“Not yet,” she said.
“Damn, don’t you ever take a day off?”
“I just had seven, as a matter of fact.” She swiveled in her chair to face him and nodded at the ball in his hand. “You catch a pop-up?”
He grinned. “Yep.” He dropped into a chair nearby and tossed the ball up, then caught it one-handed.
“I heard we won.”
“Seven-zip,” he said. “Want to come to Milo’s and grab a drink? I hear some of the guys are still over there, even though the game wrapped up.”
“I should skip it.” She glanced at her computer.
“So what gives? You’ve been here all weekend.”
“Kovak and Chandler.”
“Shelly Chandler isn’t ours.”
“She should be. We know they’re connected.”
He spun the baseball in his hand. “What’s new?”
“I’m stuck on Andre Markov. What’s his connection to all this? Oliver Kovak was surveilling him the week before he died, and the paperwork he received that day had Markov’s name all over it. It has to be related.”
“Gavin Quinn have any ideas?”
“No.” She folded her arms over her chest. The blouse she’d worn to the funeral that morning was beyond wilted, and she really needed to get home. “And his lawyer didn’t appreciate my asking.”
“How surprising. Bet McGrath didn’t appreciate it, either.”
“I didn’t ask him.”
Diaz winced. “Remind me not to be here when he gets wind of it.”
“He won’t.”
“What about records on the victim’s phone? Anything come back yet?”
“I checked this morning. It’ll be Monday at the earliest.”
Diaz pulled forward and picked up the spiral notepad on her desk. If any other detective had done that, she would have had to stab his hand with a pen. But she and Diaz had no secrets.
He knew, for example, that she’d spent her week’s vacation here at home instead of cruising the Caribbean, as she’d been planning for months. He also knew that she’d found out her boyfriend was cheating on her three weeks before the trip, which, unfortunately, was too late for a refund.
Charlotte had definitely wanted a refund. Not just for the cost of the cruise but for the ten months of her life she’d spent with the guy.
Diaz knew both of these embarrassing details about Charlotte’s life, but he kept his mouth shut, because that was the kind of partner he was, and she thanked her lucky stars every day that she hadn’t been paired with McGrath or Goldstein.
“Who’s Craig Collins?” Diaz looked up.
“Gavin Quinn’s deadbeat brother-in-law.”
“What about him?”
She shrugged. “It came up in conversation. Thought I’d check it out.”
“He have a sheet?”
“Couple of DUIs. In fact, one of them is for the evening of his sister’s murder, so he has an alibi, too.”
Diaz arched his eyebrows. “Convenient.”
“Forget it. I looked into it already.”
“So you’re back to Markov.”
“That’s right.” She rubbed her eyes. “I feel like I’m chasing my tail here.”
“Go home. Get some rest.” Diaz stood and tossed the ball into the air, turning and catching it behind his back this time. “With our luck, we’ll get smacked with another case soon, and you’ll be wishing you’d taken the sleep when you could get it.”
“I know, I know.”
“I’m out,” Diaz said. “Sure you don’t want to join us at Milo’s?”
“I’m sure.”
“Catch you tomorrow.” He waved over his shoulder.
Sighing, Charlotte closed out of the screen she was in and shut down her computer. Diaz was right. She needed to get some rest and come at this fresh in the morning.
Her phone buzzed on her desk, and she checked the number.
Damn it.
“Spears.”
“Is Diaz with you?” her captain asked. “He’s not answering his damn phone.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked, already grabbing her notebook, knowing her work on the Kovak investigation was about to get derailed by a new case.
“We’ve got a gunshot wound at Ben Taub Hospital. You guys are up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JEREMY CROSSED the wooden deck and held the door open for Kira. The scent of grilling burgers wafted out as they stepped into the restaurant. He’d never been here before, but it was fairly crowded on a Sunday evening, so he took that as a good sign.
“Man, I love this place.” Kira inhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Best onion rings in town.” She turned to look at him, and again he was struck by her pretty hazel eyes. She’d skipped makeup today, and Jeremy liked her natural look. Her hair was down, and all afternoon he’d watched her twisting it absently as she sat in her hotel suite working on her laptop.
Kira approached the register and glanced at him over her shoulder. “You trust me?”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s a simple question: Do you trust me?” When he didn’t respond, she smiled slyly. “Well, too bad. You’re going to have to.” She turned to the woman behind the counter. “Two Burger Daddies all the way, two chocolate shakes with extra whip, and an order of rings.” She pulled her wallet from her bag. “Oh, and two waters.” She glanced at him. “Don’t look at me like that. I worked out this morning.”
Jeremy was aware that she’d worked out, just as he was aware of practically everything she’d done over the past twenty-four hours. Trent had told him, for example, that Kira had had trouble sleeping last night and spent much of it on the sofa watching TV.
Kira insisted on paying and then took a plastic number and led Jeremy to a circular booth. He waited for her to scoot in before sliding in beside her and glancing at the door.
“What time is this guy meeting us?” Jeremy asked.
“Seven fifteen.”
He checked his watch. “It’s seven twenty.”
“He’ll be here.”
Jeremy scanned the restaurant, cataloging the exits and checking out patrons, while Kira scrolled through her phone.
“He’s on his way,” she said. “I just got a text.”
He looked at her beside him. Today she wore a snug black T-shirt and cutoff shorts, and her bare legs were proving to be a major distraction.
“Tell me about this guy again,” Jeremy said.
“Emilio Sanchez. You threw him against a wall the other day.”
“I didn’t throw him against a wall.”
“You absolutely did.” She sipped her water. “He hears things about people. And he has a steel-trap memory. I think maybe he can help me. Here he is now.” She shot Jeremy a look. “Try to be civil this time.”
Sanchez spotted Kira, and his look turned wary as he walked over. He nodded at Jeremy. “Hey, chief.”
Jeremy nodded back, and Sanchez turned to Kira. “You eat yet?”
“Just ordered.”
“I can’t stay long.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go meet a client.” He scooted into the booth on Kira’s side. “I checked out that guy for you. Andre Markov.”
“You come up with anything?”
“You could say that. I put Guillermo on it.”
Kira leaned closer. “What did he find?”
“This guy Markov, he’s unlucky. That’s the word.”
“Unlucky how?” Kira asked.
“Horses, sports. Freaking dog racing. He likes to bet, and he doesn’t usually win.”