She looked defensive now. Maybe because moneywise, she wasn’t exactly lighting it up.
“Is that the only reason?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re so dead set on doing this job for Logan, but you almost got killed last night. From where I’m standing, it would make sense for you to sit this one out.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Her eyes turned somber. “Even if Logan hadn’t hired me, I’d be doing this anyway. I believe Ollie had just uncovered something important—something that got him killed.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. But I can’t walk away without answering that question. I’m an investigator. That’s what I do.”
But it wasn’t just about a professional obligation. This was about Ollie. She didn’t have to say it; he could tell just from looking at her. She’d watched the man bleed out in front of her, and Jeremy understood what that did to you. It was the kind of wound that scabbed over but never really healed, and you just had to live with it.
But she’d figure that out for herself.
She glanced down at her nearly empty glass. “It was weird being at Ollie’s house,” she said quietly. “I still can’t believe he’s gone. I keep thinking . . .” She trailed off.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Jeremy watched her, wishing she’d keep talking. Which was ironic, because every girlfriend he’d ever had complained that he never wanted to talk. It was the universal feedback that had cut short any long-term relationship he might have had.
“What was he like?” Jeremy asked.
She looked up. “You mean Ollie?”
“Yeah.”
She sighed. “God, where to begin? He drank too much.” She lifted her glass. “Loved his whiskey, so this is fitting.” She tipped her head, mulling his question. “He gambled, too. On the sly. I don’t think his family knew about it, but it created some financial strain. What else?” She added another sip of whiskey, and Jeremy started to wish he’d asked for some. “He went through two marriages and a live-in girlfriend that lasted five years. Basically, his personal life was a mess. But he loved his daughter and doted on his grandkids, and he was a hell of a PI. Taught me everything I know, including how to be resourceful, how to develop sources, how to be tenacious.”
Jeremy made a low noise.
“What?”
He shrugged. “I bet you were tenacious before. It’s a trait you either have or you don’t.”
Her look was suspicious. “Is that a compliment?”
“Yeah.”
“Well. Maybe you’re right.” She took a sip. “Anyway, Ollie didn’t give up. He never let go of a lead until he found something. It’s one reason I feel so, I don’t know, directionless right now. What if I’m in over my head?”
The vulnerability in her voice tugged at him. She was grieving. He could see it. And he wanted to say something comforting, but he didn’t know what. Jeremy eased closer, and she looked up at him as the moment stretched out.
He cleared his throat. “So did you find whatever you were after tonight?”
And with that, the mood was broken. She turned and set her glass by the sink.
“No. But I found something.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she said. “I still have research to do, which means it’s going to be a long night.”
It was a pointed comment, like he was keeping her from work, even though she was the one who’d insisted on this discussion.
“Believe it or not, Kira, we’re not here to get in your way. We’re here to keep you safe. And we’ll do it one way or another, but it’s a lot easier if you loop us in on what you’re doing.”
Surprise flickered in her hazel eyes. She gazed up at him, and Jeremy felt a jolt of attraction.
And that was it. Go time.
“You in for the night?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He moved for the door. “I’ll be around. Lock up behind me.”
CHAPTER NINE
THE SUSPECT sketch took longer than Kira expected. Two and a half hours, and that didn’t include the time she spent talking to Diaz before the artist showed up.
The result was unexpected, too. She stared down at the easel, marveling at the drawing clipped to the board. It looked like a real person. Not only that, but it looked exactly like the man Kira had seen—for only an instant—jogging in front of Brock’s house. Every detail was there, right down to the cleft in the chin, which Kira had not even realized she’d noticed until the artist coaxed the information from her memory banks.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I thought I didn’t really see him.”
“People always say that.” The artist smiled. Fiona Glass. According to Diaz, she was one of the best in the country. “The mind is a mysterious thing. We absorb so much more than we realize at the time.”
Kira studied the picture, done with pastels on pale gray paper. The drawing even showed details about the hooded sweatshirt, including the lime-green drawstrings Kira hadn’t recalled until she was in the midst of the interview.
“Now what happens?” Kira looked at the artist. She was dressed in a gauzy peasant shirt and ripped jeans, but her manner was all business.
“Now I spray the fixative.” She shook a can of Clairol Maximum Hold hair spray. “And we’ll hand this off to the detectives.”
“Can you do it without me?” Kira checked her watch. “I’m late for something.”
“They’ll probably have questions.”
She was already reaching for the door. “They know how to reach me.”
Kira did her best to escape notice as she hurried for the elevator. She didn’t want to get dragged into another interview, so of course, her phone started chiming as she passed the detectives’ cubicles. She pulled out her cell, and her heart skittered when she saw the familiar number.
The elevator doors slid open, and Kira jumped inside as she answered the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, I’m returning a message from Kira Vance?”
“Thanks for getting back to me,” Kira said. “I was calling on behalf of Oliver Kovak. I’m his business associate.”
“Yeah, Ollie mentioned you. What’s up?” The voice sounded curious but tentative. And young, too. Whoever this woman was, she was closer to Kira’s age than Ollie’s.
“I found your number in Ollie’s contacts. May I ask your name?”
“Shelly Chandler.”
“And do you work for a law firm?” It was a guess, but Kira went with her gut.
“I’m with Duffy and Hersch. Why? Is this about the package?”
“Package?”
“It should have arrived Tuesday afternoon. Ollie left me a message about it, so I looked up the tracking number, and it’s showing it was delivered.”
“So when you called Ollie yesterday morning, you were returning his call?” Kira asked.
“Yes. Why? And what’s this about?”
Kira took a deep breath. “Ollie was murdered Tuesday night.” Saying the words put a knot in her stomach.
“He—what?”
“He was killed. I’m sorry to have to tell you.”
The elevator doors opened, and Kira stepped off. She spied Jeremy waiting for her in the lobby instead of Trent, who’d driven her over here. In contrast to yesterday, Jeremy looked showered and rested, and he wore a dark suit.
“Ms. Chandler? You there?”