Her Deadly Secrets Read online

  “We’re in a jam. The trial starts in five days. This judge is a former prosecutor, and he favors the state. I plan to ask for a continuance, but—”

  “You won’t get it.” Kira’s heart thudded as she saw where he was going with this. “And Ollie wasn’t Quinn’s counsel, so his death isn’t going to warrant a delay.”

  “That’s correct. So you see my problem.” He paused for dramatic effect—always the trial lawyer. “Ollie knew my case inside out. He knew every report, every witness. He knew my trial strategy. I don’t have time to get anyone else up to speed.”

  “You want to hire me.”

  “That’s right, I’d like to bring you in. You’d work for Logan and Locke.”

  “I work for myself.” The thought of losing her autonomy brought a surge of panic. She hated face time and suits and being under someone’s thumb, especially a man’s. “And anyway, Ollie is not my only client.”

  Her heart was racing now. She was trying to play hardball here, but she worried that Logan could see right through her.

  He gave her an appraising look. “What was your arrangement with Ollie?”

  “I charged him by the hour. But I work for an insurance company and several other lawyers in town, too.”

  “That’s a no-go. You’d work for us exclusively,” he said, as she’d known he would. “What was Ollie paying you?”

  She tossed out her overtime rate.

  “I’ll double it.”

  Kira stared at him, trying not to react.

  “You know details of what Ollie was working on recently?” Logan asked.

  “Not all, but I can get up to speed.” God, was she really going to agree to this?

  “I assume you have access to his office?”

  “Of course.”

  Triumph sparked in his eyes. “Good. I want an update by end of today. Email works fine if you don’t have a chance to get back here.”

  “I’ll need an advance,” she blurted.

  “Done. Would a thousand cover it? Two?”

  “A thousand is fine.” Holy hell.

  “I’ll have Bev take you by accounting. Then we’ll get you briefed on the security arrangement.”

  “Security arrangement?”

  “The firm we brought in. Wolfe Security.” He nodded toward the conference room. “They’ll provide an agent and take a look at your home security setup, your transportation, the works.”

  Her setup? She started to laugh, but the look on his face stopped her.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “That sounds . . . thorough.”

  “Yes. And we expect your cooperation.” His face looked grim again, as it had when she’d first stepped in here. “This trial starts in five days. We’ve had a serious breach, and we can’t afford another one. The opposition already has the advantage.”

  “You act like you think the other side had something to do with Ollie.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Have you met Gavin Quinn?”

  “No.”

  “He’s one of the city’s top heart surgeons. He’s spent his career saving lives, not ending them.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m not a juror here. I just dig up the facts and deliver them to you guys.”

  “My client is one hundred percent innocent, and I probably don’t have to tell you how rare that is.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Gavin Quinn didn’t murder his wife, and I plan to prove that at trial.” Logan’s voice was impassioned, and she felt like she was getting a glimpse of his opening statement. “And you know what else? I think the prospect of him being acquitted has somebody running scared.”

  Somebody. In other words, whoever really killed Quinn’s wife? Kira was reading between the lines, but she felt sure that was what he meant.

  “You’ve worked on the case,” he said. “What’s your take?”

  “My take is that this doctor must be a pretty smooth talker for you to believe your own bullshit.”

  Logan’s lip quirked. “Ollie mentioned you were outspoken.”

  “My job isn’t to spin things, Mr. Logan. It’s to track down facts. And speaking of, I really need to—”

  “I’ll get Bev.” He hit a button on his phone and stood up. “Welcome aboard. And since we’ll be working together, you should call me Brock.”

  A woman strode into the room. She had short brown hair and a take-charge look in her eyes.

  “This is Beverly,” he said. “She’ll take you by accounting. I’ll call and give them the heads-up.”

  Kira exchanged pleasantries with Bev and then followed her through a maze of offices. Kira’s head was spinning. Logan, the investigation, the job offer.

  The security team.

  She’d deal with that later. Or maybe she wouldn’t. For now, she had to focus on the logistics of her bank account, which, according to the firm’s bespectacled accountant, was going to be getting a wire transfer by close of business today.

  After leaving the accounting office, Kira ducked into a restroom to get away from prying eyes as she came up with a plan.

  Brock Logan had hired her. He was about to pay her a boatload of money. All she had to do was figure out what Ollie had been working on right before he was killed.

  Kira’s chest felt tight. Maybe this was wrong. Too soon.

  But Ollie’s client needed her. And she needed the money. Her bank account was running on fumes, and the money Ollie owed her as of yesterday she could probably kiss goodbye.

  I want an update by end of today.

  Kira took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She could do this. She had to. She had to get through the day, the week. She could fall apart later when she had time.

  She opened the door a crack and checked the corridor. Empty. She unhooked the helmet from her messenger bag. Holding it at her side as a prop, she strode through the reception area and past the shiny gold elevators to the corridor where the service elevator opened. She tapped the button to summon it and held her breath as she waited.

  The elevator was empty, thank goodness, and she jabbed the button for U2, or parking level two. Her stomach plummeted as the car whisked down.

  The underground parking garage was dim and humid and smelled of diesel fumes. She went straight to the stairwell, hurried up two flights, and stepped through the door into the blazing sun.

  She blinked up, disoriented. Traffic hummed, horns blared, and the scent of hot dogs wafted over from a nearby food truck. She located the bicycle rack and race-walked toward it, relieved when she spotted her bike waiting for her. She knelt beside it and quickly unlocked the chain.

  A shadow fell across the pavement.

  Kira glanced up. A man towered over her, blocking out the sun.

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Where we going?”

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  EXCUSE ME?”

  “You’re Kira Vance?”

  She stood up, which put her eye-level with his neck. “Who are you?”

  “Jeremy Owen. Wolfe Security.”

  Kira stepped back to look at him. Shaggy brown hair, tanned skin. He had a square jaw covered with at least a week’s worth of beard.

  “I’m head of your security detail,” he said. “We were supposed to meet upstairs at the briefing. Which you skipped.”

  His blue eyes looked irritated and bloodshot and together with the scruff made him seem like he was coming off a weekend bender. Except for the gun. He wore jeans and an untucked black T-shirt that did little to conceal the holster at his hip.

  “My detail?” she asked.

  “That’s right. I’m—”

  A jackhammer sounded nearby, drowning him out. Kira waited patiently until the noise stopped.

  “Look, Mr. . . .” What had he said?

  “Jeremy.”

  “Not to be rude,
Jeremy, but I don’t have time for this now. I have a police interview, and I’m late to pick up my car.” At least some of that was true, but he looked unmoved. “Let’s reschedule for tonight. Maybe around six? I should be clear by then, and we can go over whatever it is.” She stuffed the chain into her bag and jerked her bike from the rack.

  He plucked it out of her hand, holding it by the frame.

  “No deal.”

  “Excuse me? You want to put that down, please?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Come with me.”

  He turned and walked back to the building, carrying her bike like it weighed nothing. He held the door open and waited, clearly expecting her to follow him.

  She snatched up her helmet and complied, ducking under his arm into the air-conditioned lobby, where he guided her out of the traffic flow and set down her bike.

  “Rescheduling isn’t an option,” he said as she glared up at him. Damn, he was tall. “But I’ll make this quick if you want, and we can get to your interview.”

  She crossed her arms.

  “Let’s start over.” He held his hand out. “I’m Jeremy Owen, lead security specialist with Wolfe Security.”

  It seemed petty not to shake his hand, so she did.

  “Kira Vance.”

  “Good to meet you.” He rested his hands on his hips and gazed down at her. “I understand you’re on the defense team that was targeted yesterday evening.”

  “Yes and no.”

  His eyebrows tipped up.

  “It’s a long story.” She huffed out a breath. “Look, is this really necessary? I don’t need a bodyguard, and I’m very, very late for something, so can we—”

  “If you don’t like the arrangement, take it up with your boss.”

  “Brock Logan is not my boss.”

  “His law firm, then. They hired us to protect Logan’s team, and I was told you’re on it. Or am I wrong about that?”

  She thought of the wire transfer hitting her account right about now. By taking the money, she’d tacitly agreed to all this.

  And she thought about the likelihood that Jeremy had driven himself here.

  “No, you’re right, I’m on it.” She blew out a sigh. “Sorry, it’s been one of those mornings.”

  “No problem.”

  “Hey, so Jeremy, any chance you have a car here?”

  “Yes.” He picked up her bike again. “Tell me where we’re going.”

  Kira Vance wanted nothing to do with him, and under normal circumstances, that might have intrigued him. Right now, though, it was all he could do to keep his eyes open as he navigated the traffic-choked streets of downtown.

  “Hang a left at the intersection,” she instructed.

  Jeremy ran a yellow turn light.

  “Pull over up here by the bank. Anywhere is fine.”

  He cut around a delivery truck and whipped into a no-parking zone.

  “I’ll just be a sec.”

  “Wait.” Jeremy hopped out and went around to her door, glancing at the bike now strapped into the bed of his pickup with a bungee cord. Kira was already out of the truck, and he scanned the surrounding area as she crossed the sidewalk to the ATM vestibule. It was empty, and she walked straight to a machine.

  Jeremy stationed himself beside the door as she shoved in her card.

  “Are you guys always this attentive?” she asked.

  He looked at her as she tapped at the screen. She was short and slender, with dark hair that cascaded down her back.

  “Attentive?”

  “You know, hovering.” She glanced at him. “It’s broad daylight, and there’re about three security cams in here.”

  “Standard procedure. Which you would know if you hadn’t skipped the meeting.”

  She shot him an annoyed look as the machine spit out bills. She briskly counted them before tucking the money into the front pocket of her jeans.

  “Like I said, I’m in a rush today.” She stepped past him. He caught her arm, and she gave him a startled look.

  “Wait.”

  He pushed open the door and checked the area before walking her back to the truck, where she climbed in and yanked the door shut.

  Jeremy went around and slid behind the wheel. Looking at her phone, she rattled off an address as he pulled away from the curb.

  “Okay, so catch me up, since I missed the meeting,” she said. “Are you guys really going to be shadowing Logan’s team through the entire trial?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Sounds like overkill.”

  Jeremy didn’t comment. The plan wasn’t up for debate, and she wasn’t a decision-maker anyway, so it wouldn’t have mattered. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes open as he cut through downtown. Tall office towers gave way to low-rise buildings, which then gave way to strip centers and warehouses. They reached a vast parking lot surrounded by a fence topped with razor wire.

  “This is it,” Kira said.

  Jeremy turned into the entrance and rolled over a strip of tire-shredding teeth. He crossed a potholed parking lot to a dilapidated shed bristling with satellite dishes and security cameras.

  “I hate this place,” she said.

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Unfortunately.” She pushed open her door. “You coming?”

  She hopped out and approached the shed, where a guy in an Astros cap was seated behind yellowing plexiglass. Jeremy eyed the property’s security measures, which weren’t much. Then he eyed the line of cars parked toward the front of the lot—presumably the recent drop-offs—and tried to guess which one was hers.

  After handling the paperwork, she returned to where Jeremy stood waiting. She looked up at him, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and again he noticed the bruise on her cheekbone beside a small cut. Looked like she’d caught some shrapnel last night.

  “So what now?” she asked. “Are you really going to follow me around all day?”

  “I really am.”

  Annoyance flashed in her hazel eyes.

  “Is there any chance I can talk you out of this?”

  “No.”

  She blew out a sigh and glanced over her shoulder as a battered white car rumbled to a stop beside them. The Astros cap kid slid from behind the wheel and shot a wary look at Jeremy before disappearing back into his shack.

  Jeremy looked at Kira. He’d been off by a mile.

  “This is you?”

  “Yep.” She stepped over to the car and tossed her bag inside.

  “Hold up.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ve got a knock in your engine, and your tires are low. Not to mention bald.” He eased past her and ducked his head to check out the car’s interior. The engine light was on, which might be something minor, but still. He switched off the ignition and pulled out the key. “New plan.”

  “What? Why? I’m already late.”

  “You’ll be later if you break down on the side of the road. I’ll drive.”

  “But what about my car?”

  “I’ll have someone get it.” He handed her the key and nodded at the attendant. “Let him know.”

  Jeremy turned away before she could protest and made a call to Trent. When he got off the phone, Kira collected her bag and stalked back to his pickup, clearly pissed.

  Jeremy got behind the wheel.

  “What time is your interview?” he asked.

  “Two. That’s in twelve minutes. There’s no way—”

  “Substation or main?”

  “Main.”

  “Buckle up. We’ll make it.”

  Ollie’s phone buzzed from the depths of Kira’s bag, and she pulled it out. It was a text this time. Again, she didn’t recognize the number, but she took out a notepad and jotted it down. She was starting a list.

  “Don’t know the passcode?”

  She looked at Jeremy. “It’s Ollie’s phone.”

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Wha
t?” she asked.

  “Withholding evidence in a homicide investigation could land you in trouble.”

  “Not something you need to worry about.”

  He didn’t comment, just kept his gaze trained on the road. He wore mirrored sunglasses, and it was hard to read his expression, but she definitely sensed some disapproval.

  Kira looked away, irritated. It was none of his damn business. Anyway, she’d turn the phone over soon, but in the meantime, she needed to get whatever she could from it. Ollie had definitely been distracted by something on his phone last night. Kira took out her own cell phone and did a search for the number that had just texted. No hits.

  Why had she promised Brock an update so soon? She didn’t have a clue what Ollie was working on, and there was no way she’d figure it out by today. She’d be lucky if she had anything by tomorrow, especially when all her time was being sucked up by errands and police interviews.

  Maybe she’d been wrong to take this assignment. It seemed too soon. Disrespectful, somehow.

  And yet she wanted the job. She needed the job. And if the roles were reversed, she knew Ollie would have jumped on this assignment. He would have gone to the ends of the earth to investigate what happened. Knowing Ollie’s skills, he would have figured it out, too. He wouldn’t be sitting here clueless right now, wondering what to do next.

  She slipped Ollie’s phone into her bag, wishing she had access to his voice messages. Or his email password so she could check his inbox. Ollie was always forgetting passwords and usernames, so he jotted them down on sticky notes that he stashed in the top drawer of his desk.

  Kira looked at Jeremy. “We need to make a detour.”

  “I thought you were late.”

  “It’s important.” She glanced over her shoulder. They’d just passed the street she wanted. “Hang a right at the next light.”

  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.