Deadly Odds (8 page)

Ross finally moved. He sat straight in his chair, tucked his pen back into the sleeve of his leather portfolio with precision care and flipped the cover closed. “I’m good.”

Don shrugged. “I got no issues with this. She’s young and she’s smart. Always got room for that.”

He winked at Kate. Unbelievable. For a short, round, balding man, he had enormous charm and confidence.

“All right then,” Samuels said, “I’m heading to Dominion for another meeting. You three work out whatever needs to happen here. Ms. Daniels, I expect daily updates.”

Daily?
“Of course, sir.”

“Also, before I walked in here, I received a call from a Vegas detective. One of the Dominion dealers was found in an alley this morning. He’s dead.”

* * *

“Dead?”

Ross repeated the word, forced his mind to absorb it while he brought his manic thoughts in order.
Who? How? Why?
The silence in the room roared at him, caught him off guard and left a whooshing in its wake. “Who…” He cleared his throat. “Which dealer?”

Having worked at Dominion since graduating from business school, he knew most of the dealers. Within certain limits, considering he was their boss, he’d even befriended some.

And now one of them was dead.

“Dale Cousins,” Samuels said. “Murdered.”

Jesus
. Conflicting emotions—relief, surprise, horror—all stormed and his head drooped forward. He’d known Dale, but wouldn’t consider him a friend. Still, he’d known him. That alone left a weird mix of shock and grief.

“He was married,” Ross said. “Couple of kids.”

Samuels shrugged. How would he know about the personal lives of his employees? He didn’t request that much detail and never sought it out. That was Ross’s job.

“My God,” Kate said. “How awful.”

Don wrapped his fingers around the edge of the table, gripping so hard the veins in his hands popped. Slowly, he pushed his chair back and sat for a few more seconds before he walked to the window to stare out at the foothills. He might be hard-nosed, but when it came to families, to
children
, his heart was the size of the Grand Canyon. Eventually he gave up on the view and faced them again. “Do they know what happened?”

“Apparently he was strangled. I didn’t get details. The detective said he’d question some of the employees. I need to get back there and monitor that situation. I’ll keep you all posted.”

Samuels hauled ass out of the room and the minute the door closed Kate let out a breath.

Still near the window, Don spoke up. “We need to get with HR and our PR people. See how they want to handle communicating this to staff. Let’s get ahead of it before everyone and their goddamn grandmother starts talking to the press.”

Ross nodded. “I’ll take care of that.” He turned to Kate. “Helluva day for you around here, but I guess we should welcome you to the team.”

She set her palms on the table, fingers splayed wide. “I want you both to know I’m as surprised as you. I was told this project had limited scope. I don’t know how he found out about the incident with the bet. That
did not
come from me. I hadn’t even told my boss.”

Whether Ross believed her or not, he’d yet to decide. Most likely, she told the truth. Knowing Samuels this was a classic maneuver on his part.

One Ross didn’t appreciate.

But he’d play nice. He stood and adjusted the cuffs on his sleeves simply to have something to do. A dead dealer and now Kate coming on full-time. Samuels had leveled them with all kinds of shockers today. “He’s got spies everywhere. Someone told him.”

“Hey,” Don shot, “if havin’ a good-lookin’ redhead around all day is the worst thing, I guess I’m a lucky SOB.”

His obvious attempt to lighten the mood fell flat and Kate gawked at him. “Do you have any idea how inappropriate that is?”

Don held his hands out. “What?”

Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe irritation, maybe flat-out sadness over a good man’s death, but Ross sighed. “Save it, Kate.”

“No,” she said. “This isn’t the seventies anymore. You can’t talk to women like that in an office.”

The hot redhead had caught on to Don’s ways fast enough. Good for her. “She’s got you nailed. Now let’s see what she does with our security.”

Getting the hint that the meeting was over, Kate gathered her notepad and still shaking her head, stood. “I really do want to help you. I hope you know that.”

“Look, Kate, I won’t say I’m happy you’re here. We’ve only been open a few weeks and for my boss to bring in a consultant already, it…”

“Chaps his ass,” Don said.

Thanks for that
. “I wouldn’t go that far. It’s not ideal, but let’s do this. You figure out what you need and I’ll do my best to see you get it. I’m sure my foul-mouthed friend here feels the same.”

The two of them turned to Don, still leaning against the windowsill. “Hey,” he said, “as far as I’m concerned, she’s got all-access. We got nothing to hide.”

They’d better hope they didn’t.

* * *

Dale Cousins.

Kate sat at the conference room table, alone, after telling Ross and Don she had calls to make.

She sure did.

The first being to Mark Blazedon because—newsflash—the dealer he’d told her about just that morning, the one who’d been on the FBI’s radar, was now dead.

Murdered.

Coincidence?

Not a chance.

She scrolled her contacts for Mark’s number.

The call rang through and Kate sat back, waiting for him to answer, her mind reeling, sorting theories. Depending on how deep Mark’s inquiries about the dealer went, he might know of the death already.

The ringing on the other end stopped.

“Kate?” Woman’s voice.

Who the heck did she call?

“It’s Angel,” the woman said.

Angel Mendez. Another agent—and friend—from the Bureau.

“Hey, Angel. Sorry. I thought I dialed Mark.”

“You did. I…um…answered his phone.”

During her Bureau days, the running office gag had been to call a person’s cell while they took a bathroom break. The rookies, seeing a Bureau number usually always answered. The veterans? Not so much.

Kate knew it still went on. Joke or no joke, agents never left their phones.

If they did, in Kate’s experience, it wasn’t a good thing. FBI agents simply never left their phones.

Ever.

Unless something had gone wrong.

“Is Mark okay?”

Hesitation. “Kate, look. There’s been a…”

Angel went quiet, the dead air sitting between them like a guillotine about to take someone’s head. Chatterbox Angel quiet? The only time Kate remembered Angel ever at a loss for words was after they’d worked a kidnapping case that hadn’t ended well.

“Angel?”

“Yes?”

“Where’s Mark?”

More silence. Kate’s head throbbed, the
buhm, buhm, buhm,
making her vision blur.

“Kate,” Angel said, “we lost him. Mark is…dead.”

Chapter Five

Kate slouched back in her chair, shoulders curling forward, her chest caving from the punch.

Instinctively, she checked the ornate clock on the back wall. She’d just seen him. Five hours ago. They’d sat at that tiny table in the lounge, ribbing each other and pretending to flirt while their competitive juices flowed.

Five hours.

She opened her mouth, forced the words out. “I just…”

“I’m sorry to tell you like this. I’m going through his texts and saw it was you.”

That made sense. Of course they’d search his phone for leads.

“Angel, I saw him this morning.”

“Where?”

“At Fortuna. I’m consulting for them.” She squeezed her eyes closed, drove the picture of Mark sitting in front of her, smiling, prodding her for intel, from her mind. The ache in her chest spread from center mass into her shoulders. “What…happened?”

“We don’t know yet. He was found behind a vacant building in East Charleston. He checked in around noon, said he was meeting an informant. That was the last we heard from him.”

Kate sat forward, pinned her hair back with her hand and pressed her fingers into her skull. He must have left Fortuna shortly after their meeting if he was in East Charleston around noon. “He left me about 10:30.”

“Did he say anything? Where he was going or anything?”

“No, but he asked me about a dealer from Dominion.”

“Dale Cousins,” she said.

“Yes. How do you know?”

“He mentioned him to me when he checked in. I think the informant he was meeting had information on Dale.”

Obviously, the Dale Cousins murder hadn’t made its way to Angel yet.

“Well, Angel,
I
was just in a meeting with the Fortuna execs and the PD found Dale Cousins’ body in an alley this morning.”

“Stop it. Cause of death?”

“Strangled. They think.”

Silence. Kate knew the feeling. None of this could be coincidence.

“Shit,” Angel said. “Hang on.”

She broke off, speaking to someone on the other end, the conversation a muffled blur.

“Kate?”

“I’m here.”

“I need to go. Do me a favor, keep me in the loop if you hear anything. I’ll do the same.”

The line went silent and Kate sat for a second, phone still at her ear, the shock of the last few minutes taking hold, polarizing her.

Mark.

Gone.

Again, she pictured him, just that morning, sitting across from her. Her telling him she was glad they’d run into each other.

And now…

Another fierce punch knocked her square in the chest, locking up all her precious oxygen. She squeezed the edge of the table—
gone
—and opened her mouth.

Nothing.

A strangled gasp provided zero air and she slapped at her chest—not here, not now. Later, she could lose it. Later she could give in to the shock. And sadness.

Pressure built behind her eyes, tiny little explosions waiting, anticipating unleashed tears.

Relax.
She focused on her hands, the way her fingers draped across her legs, her painted nails, anything to occupy her mind for a few seconds.

Her lungs broke open and air, all that precious oxygen, filled her bloodstream.

Cliché as it was, all the typical questions ran through her mind.
Could I have done something? Should I have asked more questions? Could I have changed this outcome?

In reality, the answer to all those questions was a life-sized no. She and Mark? Work friends. They had never shared confidences, didn’t call each other outside the office. Chances were, even if she’d asked, he wouldn’t have told her anything.

Still…she’d been one of the last to speak with him. She ran through the conversation again in her mind. Had he said anything that might help find his killer?

Three quick knocks on the conference room door brought her eyes snapping open.

She sat up, set her icy fingers over her cheeks, let the cold bring her out of her emotional fog.

“Kate?”

Ross’s voice.

“Come in,” she called, her voice shredded. She took a sip of water from the glass sitting in front of her.
Pull it together.

Ross pushed the door open. “Hey,” he said, “I wanted to…”

Hand still on the door handle, he halted, drew up straight. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m f—”

“Don’t even try it.”

He shut the door and strode toward her, his eyes on her, searching.
Dissecting.
The sudden intensity, the blast of all his attention ignited a whirl of confusion.

And then he was in front of her, squatting to eye level, gently positioning her chair so she faced him and—there—he was
right
there. In her space, huddling close and she let out a half breath, half sigh because co-worker or not, no matter how she sliced it, someone she’d seen every morning for almost three years, someone she cared for, was dead.

She squeezed her eyes shut. No falling apart. Not here. Not in front of a client.

Damned shock couldn’t hang on another few minutes? Just a few measly minutes until she could get to privacy. Then she’d cry. Or yell. Or kick something. Whatever. As long as she got rid of this churning agony.

He wrapped one hand around her knee and squeezed. “What’s happening?”

She shook her head.
Pull it together
. He’d caught her mid-meltdown. Embarrassing? Sure. Unprofessional? You betcha. The daily double of career girl suicide.

“Please, Kate. Let me help you.”

“My friend,” she blurted, “was murdered.”

* * *

Murdered
?

What the hell was going on around here today? Ross shook his head, hopped up, dragging Kate from her chair and wrapping his arms around her. What the hell else could he do?