“Good news,” Hawk said. “Good for Kenzie. Not so good for Jeremy Bolt.”
“What’s going on?”
“Bolt’s dead. Better yet, the narcissistic bastard left a room full of trophies, one for each of his kills. He had Lee Haines’s photo, a photo of Kenzie, and a spent shell casing from Kenzie’s pistol that he used to kill the guy. All we have to do is wait for the cops to find it, which hopefully has already happened. It shouldn’t take too long for Kenzie’s name to be cleared.”
“I can hardly believe it. That’s really good work. Thanks, Hawk. If there’s anything you ever need—and I mean anything—you call me. Okay?”
“I’ll keep it in mind. I heard what happened on the boat. You okay?”
“Fine, considering how much seawater I drank. Kenzie saved my life. And from what I’ve been told, she damned near died trying to do it.”
“She’s a keeper, bro.”
“I know,” Reese said gruffly. The call ended and he caught up with Kenzie near where Reggie stood next to an SUV limo. “That was Hawk. He took care of your problem. The cops have to work things out, but it shouldn’t take long before your name is cleared.”
“Oh, my God, really? Are you sure?”
“Bolt’s dead, but he left plenty of evidence behind, trophies of the kills he made—including Lee Haines. If it goes down the way Hawk thinks, it won’t take long.”
Kenzie threw her arms around his neck. “You did it! Thank you! Reese, I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
Reese’s drew her snugly against him. “You’re welcome, but you should be thanking Hawk.”
“True, but if it weren’t for you, I never would have met him, and I’d probably be in jail.”
The notion chilled him. I love you, baby, he thought. I love you and I’m not letting you go.
He wanted to say the words, but he wasn’t sure what Kenzie would say when he did. And with Ryker walking a few feet behind, now was not the time.
Add to that, there was his old nemesis, Troy Graves. If he was right and Graves was behind the accidents—including the two that had very nearly killed him—the bastard was going down.
From the airport, Reggie drove the limo toward Kenzie’s town house. He hated to leave her, but she had been through enough, and he had Graves to deal with. There was no evidence, just his suspicions, but deep down his certainty was growing.
He considered confronting Troy in his office, getting it all out in the open, hearing what the guy had to say. But as CEO of Black Sand, Troy would have too much control in the workplace. Employees, clients, security people—better to catch him off guard somewhere else.
“I’m heading in to work,” Reese said as the limo pulled out to pass a slower vehicle. “I can shower and change in my office. I’ve got a couple of things I need to do.”
“You’re recovering from a concussion,” Kenzie reminded him, as if the headache throbbing at his temple wasn’t enough. “You shouldn’t be going to work. You need to stay home and rest.”
“The doctor said the head injury was mild, and I won’t stay long.” Just long enough to dig up as much information as he could on Graves. He needed something to connect Troy to the Poseidon. With luck and Tabby Love, he might be able to find it. “I promise to call as soon as I get free.”
She flicked him a sideways glance. She knew him well enough to know there was more going on than what he was telling her.
“If you’re going in, so am I,” she said. “I’ve got as much work to do as you. I assume Jax will be going with us.”
He tried to keep it light, smiled at the back of Ryker’s head where he sat up front with Reggie. “Sure. Got to keep my brother happy.”
Kenzie cast him another skeptical glance as the limo pulled up in front of her town house. Reese carried her overnight bag inside and while she ran upstairs to change, he chatted with Flo. Griff was in school. Reese was happy the boy seemed to be moving forward without too many scars from the trauma he suffered.
From Kenzie’s, the limo took them to the office.
“We’ve got plenty of security,” Reese assured Jax as they walked into the multistory lobby. “The executive floor isn’t even accessible without signing in at the desk, so there’s no need for you to stay. Why don’t you come back at closing, make sure we get home safely?”
Amusement touched Jax’s lips. “I don’t think that’s what Chase had in mind, but I promise to be discreet. You won’t even know I’m here.”
Reese felt a trickle of irritation. He’d been taking care of himself since he was fifteen. He studied Jax’s determined features and a sigh of resignation whispered out. As Kenzie had said, his brother just wanted him safe.
“Okay, fine, whatever. We’re headed upstairs. I’ll be in my office.”
Jax nodded, rode up with them to the executive floor, then disappeared, presumably to check out building security.
Looking forward to getting out of the clothes Kenzie had scrounged from his Houston apartment that morning and brought to the hospital, Reese showered in his private bath and changed into a white shirt and navy blue suit.
While Kenzie worked on his schedule for the coming week, Reese spent the afternoon digging into Troy Graves, his lifestyle, groups he belonged to, articles written about him or Black Sand Oil and Gas, everything he could find on the internet.
He learned the basics, but nothing that could help him. Reese phoned Tabitha Love. “Tab, it’s Reese. I need a little more help.”
“Sure, chief. What can I do for you?”
Reese filled her in on his suspicions about Graves, and half an hour later, Tabby called back.
“What have you got?” Reese asked.
“Just some small stuff so far, but you never know what might help.”
“I’m listening.”
She ran through his biography, born and raised in Dallas, went to Texas University, where Reese had originally met him. “Never married,” Tabby said. “No kids. Inherited half ownership of Black Sand Oil and Gas from his father.”
Nothing new there. “What else?”
“After his dad died, Troy moved into his father’s house, a palatial residence in Bluffview. Two days after his partner, Arthur Haines, was killed, he turned in his old Porsche and leased a new one. Oh, and he’s seeing a woman named Delia Parr, the late Lee Haines’s fiancée.”
Delia Parr. Reese remembered her. Didn’t take her long to get back in the game, he thought. From his impression at the funeral, he wasn’t surprised.