Cold Shot (28 page)

Parker stood back and studied the room—the beds, the dresser, even the ceiling, and then dropped to his knees and began searching underneath and around all the pieces of furniture.

Avery frowned. “What are you looking for?”

“Someplace Marley might have stashed something if she felt threatened.”

“You think she knew they were after her?”

“She used an alias to rent the room and paid cash. Seems like she feared someone was tracking her, or she could have just been being cautious. Tracking down someone so dangerous had to be unnerving.”

“And exciting.”

He arched a brow. Another reason he liked Avery.

Reaching into the extremely shallow space beneath the nightstand, he stretched all the way up against the back wall. His fingers trailed over something bristly. “Hey, I think I’ve got something.” He wriggled, having to lie fully on the floor and scooch the item out with his fingers. “A hairbrush. I don’t know if it’s hers, but we can hope.”

“It’s definitely unique,” Avery said.

Parker examined the antique brush. “Heavy handle, probably gold tone over silver, filigree design.”

“Interesting floral print on the back.”

“I’m guessing from the sixties.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a hairbrush expert.”

“You’d be surprised the items I have to examine in my line of work.”

“Why do you think she’d hide a hairbrush?” Avery asked, flashing a picture of it.

“I doubt she stashed it. More likely she dropped it accidently or knocked it off the nightstand while turning off the alarm.” Parker pointed to the clock at the back edge of the nightstand. “I knock all kinds of things off my nightstand when I’m hitting Snooze. Half the time I forget to pick them up upon waking. The point is
if
the man Linda Jo saw collected Marley’s things, he’d have no idea to check behind or under the nightstand.”

“And it’s certainly not something Marley would leave behind. Looks too personal. Too special.”

“Exactly. So if it is Marley’s, it only further testifies to the fact someone else checked her out.”

38

A
very settled in for the drive back from Gettysburg, surprised how much pleasure she derived from spending time with Parker. She typically preferred solitude, as she surmised Parker did, but somehow together . . .

She exhaled. That was a nonstarter. Not only did she have zero interest in any type of personal relationship, but he was clearly still hanging on to his love for Jenna McCray.

An incoming call from Griffin came through. Parker answered via Bluetooth. “Hey, Griff,” he said over the speakers so Avery could hear the conversation, which she greatly appreciated. For not having any investigation experience before coming to work for Parker, she felt somehow oddly at home in the realm.

“Hey, guys. Got you on speaker,” Griff said.

“Us too,” Parker said.

“How’d it go?” Avery asked.

“Really well. We got a few leads,” Finley said. “And one right up your alley, Avery.”

Her brows pinched. “Oh?”

“Marley’s camera. We know the exact model. It was a Canon EOS-1, which belonged to her aunt, Andrea.”

“Andrea,” Avery said, looking at Parker.

“Is that name significant to you?” Griffin asked.

“It’s the name Marley registered at the hotel in Gettysburg under—Andrea Douglas.”

“Douglas was Ben’s last name,” Finley said.

“Who’s Ben?” Avery asked.

“Marley’s friend,” Griffin said.

“Her friend Ben or her
friend
Ben,” Parker’s voice dropped as his brows hiked.

“Ugh.” Avery sighed in disgust. “Unlike
you
, some men and women are actually able to be just friends.”

“Acquaintances, perhaps,” he acquiesced, “but close friends with no other feelings involved, no way.” He winked at her, then shifted his focus back to the conversation. “So which is it, Griff?”

“They were more than friends, or quickly getting there,” he said.

Parker looked over, smiling triumphantly. “Told you, love.”

She shook her head with a grunt, ignoring the pleasure the affectionate moniker filled her with, which was ridiculous. It had no meaning behind it, other than the fact that Parker could be a serious flirt.

“Was there anything wonky or suspicious with this Ben?” Parker asked.

“Not that I could tell,” Griffin said, “but he did mention something interesting. The two of them visited Gettysburg last November for the Gettysburg Address reenactment ceremonies, and Marley saw someone or something that spooked her.”

“Perera?” Avery asked.

“Very possibly.”

“But if so, why not mention it to Ben?”

“Who knows?” Griffin said. “Maybe she wasn’t sure. She kept looking around as if she was trying to figure something out.”

“Well, it finally gives us a Gettysburg tie. Loose as it may be.”

“Speaking of which, how did your day go? Sounds like you found her hotel?”

“Yes. The Gettysburg Inn. She registered for two nights, but the inn owner said she only stayed one.” Parker went on to explain the full details.

“Let us know the results on the hair samples as soon as you get them,” Finley said.

“If it’s a match, it’ll provide concrete, physical proof Marley was there,” Griffin said.

“Doesn’t the hotel owner identifying her photograph accomplish that?” Avery asked.

“In court the defense could argue it’d been too long, the lady might be mistaken, there are a lot of people who might look similar, and so on. She registered under a false name and paid cash, which doesn’t provide any concrete link,” Griffin said.

“Then let’s pray the hair’s a match,” Avery said.

Parker glanced sideways at her. Yes, it was her first use of the word prayer. Her faith was her faith. Not something she shared with others. Not anymore.

“So, the aunt’s camera . . . ?” she asked, shifting the conversation back to where they’d begun.

“Right,” Finley said. “Apparently her aunt was a photographer whose images of General Rativik’s atrocities in Sara
jevo become famous—revealing to the world the depths of his depravity.”

“Wow.” Those had to be some powerful photographs. “I’ll look into the aunt and the camera model.”

“Thanks,” Griffin said.

Perera greeted his man outside the airport. With Simon’s death, he needed someone else he could trust, and Stephen Daniels was it.

“How was the flight?” He’d come from Cambodia.

“Long.”

“And everything back home?” Cambodia was home now. The source of his business, his income, and, most importantly, his pleasure.

“Running smoothly.”

“Good to hear.” He’d exerted great time and effort surrounding himself with the right men. Men who could be trusted. Men loyal to him. Men who didn’t question. Just did their job. Mercenaries were the perfect workhorses. Soldiers for money, who did the job and did it well.

“How are things here?”

“Not as smooth as I would like.” He pulled out of the airport and onto I-195.

“Have you identified our opponent?”

“Not yet.” He was a ghost. Much like the men he surrounded himself with. But everyone had a past. If he just dug deep enough. “He’s a worthy adversary. If I didn’t have to kill him, I’d love to hire him.”

“And the marks?”

“I think the doc actually listened.”

Daniels arched his brows. “She believed you?”

“Don’t make it sound so unfathomable. I can tell the truth.” His lips curled. “Just takes a little more practice.”

“And?”

“They are going to need some more persuasion.”

Parker watched Avery work at his kitchen island, realizing he didn’t want this case to end. Oh, he wanted to see Perera behind bars, and whomever else may be involved, but he didn’t want this time with Avery staying at his place to end. It was a startling realization, one he didn’t think possible, and one he didn’t fully understand. But there was something about Avery Tate . . .

He leaned against the wooden beam, sipping his coffee. She’d slipped past his guard. The first stirring of serious feelings for a woman he’d experienced in eight years and it was exhilaratingly terrifying. He hadn’t even seen it coming. Oh, he’d known there was something about Avery the moment they met, but he thought it respect. He hadn’t even dared consider the possibility . . .

“Bingo,” she said with a snap.

“You found it?” he asked.

She spun around with a jump. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. You were so intent on your work, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

She smoothed her long hair. “How long have you been standing there?”

He smiled. “A few minutes.” He loved watching her work. Such passion and intensity for whatever she did.

One day he would learn her story. Well, he already knew the
facts. Before working with anyone he did his research, but he longed for her to share
her
story, her life. He wanted to be more than colleagues. Perhaps she was right. A man and a woman could be real friends. He already knew it to be true. They were all friends with Kate, and only two out of the four of them loved her in a romantic way. It had just been too easy and far too fun to get a rise out of Avery on the topic.

“Remind me to look over my shoulder every now and then,” she said, focusing back on her work.

“You seem to be doing that all on your own, love. The question . . .” he said, stepping behind her and dipping his head over her shoulder to look at the screen, “is why?”

She tapped—rather, thumbed—the keys. “Because I don’t like people sneaking up on me.”

“That happen often?”

“With you around, it seems to.”

It was more than that, but he wouldn’t press. Instead, he indicated the screen. “What did you find?”

“The camera Marley had with her at the time of her death. I just purchased one off eBay. Not the same as having hers, but it’ll let me see its capabilities and let you take it apart.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Nice job, Tate.”

“Thanks. I was curious . . .”

“Three words I adore.”

She smiled. “You are so weird.”

He lifted his brows. “If you only knew . . .”

“I’ll pass. Thanks.”

“You say that, but I see the curiosity sparking in your eyes.”

“What you see is indifference.”

“Keep telling yourself that and you’ll miss out on all the fun.”

“I’ve had my share of fun. It’s overrated.”

“Is that so?”

“Can we get back to work already?” She blew out an air of frustration.

“Of course.” He fixed his most serious expression. “You said you’re curious . . .”

“Right. I did some digging on Marley’s aunt. Andrea Trent, maiden name Dugonja. Finley mentioned Andrea’s background as a photographer during the Bosnian War. I looked up her work. Pretty powerful stuff.” She clicked on the tab and an image popped up of a man, woman, and child dead on a crosswalk with blood pooled around them.

She clicked through image after atrocious image. “No wonder Marley was so inspired by her aunt’s work. Not only did she bring the reality of the brutality of the war to light, her photographs exposed the role General Rativik played in war crimes, rapes, and genocide. Some say he was as bad if not more so than Mladic.”

“I don’t remember a General Rativik standing trial.” Mladic certainly had.

“He didn’t. It says he was killed in an explosion not long before the war ended.” She closed her laptop, stood and stretched, running her fingers through her hair and grasping two fistfuls with a grunt. “Aggg. I don’t understand.”

“What?”

“
People
. How they can do things like this to one another.”

“I’m afraid there are monsters in this world.”

“Not monsters. Evil.”

“Yes.” He stepped toward her. “Evil.”

She exhaled, for once actually letting down her stringent guard. “It terrifies me.”

“That’s good.”

“Why on earth is that good?”

“Because it means you’re still tender despite the horrific things that happen in this world.”

She planted her hands on her hips—slender but shapely in the black yoga pants. “And how is that a good thing?”

“Trust me, love.” He lifted her chin with his finger, hoping she saw the depth of sincerity he felt in saying this. “It’s a gift.”