Andre’s reckless move to get mixed up in a murder scheme was sure to draw attention to his father, especially after Ollie uncovered a concrete link between Andre and Craig Collins. So Anatoly sent someone to fix the problem, making sure Gavin’s case never went to trial and an alternative murder suspect was never exposed.
Kira’s heart thudded as all the pieces clicked into place. She ducked into her bedroom and closed the door. She tossed the USB drive onto the bed and grabbed her phone off the dresser.
“Spears,” the detective answered.
“It’s Kira Vance.”
“I know.”
“I have something.”
“Something . . .?”
“It’s important evidence that you need to see.”
“I’m putting you on speaker, okay? I’m in the car with Detective Diaz.” Background noise came through the phone. “Okay, tell me about this evidence.”
Kira took a deep breath. “I found a USB drive that belonged to Ollie, and it has a video clip dated a few days before his murder. Craig Collins is on it, along with Bruno Duric and Andre Markov. There’s some kind of transaction going down, maybe a drug deal.”
Silence.
“Detective?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Where are you?”
“I’m at the hotel. I can bring this to the police station.” She glanced down at her robe and looked around. Half her clothes were strewn across the room. She grabbed a pair of yoga pants off a chair.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Spears said. “We’re not far from your hotel. We can swing by there.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Just sit tight. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Kira threw on a T-shirt and yoga pants and slipped her feet into sandals. Then she hurried into the bathroom and spent a few quick minutes washing her face and putting her hair in a ponytail. She grabbed the USB drive and walked into the living room.
“I need to run down to the lobby.”
Trent frowned. “Why?”
“I’m meeting Detective Spears. I have to hand over some evidence.” She held up the flash drive.
Trent stood up. “I’ll go.” He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of the chair.
“She’s expecting me.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“But—”
“I’m under strict orders not to let you out of this room.”
Kira’s mouth fell open.
“Sorry. Let me rephrase.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been instructed not to take you anywhere without authorization. That includes the fitness center, the restaurant, and anywhere else.”
“Jeremy can’t just—”
“This is from Liam.”
Kira closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. She hated having her movements dictated. But these guys were security experts, supposedly. And so far, they had an excellent track record of keeping her alive.
“Fine.” She handed Trent the flash drive. “But do not lose that. It’s important.”
Jeremy checked his watch again and glanced impatiently across the lobby at the gift shop. Finally, Erik made it to the front of the line and paid for his breakfast. After getting his change from the cashier, he collected his purchases and walked over.
“Hungry?” he asked, offering Jeremy one of his two protein bars.
“No, thanks. I’m parked out front.” Jeremy nodded toward the driveway, where he’d left the Escalade parked, much to the displeasure of the valet attendant.
As he and Erik reached the door, Detective Diaz walked through it. He wore a dark suit, no tie, and had a big manila envelope in his hand.
“Hey.” He looked from Erik to Jeremy. “Is Kira with you?”
“She’s upstairs. Why?”
“I’ve got copies of those mugs for you guys. Bruno and Sasha Duric.”
Diaz handed over the envelope, which wasn’t sealed. Jeremy pulled out several pages, each showing eight-by-ten photographs of Anatoly Markov’s hired gun. The top two pictures were candids, evidently taken when Bruno was under surveillance.
“You recognize him?” Jeremy handed the photos to Erik, who studied them and shook his head.
The next photo was Bruno’s mug shot. Based on the words at the bottom, he was in the custody of Italian authorities when the photo was taken. The last page was Sasha Duric’s mug shot, also apparently taken by Italian authorities.
Jeremy stared down at the picture. His pulse quickened. “I’ve seen her,” he said.
“Who? The wife?” Erik edged closer.
“Yeah, Sasha Duric.”
Jeremy stared at the woman. She had long dark hair in the picture, and her eyes looked familiar. And the tattoo on her neck—a butterfly.
“The delivery.” He handed the picture to Erik. “She delivered a pizza here two nights ago.”
“Wait,” Diaz said. “Sasha Duric was here?”
“Hey, what’s up?”
Jeremy turned to see Trent standing there. Jeremy glanced over the man’s shoulder. “Where’s Kira?” he demanded.
“Up in the suite.”
“You left her alone?”
“I’m bringing her evidence down for the detectives.” Trent frowned. “Why? What’s the problem?”
Jeremy rushed for the elevator. He jabbed the button, then looked up to see that both elevators were on the tenth floor. Cursing, he ran for the stairs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KIRA STOOD beside the bed that she and Jeremy had shared last night. She heaved her suitcase onto it and unzipped the top. Inside was her surveillance equipment. She scooted her camera over and stuffed a pile of dirty clothes in beside it. She needed to do laundry, and unlike Brock, she hadn’t availed herself of the hotel’s same-day service, which charged twelve dollars a shirt. She moved her tripod over, stuffed another pile of clothes in, and then went into the bathroom to pack her cosmetics bag.
Kira’s phone chimed just as someone rapped on the door to the living room. She glanced at the phone on the dresser and let the call go to voice mail as she crossed the suite.
“Yes?” she asked, looking through the peephole.
“Room service.”
“I didn’t order anything.”
“Champagne breakfast, compliments of Logan and Locke.”
They’d sent her champagne?
Kira opened the door, and a uniformed server pushed the cart inside. On it was a silver dome and a goblet of orange juice covered in cellophane.
“Are you sure this isn’t for next door?” Kira asked the woman as she wheeled the cart into the center of the room.
She said something, but her back was turned, and Kira didn’t hear it. The server removed the dome from the plate, and the scent of scrambled eggs wafted over.
Kira watched the server with interest. She was tall and slender and had a long blond ponytail. Her uniform was much too small, and Kira could see two inches of skin between her black sneakers and the cuffs of her pants. Kira noticed the bulge beneath her jacket.
The back of Kira’s neck prickled.
The woman whirled around and pointed a gun at Kira’s face.
“Where’s the camera?” she asked.
Kira stepped back, bumping into the couch. The gun had a silencer affixed to the end.