Chapter 11
I glance up and down the hallway before I finish picking Cory Powell’s lock. The security in this place is a joke. Okay, maybe it’s not that terrible, but they only have cameras in the lobby that I’ve seen. None in the stairwells, which is a huge oversight, and none in the hallways.
This place touts its privacy, but come on.
Whatever, it’s good for me. I entered with someone who lives here, a drunk woman coming home from a late night.
She was funny and loud, and wanted to give me advice on dating married men.
There wasn’t anyone at the front to even stop me or ask questions.
So I got on the elevator with her, then kept riding up after she got off.
But instead of getting off on Cory’s floor, I exited two below, then took the stairs.
I’m wearing an auburn wig that looks good with my complexion, a newsboy-type hat that partially covers my face, and glasses that I don’t need. Luckily the wig hides my ears too, not that I think the Feds are going to be looking into this, but I like covering all my bases.
That was one of the first things Fallon taught me after hiring me. Don’t. Get. Caught.
She runs a tight ship, with powerful clients who demand discretion. We also take on pro bono jobs that don’t pay anything but that need to be done anyway. Fallon essentially has a slush fund that helps pay for those jobs.
Inside his place, I wait, breathing quietly as I step into the small foyer. I expected an alarm to go off, thought I would have to disarm one. But there’s nothing. This place feels almost…
Someone steps out from behind a giant potted plant and I find myself staring down the barrel of a gun.
Ah, shit. “Damn it, Alex,” I whisper. “What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you, I imagine.”
“This isn’t a case.” And it’s not something I should be here discussing, but the place must be secure if she’s already here and tucking her pistol away. She probably turned off the alarm if there was one. “And what are you doing with a weapon?” We almost never carry weapons.
“Not mine. Found it here.”
I frown. “The cops searched this place.”
“Not well enough. I’m going to have Foxe run it, see what pops.”
Iris Foxe is a hacker who can usually find anything our firm needs. She’s weird in the best way and scary capable. There’s a reason Fallon wooed Foxe away from her old firm with double her previous pay.
“Have you found anything else?” I’m already pulling out my tiny flashlight. “And seriously, why are you here? Did Fallon send you?”
“Jesus Christ, Sloane. You’re an idiot sometimes. And I haven’t finished searching his kitchen.”
Frowning, I follow after her as she stalks to the kitchen.
“You’re in a mood.” She takes one side and I take the other, looking for any typical hidey-hole places.
Any seams that don’t match up, or disturbed dust. Not that there’s any in this place that I can see so far.
His kitchen is pristine, modern, all whites and grays with expensive-looking appliances.
At least there’s a bank of windows with enough outside city lights to illuminate the rooms, so we don’t have to turn anything on.
“Yeah, and my mood is named Sloane.”
“Rose is a saint for putting up with you,” I mutter as I run the beam of my flashlight inside one of the cabinets. Working in the dark with a flashlight like this does have its advantages. Anything that’s out of place really sticks out.
“With me? You drive me insane. All we want to do is help you, and you act so fucking surprised that the others and I want to solve your sister’s murder.”
I swallow hard, not sure how to respond as I grab one of the chairs to stand on it. I want to see the top of the cabinets. Maybe Powell has hidden something here. I figure the cops already checked, but they missed the gun and I don’t want to take anything for granted.
“Sorry, I’m trying to be sensitive,” she says in a way that sounds more like Rose than her. “I know you just lost Cara. But it’s making me crazy that you didn’t reach out for help. We’re all helping whether you like it or not, so deal with it.”
“Thank you. I…” It’s hard for me to trust people. Always has been. And no wonder. But fine, maybe she has a point. “I really appreciate your help. I know I can’t do this alone.” Well, I could try, but my company has a lot of resources I’d be stupid not to utilize.
“I’d think after all our time working together, you’d trust me a little more.” Her voice is muted because she’s ducked into some of the lower cabinets to search.
Nothing on top of the cabinets that I can see. “It’s not you. Or it’s not personal.” The only person I was ever able to depend on growing up was my sister.
I pull open the metal storage drawer under the stove and don’t find anything there either, so I pull the entire drawer out.
It takes some work, and I’m worried I might be too loud, but I finally get it free.
Nothing there though. Which makes sense.
Would probably be too hot to hide anything down here, but I want to cover all my bases.
“Feels really personal. And because of that, you’re coming to the Christmas Eve party. Don’t say no. If you do, I’ll make sure Fallon assigns you to work with Gideon for your next contract.”
“Ugh. Fine. I hate you.” Gideon works with us, but his constant happy attitude is a lot to deal with. He’s like Mary Poppins on uppers.
“Love you too— Jackpot.” She pops up from under the cabinets below the island with a thick roll of cash. Hundreds, from the looks of it. She’s wearing gloves like me and carefully unrolls the tight wad.
“Cash isn’t really a smoking gun.” I have cash stowed away at my place in multiple spots. Just in case.
She gives me a dry look, but doesn’t respond. Instead she pulls a black zippered case smaller than a cell phone from her jacket pocket and I realize what she’s doing.
She slips a ridiculously tiny tracker onto one of the bills, then rolls it back up before ducking behind the countertop again. “At least we know he’ll take this if he comes back.”
“Did you put anything on the weapon you found?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
“Has Foxe found anything on him?” I know it’s a dumb question even as I ask it, but don’t fight the compulsion. “If she’s even looked into Powell,” I add, mainly to get a rise out of Alex.
Since Alex has made it clear that the whole team is helping me, I know Foxe has definitely started looking into any potential avenues. And that has to include the owner of this condo, the cops’ main suspect.
“Be patient,” Alex says, clearly to herself. “Do not smack your partner. Not today. Patience.” I snicker and she looks up, eyes narrowed. “You’re messing with me?” Her expression is dry.
“Just a little. Come on, let’s keep looking.”
Even though I wouldn’t normally stay long in a place I broke into, we end up combing over every possible hiding nook.
By the time we’re done it’s getting close to sunrise and I need sleep or I’m going to be no good to anyone. I can grab a few hours at my condo, then head back to Cara’s and hopefully greet the girls during breakfast.
“I sent you an outline of my thoughts on everyone I saw at the memorial,” Alex says once we’re on the quiet sidewalk in front of Powell’s building.
“But read it after you’ve gotten sleep. In case it’s not clear, no one is working any other jobs right now—not that I’m calling Cara a job.
I just mean that we’re at your disposal for any leads, and you’re running the show.
Also, we need to look a little deeper into Marcus Chesky.
I’m pretty sure he and Ava Chatelain are having an affair. ”
I feel like she’s handling me with kid gloves, and honestly, it’s fine with me. Maybe I need a little delicate handling right now because I feel like I could split apart at the seams or scream my rage into the world until it eats it whole. Or drown myself in a bottle of vodka.
No. I won’t go down that dark hole again. Not when I need to find my sister’s killer. “Thank you.”
She blinks, clearly surprised by my response. Which makes me feel like an asshole. But what else is new?
“I’m going to crash at my place for a few hours, then head back to Emerald Queen Gardens.” I could probably make the drive now, but I don’t want to risk it when I’m about to pass out. “Also…Marcus and Ava? For real?”
“Oh yeah. They’re sleeping together for sure.” For a moment she looks like she wants to say more, but then changes her mind and strides away.
Okay, then. I’ll have to read her notes because I don’t have the energy for more now.
I parked in the opposite direction and head that way, only to stop in my tracks a block later when a vehicle up ahead flashes its lights twice, then three times.
Cautiously, I look around but there’s no one else on this quiet street.
Then I recognize the vehicle and all the tension leaves me.
Even though I’ve just established that I’m alone, I look both ways and jog across the street, my breath frosting the air as I jump into the passenger seat.
Maybe later I’ll think about the fact that I got inside his vehicle way too easily. Apparently I’m losing my edge.
“What are you doing here? Are you stalking me, Garcia?”
“You can call me Hector.” His tone is dry.
“I’ll stick with Garcia. And that’s not an answer.” He’s got two empty to-go cups of what was definitely once coffee in the cup holders, but no other trash. Just like earlier, his vehicle is surprisingly clean.
“Did you break into Cory Powell’s place?”
“Did you see me break into his place?”
“No.”
“Then nope,” I say a little too cheerily. I’m pretty sure the lack of sleep is getting to me.
Sighing, he lets his head fall back against the headrest. “I’m not stalking you. I was following up on a lead.”
“Downtown?”
“Yep.”
I’m pretty sure he’s not lying, but he also doesn’t offer up anything else. “This is out of your jurisdiction.”
“Leads can take me anywhere.”
No shit, but I like needling him. “You find anything you can share?”
“No.” His expression is neutral, which is just plain annoying because I really can’t tell if he’s holding something back. “What about you?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. Other than hidden cash and a gun, but I keep that to myself. In case Powell comes back for them, I want a way to track him.
“You need to stay out of this.” Again with that neutral tone that makes my temper spike.
“I’m not in anything.” And no way in hell am I sitting this one out. Someone killed my sister and they’re going to pay.
He sighs, like I’m the biggest pain in his ass. “You need a ride anywhere?”
“Nah. My car’s a couple blocks over.”
Again with the beleaguered sigh, but he kicks his SUV into drive. “Which way?”