She huffed out a breath and looked away.
Jeremy let her fume and didn’t say anything as he pulled into the Metropolitan Hotel’s long, tree-lined driveway. They reached the grand entrance, where several uniformed valets were parking luxury cars. Jeremy pulled over behind a white Mercedes.
Kira dug into her bag. Without comment, she handed over a key.
“I’m looking for an actual Rolodex?” he asked. “Not something digital?”
“Yes.” She still sounded annoyed. “Ollie was totally old school. He kept his contacts on paper.”
“Okay, I’ll bring it back.”
Right on cue, Erik appeared beside the truck. Kira pushed open her door before he could open it for her and slid out without saying goodbye. Erik ducked his head in to look at Jeremy.
“Everything all right?”
“Keep an eye on her,” Jeremy told him.
Erik nodded. “Roger that.”
Ollie’s office looked as bad as the last time Jeremy had seen it and smelled worse. Even before the spilled fish tank, the place had been a dump, and Jeremy wasn’t surprised the landlord hadn’t been in here yet with a cleaning crew. The stench was strong enough to overpower the smell of grilling meat from the Korean restaurant below.
Jeremy swept his flashlight around the room, illuminating trash and paperwork and tufts of sofa stuffing. He kept the lights off so as not to attract attention from the street as he picked his way through the debris to the overturned drawers around Ollie’s desk. No Rolodex in sight. Jeremy poked through a heap of office supplies. He found a stack of business cards bound with a rubber band and also a pair of keys attached to a pocketknife keychain. The smaller key looked like a safe-deposit key or possibly a PO box. Maybe Ollie’s daughter would know, and Kira could ask. Jeremy tucked the keychain and the stack of business cards into his pocket and stood up to look around.
On the credenza, he spotted it: an old-fashioned Rolodex, just as Kira described. It was fatter than he’d expected. Ollie had a lot of contacts, evidently. Jeremy flipped through the “H” section but didn’t see anything with a first initial L. Still, he grabbed the Rolodex and dropped it into the plastic trash bag he’d brought from his truck. Glancing around, he tried to imagine what else Kira might want if she were here.
The smell got worse as Jeremy picked his way across the room, and he tried to ignore it. The only thing that had made the place bearable last time was Kira, and he missed having her alongside him with her running commentary. But bringing her would have been an unnecessary risk, and he wasn’t sorry he’d dropped her off.
Jeremy beamed his flashlight over the mess, cursing himself. He’d developed a thing for a woman who rode a bike to work. And hated guns. And rescued fish.
She was totally not his type, except for the attitude. That he loved. Kira had guts. She wasn’t afraid to go toe to toe with a veteran trial attorney. Or argue with a homicide detective. Or talk to a grieving family. Plus, she was observant—which was something they had in common.
And besides that, she was incredibly sexy. Ever since Friday night in his truck, Jeremy had been thinking about that kiss. He’d been thinking about her plump mouth and her tight breasts. He’d been picturing that long dark hair fanned across his pillow. He’d been thinking about all that and more, and he needed to stop.
His flashlight beam landed on a white envelope tucked beneath an accordion file. Jeremy moved the file with his foot and picked up the envelope, squinting at the scrawl. “Lorraine.” Inside was a pair of tickets to an upcoming baseball game, Astros versus Red Sox.
Thunk.
Jeremy switched off his flashlight. The noise came from outside on the stairwell. Jeremy eased closer to the window and looked out. He could only see the base of the stairwell, but it was empty.
Jeremy surveyed the half dozen vehicles that had been parked along the block when he pulled up. He’d taken an empty metered space in front of a dry cleaner two buildings down.
A dark green pickup eased down the street. The taillights glowed red as the truck slowed for a stoplight. Jeremy waited a full, silent minute before grabbing his trash bag and creeping to the door. He exited the office and silently locked up and tucked the key into his pocket. For a moment, he listened. Nothing suspicious. Scanning the area around the building, he walked down the outdoor staircase, taking care to keep his boots quiet on the metal stairs. When he reached the bottom, a blur of movement caught his eye.
A dark figure sprinted down the alley. Jeremy dropped the trash bag and took off after him. The man darted around the corner of the dry cleaner.
Jeremy’s boots smacked against the pavement as he raced down the alley, which smelled of garbage and cooking oil. The man glanced over his shoulder, then tripped and fell, catching himself against a dumpster before grabbing a wooden pallet and heaving it into the path behind him. Then he darted around the corner.
Adrenaline fired through Jeremy’s veins. He hurdled the pallet and ran around the corner. The man was three buildings away now, sprinting along a narrow sidewalk behind the buildings, passing the occasional parked car, and Jeremy took in details about the subject: tall, medium-build, fast. He wore a baseball cap, so Jeremy couldn’t see his hair.
Another glance over his shoulder, and then the man darted sideways and slid over the hood of a low-slung convertible before racing across the street. Jeremy kept after him. The man was in the open now, running down a narrow strip of grass between the street and a chain-link fence. On the other side was a wide easement and a set of railroad tracks.
Jeremy turned on the speed, pumping his arms and legs hard as he closed in. He gripped his SIG, ready to take a shot if needed, but the subject was empty-handed.
A faint rumble in the distance caught Jeremy’s attention. He ran faster as a pinprick of light grew steadily bigger. The noise increased until it was a thunderous roar, and the man he was chasing was a long silhouette against the blazing white. He kept glancing to the side, and Jeremy knew what he was thinking. Suddenly, the man turned and leaped onto the chain-link fence, clawing his way up, pausing at the top to yank his shirt free.
Jeremy darted right, grabbing the fence with both hands and scaling it in two moves. Up ahead, the guy leaped down from the fence and scrambled to his feet. Jeremy jumped and rolled, then sprang to his feet and took off again.
Jeremy was gaining, shrinking the distance. The train sped closer and closer, so loud Jeremy felt the ground vibrating through the soles of his boots. He pounded after his target, heart hammering as he steadily closed the gap. The man was trapped. He’d locked himself in between a fence and a freight train. Jeremy estimated four seconds until he was close enough to tackle him.
Up ahead, Jeremy spied a tall streetlight at the top of the rise. Bells clanged as a pair of arms swung down, blocking nonexistent traffic from crossing the tracks.
The subject looked back, and Jeremy caught a glimpse of his face. Only a glimpse, but he could read the panic. The man turned again, and Jeremy spotted the gun in his hand.
Pop!
Jeremy hit the ground with a flash of pain, then lifted his SIG and returned fire. The figure lurched sideways, and Jeremy cursed his crappy shot as the man sprang back up and kept running. The guy darted a look at the train tracks, and Jeremy understood the move the instant before it happened.
The man lunged right, scrambling up the rise and over the tracks, a small black blur before the blinding white light. Jeremy started after him but halted as the man vanished from view and a wall of shrieking metal rushed by him.