“Where?”
“Here in town. With you.”
Hope bloomed inside her chest.
“Until an arrest is made, I don’t feel good about leaving,” he added.
Kira looked away to cover her disappointment. She didn’t know why his words stung.
Or maybe she did. Maybe she’d thought that he wanted to stay here for her, that he wanted to turn their one-night fling into something more.
She looked at him. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I want to.”
“If your team’s been pulled off—”
“This would be personal,” he said. “I’ve accrued plenty of vacation time. I don’t mind using it.”
“That isn’t necessary. I’m not your responsibility.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
She felt a surge of annoyance—with herself. One night with him, and she’d allowed herself to get attached. She’d allowed herself to hope that their relationship might be going somewhere. Which was foolish. She liked him, yes. She could admit that. But he lived a hundred miles away, and he wasn’t even there most of the time. He worked crazy hours at a crazy job that had him traveling forty weeks a year.
He was watching her with those serious blue eyes, and Kira’s chest tightened. Maybe she should just summon her courage and tell him how she felt.
The door opened again, and Trent poked his head out. “Erik called to say he’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“Thanks.”
The door slid shut. Jeremy stood, and Kira tried to keep her face neutral.
“We can talk about this later,” he said. “I’ll be back after my meeting at the law firm.”
“You don’t need to stay with me.”
“I want to.”
“Jeremy—”
“Kira, I want to.” He bent over and dropped a kiss on her head. Then he walked back into the suite.
Kira stared down at the pool, trying to sort through her feelings. She was all over the place today. She tipped her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. She felt rested—finally—and more energized than she had in a long time. But she still had that gnawing sense of anxiety.
Wet work. She shuddered. And she knew Jeremy was right to still be concerned. Even if Gavin Quinn’s trial was off, and even though the prospect of Ava Quinn’s real killer being exposed in open court was no longer a threat, Kira still didn’t feel safe. And she wouldn’t feel safe until whoever was responsible for murdering Ollie and Shelly was in custody.
She heard the faint thud of the door closing inside, meaning Jeremy had left. She got up and returned to the living room, where she found Trent seated at the dining table with his laptop in front of him.
He nodded at the TV. “Mind if I have the news on?”
“Not at all.”
Kira glanced at the coffee table, where her own laptop sat beside the flattened black trash bag. Ollie’s Rolodex was still there, as well as a stack of business cards and the red keychain Jeremy had retrieved from Ollie’s office. Kira set her coffee cup on the table and perched on the edge of the sofa. She picked up the keychain and examined the two bronze keys. One was the same size and shape as her key to Ollie’s office, and she suspected it was a duplicate. The other key was smaller, maybe to a post office box? Or a safe-deposit box? Ollie’s daughter might know. Kira turned the keychain over in her hand. The pocketknife had two small blades and a tiny button that activated a mini flashlight. On the other end was a small notch. She pressed the notch with her thumb, and a USB drive popped out.
Kira stared at it. Heart thudding, she pulled her computer over and turned it on. As the system booted up, she gazed down at the USB drive. Then she popped it into the port and waited.
After what seemed like an eternity, the password screen appeared, and she entered her code. She opened the drive and found only one file, labeled with a six-digit number that looked oddly familiar. It was a date. The same date she’d seen on that fast-food receipt she’d discovered in Ollie’s van.
She opened the file.
A dim image filled the screen. The video had been taken at night, and the scene included a wire fence and a gatehouse. Kira’s heart skittered as she recognized the location.
Xavier Shipping.
The guardhouse was empty. The camera panned left and zoomed in on a familiar double-wide trailer with a floodlight above the door. The cars parked in front were different this time. Instead of a Mini Cooper and a pickup truck, it was a black Mercedes sedan and a light-colored Honda.
“Day two of my investigation into Craig Collins,” Ollie said quietly.
A chill snaked down Kira’s spine. She’d never expected to hear his voice again.
“I’m here at Xavier Shipping,” he narrated, zooming in on the Honda’s plates. “I tailed Collins to this location, and it looks like he’s meeting someone.” He panned the camera again, this time focusing on the Mercedes.
“Aaaand . . . looks like we got action.”
He zoomed out, and Kira watched as the Honda door opened. A thin dark-haired man got out. This would be Craig Collins. Then the door to the building opened, and a man stepped outside. He went down the steps and moved into the glare of the floodlight, and Kira caught a glimpse of his face.
She hit pause. Andre Markov.
“Son of a bitch,” she murmured.
Her pulse picked up as she hit play again. Markov handed Ava Quinn’s brother a black duffel bag. Craig handed over something small—maybe an envelope?—and they exchanged words.
The camera jerked left as the trailer door stood open again, and a tall figure emerged. Icy fear gripped her as he stepped into the light.
It was him. Ollie’s killer.
Kira studied his face, his build. This would be Bruno Duric. The man spoke to Markov. Then he turned to go back into the building and stopped, his attention fixed on something across the highway.
The camera jerked down. Ollie cursed, and the screen went black.
Kira stared at the computer, her heart pounding against her ribs. She was sweating now.
He’d been made. Ollie had tailed Craig Collins to the ship channel and been made. He knew he’d screwed up, too, but he didn’t realize the gravity of it. He didn’t know that the man who’d caught him spying would somehow uncover his identity, figure out what he was doing there, and then track him down and kill him.
How had Bruno done it? Possibly from Ollie’s vehicle or some security footage somewhere. Or maybe he’d done something as simple as follow him home when he left the area. Or maybe Bruno had sent someone to follow him. Someone who probably looked harmless and wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Someone such as his wife.
They do wet work . . .
Kira’s stomach roiled, and she leaned forward.
She forced herself to watch the video again, looking for any figures in the background or details she’d missed.
“You okay?”
Kira glanced up to see Trent giving her a worried look.
“Yeah, I just—yeah.” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”
She copied the file to her computer and then ejected the flash drive. She still didn’t know where the original memory card for Ollie’s camera was, but Ollie had probably hidden it somewhere. He’d understood the value of this evidence enough to copy it to a USB drive and stash it in his office.
Kira had to get this video to the police. It provided a conclusive link between Craig Collins and Andre Markov—who had likely murdered Craig’s sister—and Bruno Duric. This was the mystery evidence tying all three men together. It was the thing Bruno had been looking for at Brock Logan’s house and later at Ollie’s office. Bruno was searching for this video footage, as well as anyone who knew about it, and he was willing to kill for it.