Chapter Four
Mission Valley, San Diego, California
Sunday, January 8, 2:50 p.m.
Sam parked in front of Jennifer Porter’s apartment and took a moment to clear his mind.
Because Kit had called and asked for his help again. He wasn’t sure if his sheer delight was pathetic or normal. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d tingled all over as he’d driven away from New Horizons.
Sam was a helper. He’d known that about himself for most of his life. It seemed seared into his DNA. Helping serve lunch to the teens this afternoon? No big deal. Showing the photos of Davy and Danny Norton to the teens at the shelter? He considered that part of his job.
But helping Kit was different. And helping Kit because she’d asked him to? It gave him hope that things might eventually work out between them.
That was what he needed to clear from his mind, at least for now. The hope. Because he was here to do an important but difficult job—talk to a grieving family member about the person they’d just lost.
He’d checked Shelley Porter’s social media posts before he left New Horizons and had noticed a change in her posts over the past six months. They’d become dark and brooding, the photos taken in shadow. Her surroundings had become less tidy, candy wrappers and other trash littering the floor of what appeared to be her bedroom. There had been a thirty-day gap while she’d been in rehab, but in the most recent photo, he thought he’d seen the base of a syringe on the nightstand beside her.
Kit and Connor wondered if whoever had arranged for the trailer wrap had made a deal with Shelley. Offered her something to entice her to break her aunt’s policy of always getting the money upfront.
That might or might not have been the case, but Sam would bet that Shelley had started using again. It hurt his heart. A young life wasted.
And her mother had suffered the consequences as well.
Sam climbed the four flights of stairs and knocked quietly on Jennifer’s door. The door opened, revealing Bran, Jennifer’s boyfriend.
“She’s asleep,” Bran said quietly.
That might be for the best. “I have some follow-up questions that could help the police solve her murder. Can I come in?”
Bran stepped aside. “Of course. Thank you, by the way. You were so good with her earlier. She’s…well, she likes to seem tough, but she’s a marshmallow inside.”
Sam smiled sadly. “I know the type.” That was Kit, through and through. “They don’t make it easy for you to take care of them.”
“That’s God’s honest truth. Have a seat.”
Sam sat on the corner of the sofa. When Bran sat at the other end, Sam said, “I need to ask you more about Shelley. Was she using again?”
“Yes. Jen didn’t want to hear it, but I saw the signs.” He shook his head. “I tried to tell her that Shelley was using again, but Jen shut me down. We actually fought about it, and we never fight. Jen didn’t mention this, but Shelley took two hundred dollars out of the register two weeks ago. She was right out of rehab. I told Shelley that I knew she’d done it, and she got nasty with me. Said if I didn’t back off that she’d tell Jen that I’d made a pass at her. Which I never would have done. Jen’s it for me. I don’t cheat.”
“Did you tell Jennifer this?”
“I tried. She said that I must have misunderstood. I did not misunderstand.”
“It’s hard to accept the failings of people you love.”
“I know. So I let it drop. Jen saw Shelley as the little girl she’d helped raise. She lived with her sister Carol and Shelley up until she and I got this place two years ago.”
“Did Carol and Jen speak often?” Sam asked.
“Not every day. I guess you’re wondering why we didn’t go over there before today. To check on them.”
“I did wonder that, yes,” Sam admitted.
“Jen was furious when Shelley texted Tuesday night. She left Jen high and dry, which meant Jen had to do her job and Shelley’s, too. Jen was working late every night this past week and when she came home, she was tired and so mad that she didn’t want to see Shelley’s face. She said it was a good thing that Shelley wasn’t answering her phone, because she’d say stuff she couldn’t take back. She was letting herself cool down.” Bran sighed. “And now there’s the whole trailer thing. That trailer job was worth a lot of money for Jen. For Shelley to allow someone to take the trailer without paying, and then she’s killed?” He shrugged, not finishing his thought.
“What are you wondering?” Sam asked gently.
“I’m wondering if the guy offered to pay Shelley in cash on the side, some percentage of the total. Shelley would have kept the cash, then would have thrown a tantrum about how mean Jen was and would have denied everything when Jen discovered the money was never paid. Any amount of cash would have gone straight into Shelley’s arm.”
“What prompted Shelley to go to rehab?”
“She got arrested for possession. Carol and Jen begged the DA to cut her a deal that included rehab.”
“Who would Shelley have confided in? Who might know if she’d made a side deal on the trailer for the cash?”
“Her good-for-nothing boyfriend. His name is Ace Diamond,” Bran said with disdain. “I don’t think that’s his given name, but it’s the only name I know. He’s a thug and he was stoned every time I saw him. He works for Jonesy’s. It’s a butcher shop.”
Sam barely managed to control his flinch. He knew the list of injuries inflicted on Brooks Munro. Kit had brought him up to speed when she’d asked him to get more information on Shelley.
That Shelley’s boyfriend worked for a butcher might just be a bad coincidence. Sam hoped so.
“Got it, thanks. Anyone else besides the thug boyfriend?”
“She also had a best friend. Her name is Julie Sparks. I don’t have her contact info, but she works in a clothing store at the mall. The one where all the mannequins wear neon-colored miniskirts.”
“I think I know the one.” The clothes made Sam wince every time he passed by. The colors were so bright. “Thank you, Bran. I know the words seem empty, but I am sorry for your loss.”
Bran nodded soberly. “Thank you for taking care of Jen. It was…more than I expected.”
“I’m happy to help,” Sam said as he walked to the front door. “Make sure she sees a therapist. Either the one I recommended or another of her choice. Murder is a trauma. There’s absolutely no shame in asking for help.”
“I’ll take care of her,” Bran vowed.
When Sam was back in his RAV4, he dialed Kit and brought her up to speed. “Should I talk to the best friend or the thug boyfriend?”
“Both,” she said. “But I’ll go with you. Connor is working with the two detectives Navarro assigned to help us. Let’s talk to the best friend first. I’ll meet you at the mall. If she’s not at work, we’ll visit her at home. Give me a second.” There was a pause and a sigh. “Bran’s right. Ace Diamond is not the thug boyfriend’s real name. The best friend might know it, though. Thank you, Sam.”
“No problem. I have to go home first and walk Siggy. If you get there before me, wait at the pretzel stand next to the clothing store.”
“Mmm. Those pretzels are the best. I’ll get us a snack.”
Sam ended the call, taking one more look up toward Jennifer’s apartment. Sam keenly remembered watching the life drain from his first love’s eyes. They’d been seventeen, accosted while changing a tire on prom night. Every time he visited the family of a homicide victim, every time he spoke with parents grieving because their runaway teen had been found dead, he remembered the grief and the pain.
He knew how Jennifer felt. So did Kit.
It was why he and Kit had chosen their careers. Maybe that was also what made them both so good at what they did. He wanted to think so. That way, at least, there was purpose in their grief.
University City, San Diego, California
Sunday, January 8, 4:00 p.m.
Kit hated the mall. Hated it with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. But she’d suck it up for the sake of Shelley and her mother. She didn’t know if Shelley’s friend had been informed of her murder.
Kit hated the thought of doing a notification at the mall.
But she’d arrived before Sam and now had two giant pretzels filled with carbs and buttery goodness. She took a bite from hers as she scanned the store through the glass.
She had Julie Sparks’s driver’s license photo. The woman was nineteen, five feet two, and had light brown hair and big gray eyes. And…there she was, straightening the clothing on a display table.
She hadn’t been crying. Didn’t look sad.
She probably didn’t know yet. This is going to suck.
“Kit?”
She turned at the familiar voice, a smile curving her lips unbidden. Sam was his nerdy, Clark Kent self. So damn earnest. Just like always.
It was nice that he didn’t seem to change.
And that that fact made her stomach flutter with butterflies scared her silly.
“For you.” She shoved the pretzel into his hands. “They’re good.”
“They are. Thank you.” He bit off a huge bite. “Was hungry.”
“Me too. Julie’s working today. About a third of the way back, standing at the table with the neon-green sweaters.”
“This store always gives me a headache. The colors are like a bad acid trip.” He glanced at her, his eyes going wide. “Not that I’d know what an acid trip is like.”
She laughed. “I believe you. For the record, neither do I. But let’s agree to never ask Connor, because I think he was wilder in his youth than we were.”
“I was boring. Just like now.”
Her heart softened. “Steady.”
He shrugged. “Same as boring.”
“Not even close.” She finished her pretzel and threw the wrapper away. “Ready?”
He shoved the last of his in his mouth. “Um-hm.”
She laughed again, then sobered. “She doesn’t know, I don’t think.”
Sam sighed. “I agree. I’ll be quiet until you need me.”
That she was positive she’d need him scared her, too.
Kit didn’t like needing people. Needing people left you open.
But Pop was always telling her to open up. Maybe this was what he meant. It shouldn’t be so damn terrifying, though.
Squaring her shoulders, she cleared her mind and entered the store, wincing at the volume of the music. “Should have worn earplugs,” she muttered to Sam.
“I brought some,” he muttered back.
She looked over at him. “You did not.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Did so.” He pulled a packet of disposable earplugs out of his pocket.
Kit had to clear her throat and think about death so she wouldn’t laugh. Julie doesn’t know. Have some respect.
The young woman in question looked up at that moment, her eyes going wide. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Julie Sparks?” Kit asked.
Julie nodded warily. “Why?”
“I’m Detective McKittrick with SDPD. This is my colleague, Dr.Reeves. Can we talk to you for a moment?”
She seemed to deflate. “Let me talk to my manager. Wait here.”
“She knows something,” Sam said quietly as they watched her walk to the back of the store.
“Yep. Feels like Carla Norton this morning. Like she was expecting bad news. Did you find any news on Carla’s sons?”
“No, but the teens are spreading the word. It’s only been a month. It might end up okay.” Sam was optimistic that way.
Julie returned, her feet dragging. “She says we can use the storeroom, but I can only have fifteen minutes.”
Kit followed her, Sam at her side.
Which somehow felt…right.
Only because he’s good at his job. He’ll make Julie feel better.
You are such a Lying McLiarface who lies.
Julie closed the storeroom door, the music immediately quieting.
Sam huffed a relieved breath. “Oh. Thank you. That’s so loud.”
Julie looked grim. “What’s happened?”
Kit drew a breath. “I’m so sorry, Miss Sparks. Shelley Porter is dead.”
“What?” Tears filled Julie’s eyes. “No. She OD’d?”
“No,” Kit said quietly. “She was murdered, probably Tuesday night.”
Julie sagged, stumbling backward into the wall. Sam was at her side in a blink, helping her to a chair.
“Who did it? Who killed her?” She looked up, her eyes fierce through the tears. “Was it Ace?”
“We don’t know,” Kit said. “We were hoping you could give us information that would help us in our investigation.”
Julie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t know what you want to know.”
Sam looked at Kit, wordlessly asking if he could take over. Kit gave him a nod.
“Julie,” he said, “did you know if she was using since she got out of rehab?”
Julie nodded sadly. “I hated the drugs and what they turned her into. I tried to keep my distance because I didn’t want to get dragged into her drama, but she’s been my best friend since kindergarten. She asked to meet me here at the mall after my shift. That was the day she got out of rehab, so I did. She was high that night. One freaking day out of rehab and she was flying.”
Sam sighed quietly. “Do you know where Shelley got the money for her drugs?”
Julie sighed. “She stole it from her mom and her aunt. Even from me. This was before rehab. That day after she got out of rehab, when I saw her high, I made her tell me where she’d gotten the drugs. She just laughed and said Jen had bought them for her. I knew that meant she’d stolen again. That was the last time I saw her. We talked on the phone a few times and texted after that, but I wouldn’t see her in person.”
Kit was disappointed. She’d hoped Julie would have more recent information. “Can we see your texts?”
“Yes, but she never admitted anything to me over text. She kept any mention of drugs off my phone because she knew I didn’t approve. You might have better luck with the other people she was texting, because she was always texting someone. Did you find her phone?”
“We didn’t,” Kit said. Her killer had likely taken it.
“Did she keep her texts in the cloud?” Sam asked.
Whoa, Sam. Kit was more than impressed. Good question.
Julie nodded. “I think so. The night we met here at the mall, she’d just gotten a brand-new phone. I have no idea how she paid for it, but I went with her to the phone store—it’s at the other end of the mall. I remember her telling them that transferring her stuff from the old phone to the new one would be quick, because she’d just backed up to the cloud.”
Kit held her breath. “You wouldn’t happen to know her cloud username and password, would you?”
Julie nodded, but reluctantly. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”
“It can’t hurt her now,” Sam said, so very gently. “It can only help us find her killer.”
Julie swallowed audibly, new tears filling her eyes. “She never changed it in all the years we’ve had email accounts. Her user ID was her email.” She spelled it out for them and gave them Shelley’s password. “I hope I did the right thing in telling you.”
“You did,” Kit assured her, then realized she hadn’t delivered all the bad news. “I’m sorry, but you should know that Shelley’s mother was killed, too.”
Julie closed her eyes. “Goddammit. Her mom was always nice to me.” When she opened her eyes, they were full of misery. “Carol called me the day after I saw Shelley here at the mall. Begged me to help her. She knew Shell was using again. Ace dragged her back into it.”
Kit wondered what else Ace had done. They’d have to find him. “Do you know his real name? It’s not Ace Diamond.”
Julie rolled her eyes. “Of course it isn’t. The guy is as stupid as they come. Never was good for Shell. His name is Calvin Livingstone. Works at a butcher shop. He was her supplier. I’m sure of it.”
“We’ll find him,” Kit said. “Thank you. Can I see your texts?”
Julie opened her phone and handed it over. “Go ahead.”
Kit scrolled through the recent texts, noting the last one. “She texted you on Tuesday afternoon. Wanted you to go clubbing with her. You said you couldn’t afford it.”
“I said that because I didn’t want to go. Mostly because she was using, but I didn’t want to get into a fight with her, so I told her it was because of money.”
Kit glanced at Sam. “Shelley tells Julie that she was coming into some cash and wanted to treat her.”
“That cash is what got her killed, isn’t it?” Julie asked sadly.
Almost certainly, Kit thought. “We don’t know,” she said, giving Julie back her phone. “But we’ll find out.”
Sam pressed a business card into her hand. “My boss is a good therapist. Call if you need someone to talk to. I can’t talk to you because I’m working this case, but Dr.Carlisle will.”
“I’ll think about it. I’ve got to get back on the floor.”
“Thank you,” Kit said. “We’ll be in touch if we have more questions.”
“I hate doing that,” Sam said when they were out of the store and could finally hear themselves think again. “How do you manage it?”
“I keep Snickers bars in my desk drawer,” Kit said. “Sometimes chocolate is the only thing that soothes the sting.”
“Where are you going next?” Sam asked.
Kit wished she had time to buy him dinner, but she didn’t. “I have to get back to the precinct. Connor and I still have a ton of interviews to do and I need to get this login information to the computer guys. Are…are you gonna be okay?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. I think I’ll stop by Shady Oaks. I haven’t seen Georgia and Eloise in a week. I’m overdue.”
Kit smiled up at him. The elderly ladies at the retirement center were two of her favorite people. “Give them my best. Tell Georgia I still want to be her when I grow up.”
The old lady was grumpy as hell, but wicked smart. And she adored Sam.
Sam chuckled. “She’ll love that. Call me if you need me again.”
“I will. Be safe, Sam.”
“You too.”
She watched him walk away, her stomach going all fluttery again. He was a very handsome man to begin with, with his dark hair and green eyes. And his Clark Kent glasses. But he looked equally good from behind.
Which was objectifying him, but somehow Kit didn’t think he’d mind.
San Diego PD, San Diego, California
Sunday, January 8, 6:00 p.m.
“I heard you pulled the Munro case.” Detective Bruce Goddard folded his tall frame into one of the chairs in the conference room that Kit’s team had commandeered. “Can’t say I’m jealous.”
“We aren’t happy about it,” Connor said glumly.
“Same,” Kevin Marshall grumbled, and his partner Alf Ashton grunted his agreement. Marshall and Ashton were the two detectives whom Navarro had assigned to run down leads on the Munro murder. And now the murders of Shelley and her mother Carol.
No one wanted this case, it seemed. Kit certainly didn’t.
She sighed. “We have a million suspects and we haven’t talked to any of them but the wife. We’ve spent all day tracking the trailer the killer used to get Munro and his Ferrari—”
“And his Rolex,” Connor inserted.
Kit nodded. “And his Rolex out of the gated community.”
“Well, we’ll keep an eye out for chatter on the Ferrari and the Rolex,” Goddard said, his Southern accent seeming thicker than normal, “but I wouldn’t hold out a whole lotta hope. It’s not a specialty collection, like coins and paintings. But we’ll put out feelers at pawn shops and chop shops. Rolexes show up at pawn shops all the time. The Ferrari will probably be repainted and sold as-is.”
“We were wondering if the killer might not just keep them,” Connor said.
Goddard made a thoughtful face. “As souvenirs? Maybe. There was a lot of rage in that crime. Someone had a powerful need for revenge.”
“Or someones,” Kit said reluctantly. “The ME says it looks like a mob hit. Like, not the mafia, but a group of people.”
“Lucky, lucky you,” Goddard drawled. “We can put out feelers for the trailer, too. That’s a loose end.”
“It won’t still be wrapped,” Connor said. “That was a temporary way to hide it. Easy enough to remove it himself.”
“Or herself,” Kit murmured. “The mutilation of his genitalia may indicate a female doer. But Munro was a big man. Would be harder for a woman to drag him under that boulder in a windstorm.”
“Unless she had a wheelbarrow,” Goddard said.
“It’s possible. Any tracks in the sand were long gone when Sam and I found his body. Or, more correctly, when our dogs found the body.”
Goddard grinned. “So you and Sam finally had your date.”
Kit frowned. Did everyone know about their date? “Kind of.”
“Was it nice?” Goddard asked slyly. He was a shit-stirrer for sure. He’d asked Kit out, but Kit thought that was only because he’d wanted to nudge Sam into doing so himself.
Which made Kit feel protective of Sam. Another feeling she wasn’t used to yet.
“It was very nice until we found a dead body,” Kit said dryly. “Next topic, please.”
Connor smirked, then sobered. “Were you able to get into Shelley Porter’s cloud account?”
Kit nodded and brought Goddard, Marshall, and Ashton up to speed on their newest victims. “Jeff in IT got into her account. Shelley exchanged several texts with what turned out to be a burner phone. At this point it looks like she thought she was dealing with David Norton. The customer said that he was cash-strapped and that he’d give her the money for the wrap job in cash if he could pay in installments. Offered her sixty percent of the total for starters, which came out to about four grand. That had to have been a lot of money for an addict like Shelley making minimum wage at her aunt’s auto body shop.”
Goddard whistled. “That’s a lot of money for most people.”
“True enough,” Kit agreed, not looking at Connor. She suspected that wasn’t a lot of money for him, but she really didn’t want to know for sure. “According to her texts with her boyfriend Ace, Shelley planned to leave town with the cash. She asked Ace to run away with her, but Ace told her no, that the money she’d be getting wouldn’t last them a month on the road. Which surprised me, to be honest. From what I’d heard, he’s a thug and would have snatched that money in a heartbeat. But in the texts, he tried to get her to stay.”
“How did her killer get her cell phone number?” Marshall asked.
Kit sighed. “The body shop’s call log shows that the burner number called their main line, and I assume he talked to Shelley. He might have gotten her number then. If he asked about paying on the side, she would have been happy to give him her cell so that her aunt didn’t get suspicious. The first text from the burner number said, ‘Hey, it’s me. We talked on the phone about my wrap yesterday.’?”
“Smooth,” Goddard said. “Gave no names, so nothing to trip himself up later. Does the body shop record their calls ‘for quality assurance’?” He used air quotes.
“No,” Kit said. “He must have known when Shelley would be there alone, and he had to have known she was the weakest link. We just need to figure out how.”
“Security footage?” Goddard asked.
Marshall shook his head. “Ashton and I went to the body shop with CSU. The security cameras were spray-painted over, just like at Munro’s house. So we got nothing there.”
“Have you talked to this Ace person yet?” Ashton asked.
Kit shook her head. “He’s our next stop. His real name is Calvin Livingstone.”
“I’d call myself Ace, too,” Goddard muttered. He rose, grimacing in pain. “I’ll get right on trackin’ the stolen goods. If you find out Munro’s missing anything else, let me know.”
“Will do,” Connor said. “Why are you limping like that? You get hurt on the job?”
“I wish,” Goddard said, disgruntled. “I went home to Louisiana for the holidays and my brother Liam tackled me in a game of football on New Year’s Day. We both played ball for LSU back in the day, but he’s kept his skills a little better honed than I have. Thought he’d busted my ACL at first, but it’s just a knee sprain. He felt bad. Which I milked, of course.”
Kit’s lips twitched. “Of course. What did you get out of it?”
“Shrimp ’n’ grits. Liam’s a damn fine cook. He threw in some homemade pie in exchange for me not telling Mom.” Goddard gave them a wave. “Later, guys. Call if you need me.”
They watched Goddard limp away, all of them wincing along with him. Knee injuries were a bitch.
“I always want to hate that guy,” Marshall said glumly. “He’s got that Southern charm thing going on, and the women fall all over him. But he’s too damn nice to hate.”
Kit had to chuckle because she was pretty sure Sam felt the same way. “So, what have you found about this list of suspects?” She gestured to the whiteboard.
“All of them hated Munro’s guts,” Marshall said. “None of them have criminal records, and we’re still working on the subpoena for his widow’s financials. It’s going to take a while, because her money is all tied up in a trust and her lawyer isn’t cooperative.”
“Wilhelmina said she’d stay until Munro is ‘in the ground,’?” Kit said. “So she’s not going back east for at least a few days. Batra hasn’t released the body yet, and I can ask her to delay as long as she can.”
Ashton nodded. “Thanks. We started on the senders of the threatening emails he kept. The most threatening senders all have alibis for Wednesday night.”
“We also got a list of contributors to his campaign,” Marshall added. “We wondered if any of the contributions were actually payments for Munro getting charges dropped against people accused of crimes. Connor told us about what Munro tried to do to Sam.”
“What an asshole,” Ashton said. “Munro. Not Sam.”
Kit huffed a laugh. “I knew what you meant.” Nobody called Sam Reeves an asshole—it simply wasn’t possible. “Were any of the contributions suspicious?”
“Not yet,” Marshall said. “But there were some big hitters on that list. Lots of property developers and boards of directors of local charities. Makes me wonder what he promised them in exchange for their contributions.” He slid a folder across the table to Kit. “These are the contributors in order of contributions. Deepest pockets at the top.”
Kit scanned the list. Marshall was right. There were several familiar names on the list. In addition to developers and charity organizers, there were some of the city’s wealthiest private citizens. “Have any of them received special consideration from the council in the last two years? Like, a building permit when it looked like they’d be refused? Or funding, like with New Horizons?”
“Not that we’ve found,” Ashton said, “but we’ve barely started looking.”
Kit set the list aside. “Munro had a lot of supporters. Was he looking to run for higher office?”
“Good question,” Connor said. He added it to the list on the whiteboard. “The trailer with the landscaper’s wrap is our most direct lead so far, so I say we keep going with that.”
“Agreed.” Kit checked the time. “I think we find Ace Diamond, a.k.a. Calvin Livingstone, then if it’s not too late, pay Wilhelmina another visit to see if anything else is missing.”
“Are you sure she’d tell you?” Marshall asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I still don’t know that I trust her completely.”
“Same,” Connor said. “She and Rafferty tried really hard to seem transparent. They very well might be, but if I were in her shoes, I’d sure be tempted to hire someone to do away with my shitstain of a husband.”
“He cheated on her, stole from her, and hit her,” Kit explained to Marshall and Ashton. “She said that she was planning to file for divorce, but ending him with a hit man might have seemed like a more favorable alternative. For now, we’ll focus on Ace. Hopefully he knows more about whatever transpired between Shelley and her killer. According to his record, he’s got a recent conviction for drug possession and is currently on parole, so we may be able to leverage that to get him to talk if he clams up. I pulled his most recent address from his driver’s license. If we can’t find him there tonight, we’ll try the butcher shop where he works tomorrow.”
“Knives and butcher shops kind of go together,” Ashton observed.
“Definitely true.” Kit gathered her things. “He’d surely know how to make the fatal wounds that were done to Munro, and he’s big enough to have dragged him to that boulder in Anza-Borrego. Do we still have the department car signed out, Connor?”
“We do. My turn to drive.”
Kit smirked. “He’s still annoyed that he had to sit in the back seat this morning,” she told the others. “He rock-paper-scissored with Sam and lost, then whined about it for the rest of the morning.”
“I’m too tall to get squished in the back,” Connor grumbled. “Let’s go. Happy paperwork, guys.”
Ashton flipped Connor the bird as they left the conference room.
“Not the way to make friends and influence people,” Kit said quietly.
Connor laughed. “Ashton was one of my instructors in the academy. It’s my job to push his buttons now.”
“Just don’t make him so mad that he complains to Navarro, or we could be doing the paperwork ourselves next.”
That knocked the grin off Connor’s face. “Good point.”