and handing her off to Trent, Jeremy had taken off, no doubt to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
Trent turned out to be the guy from the lobby at Brock’s firm. He gave her a crash course in her new system, which included sensors on every window and surveillance cams for the doors, all of which could be monitored remotely.
Kira loved it. She’d always been a geek about gadgets and spy tools, and getting her PI’s license had only given her cause to indulge. The trunk of her car was filled with all sorts of cameras and listening devices, but the equipment Wolfe’s crew brought over put her collection to shame.
Kira peered out the front window now, searching up and down the street again for any sign of a Wolfe agent. They were running a combination of fixed surveillance and drive-bys. Kira had to admit, they were keeping a low profile, which she knew firsthand wasn’t easy to do.
She checked her watch. It was time. She’d convinced Brock to give her until tomorrow to meet, but if she didn’t come up with something by then, he’d know she was bluffing and boot her off the job. She was out of excuses, and she needed intel.
Kira threw on her darkest jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, and some old black boots unearthed from the depths of her closet. She collected a few supplies and zipped everything into a black backpack. Her hair was still damp, and she didn’t want to take the time to dry it, so she scooped it into a ponytail and grabbed a baseball cap on her way out the door.
Stepping into her carport, Kira popped the locks on her car. Still no sign of Trent, but her phone vibrated as she backed out of the driveway.
She recognized the number Trent had given her.
Where to?