“I don’t even know what half this shit is.”
“That’s a parabolic collector dish,” Jeremy said.
Trent’s eyebrows arched.
“Picks up conversations from about a hundred yards away. Put it back.”
He dropped it into the suitcase and closed the lid. Jeremy glanced at the balcony, where Kira still had her back to them.
“She’s a trip.” Trent folded his arms. “So what’s the schedule? Are you on or off?”
“On until midnight. Then it’s you and Keith from twelve to seven.”
“Works for me.” Trent checked his watch. “If you’re good now, I was thinking I’d get some food. With the schedule shuffling, I missed dinner.”
“Go.”
He left, and Jeremy watched the door close behind him, feeling a twinge of regret over giving him the night shift. But this was for the better. Really. The dead-last place Jeremy needed to be tonight was in a hotel with Kira, even if he was a room away or stationed outside the door.
The slider opened, and she stepped in from the balcony. She wore black yoga pants and a loose white T-shirt, and her hair was twisted up in a knot.
“Where’d you disappear to?” she asked.
“Had something to take care of.”
She walked to the minibar and took a bottle of water from the fridge. “ ‘Something to take care of.’ Like last night?”
He’d known she’d bring it up. “That was recon.”
“You went back to Channelview, didn’t you? I freaking knew it.” She plunked the water onto the desk. “I should have come with you.”
No, she shouldn’t have.
“What did you find?” She folded her arms. “And don’t even think about leaving anything out. Or making stuff up. I can spot a lie a mile away.”
Jeremy hadn’t planned to lie. But he also hadn’t planned to tell her everything he’d seen.
A sharp rap on the door had her turning around. She grabbed her messenger bag off the sofa and pulled out some money.
“Wait.” He caught her arm and walked around her to check the peephole. “Did you order a pizza?” He looked at her over his shoulder.
“Yes.”
He held out his hand for the bills. She rolled her eyes and passed him the money. “Give him a good tip.”
“It’s a she.”
The woman had a long blond ponytail and a butterfly tattoo in the middle of her neck. Jeremy accepted the warm box that smelled like pepperoni and handed her the money as she eyed Kira’s expensive camera equipment.
“Keep the change,” he said, and closed the door.
Kira was busy moving chairs around and tossing decorative pillows to the floor. Jeremy set the box on the coffee table as she dropped onto a pillow.
“Sit,” she ordered.
Yes, ma’am.
She opened the box, and Jeremy’s stomach growled. He sat on the edge of the sofa, putting some space between them.
“So this recon was so urgent you had to go right back out in the middle of the night?” she asked.
He watched her, and he didn’t want to tell her that was only part of the reason he’d left. The other part was that he didn’t trust himself in her house alone with her. Not after that kiss.
Jeremy was known for his self-discipline, but he didn’t want to test it. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him back at the ship channel, only that yanking her to the ground after the gunshot and then hustling her to safety had kicked off a reaction inside him. He’d pulled over to make sure she was okay, but then he’d made the mistake of touching her, and that was it. Game over. Next thing he knew, he was dragging her into his lap, shocking the hell out of both of them.
He should have known better. He did know better. And he had to rein this in. If they slept together, he’d have to resign from her detail, and he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He’d been committed before, but Shelly Chandler’s murder had ramped up the stakes.
“Hello? Earth to Jeremy?”
She was still waiting for an answer.
“It was important,” he said. “I couldn’t wait till morning.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I want to hear what you found.” She picked up a slice of pizza, snipping the ropy cheese with her fingers, then handed it to him. “Don’t edit anything out.”
“I went back to Xavier Shipping.”
“I figured. Careful, that’s hot.” She picked up a slice for herself and folded it like a taco. “You park in the same spot?”
“No.” He chomped into the pizza, burning the roof of his mouth.
“What’d you see?”
“Couple interesting things.”
She got up and walked to the minibar, where she grabbed another water bottle. She handed it to him and sank onto the pillow again, folding her legs.
“Such as?”
“The cars were gone,” he said. “Only one I spotted was the night watchman. I got his tag, if you’re interested.”
“I’m interested.”
Jeremy was, too. The guy’s convenient disappearance last night right before the two vehicles pulled up told him the man was involved in the operation, whatever it was.
Kira sipped her water, watching him and waiting for more.
“I found some evidence of trafficking in and out of the location,” he said.
She didn’t look surprised. “You mean like drugs or people?” She licked sauce off her finger.
“Maybe both. Definitely people, but I’m guessing some contraband, too, based on the handoff we saw.”
“You mean the duffel bag.”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you say ‘definitely people’? What are your tip-offs?”
“ICE, for one,” he said. “They were patrolling that area for a reason.”
“Maybe just as a deterrent.”
He shook his head. “Remember the ten-foot security fence? I found a hole in it on the east side, closest to the highway. It was cut out with wire cutters, and it was big enough for a man to squeeze through. Also found a faint path through the grass from the hole in the fence to a clump of trees.”
“Yeah, but . . . the ship channel?” She looked skeptical. “Seems like a tough entry point.”
He shrugged. “It’s an entry point. You have to assume people are coming through. Stowaways on the tankers. Maybe some of the boat workers themselves. People get picked up at the docks, then hit the city and disappear.”
She sighed. “Damn it.”
“Yeah.”
He studied her face, fairly sure she was thinking the same thing he’d been when he first saw that handoff. The target Ollie had been surveilling last week—presumably Andre Markov—was involved in something big. And he was likely just the tip of the iceberg.
Kira took another sip of water. “The question is, who’s Markov working for? His age and his rap sheet don’t line up with him being in charge.”
“I agree.”
“Maybe Brock will find something,” she said.
“More likely, Spears and Diaz will.”
“Don’t underestimate Brock Logan. He’s very resourceful.” She glanced at the TV, where a muted news anchor was giving the top-ofthe-hour headlines. It was after eleven, and Jeremy needed to go.
“So.” She took a deep breath. “That brings us to Shelly Chandler.”
“What about her?”
“I believe the same person who killed Ollie also murdered Shelly Chandler. So do the police. They think it’s all connected. But you and I both know Ollie was focused on Markov, and it was Markov’s car we saw at the ship channel last night at the same time someone followed Shelly home from a bar. So Markov probably didn’t kill her. And anyway, the man I saw at Brock’s house looks nothing like Markov’s mug shot, which means someone else is the triggerman.”