Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Caldwell snorts. “You can afford to hire somebody to kill, you know.”
I give her a smile. A real one. “I’d never ask anybody to do my dirty work for me, Detective. That I promise you.”
She swallows and visibly shakes herself before her chin goes up.
Questions keep coming for another half hour. They cycle the order, poke the same corners, try to catch a flicker. I give them nothing new. Radios chirp. A tech’s flash pops near the closet. Evidence markers sprout across the tile like small yellow teeth. The coroner seals Sylveria into a black bag, zipper rasping, then a cart squeaks away toward freight doors.
Caldwell stands, straightening her slacks. “I want everyone out of this lobby. Our techs need the entire space.”
I stand as well. “Fine by me.”
The front doors push wide. Alexei Solokov strides in with two men tight at his shoulders. Their collars are crooked, hair damp, jackets creased from elbows in the crowd. Rain beads on his coat and rolls down to the floor in neat drops.
“Mr. Sokolov,” Detective Ashner says, stepping forward, trench coat swinging. “We’d like to discuss a couple of matters with you.” He tucks his gum to one side of his mouth and waits.
“Not now.” Alexei doesn’t spare him another look. His gaze finds me across the room and holds. There’s calculation there, and a heat that ignores the chill in the vents. “Justice,” he says, voice even.
“Yes, detectives,” I tell them without taking my eyes off Alexei. “I’ll be in touch.”
Caldwell’s jaw works once. “I want you at the station later today for a formal interview. Don’t make me detain you.” She signals her team. Uniforms start funneling people toward the doors, hands light on elbows, voices clipped but controlled. Outside, a siren winds down.
Yeah, she doesn’t have enough to take me in with my alibi in her email. Not right now, anyway.
Fergus edges closer, boots leaving damp ovals on the marble. “You want Sokolov in the conference room?” he asks under his breath, glancing at Alexei’s guards, then at mine.
“No. We’re going downstairs,” I say. “Sound good?”
Alexei adjusts his cuffs, brushes water from his sleeve, then nods once toward the interior hall.
I don’t give the cops another glance. I turn and head toward the elevator, Fergus tight on my right, Alexei and his two men shadowing me with steps that echo across the marble. Their boots leave damp streaks on the floor from the storm outside. The lobby’s air is thick with polish, copper, and the faint sting of rain every time the glass doors open.
“Wait a minute,” Caldwell calls after me. Her voice is sharp enough to crack through the hum of voices behind us.
“Nope.” I put my hand on the plate. The scanner warms under my palm, then the elevator doors slide open with a hiss. She’ll need a warrant for the other floors.
We step into the car. It’s a good-sized box, steel walls reflecting too much tension. The fluorescent strip above buzzes, throwing hard shadows across the men crowding inside. The air grows close, heavy, a mix of aftershave, damp wool, and gun oil. Too much testosterone, too little space.
The doors close.
“What the fuck’s going on?” Alexei asks, his tone clipped, almost casual, though his eyes are sharp. One of his men shifts beside him, adjusting the strap of his shoulder holster.
“Sylveria Rendale was found dead in a lobby closet.” My words drop into the silence.
Alexei stills. For a beat, the only sound is the grinding of the elevator cables as we descend. “No shit?”
I nod once.
“Did you kill her?” he asks.
“No, and I don’t know who did. My cameras are down.” I don’t like that fact. “I can’t find my computer guy. Kaz.”
Alexei shrugs, but the movement’s too loose, too deliberate. “I know all about Kaz and have never found a hint of disloyalty to you. But, maybe he did it.”
The laugh I force out is short and sharp. “Kaz? No. He’s loyal to the bone.”
The doors part with a low chime, spilling us into the server floor. Cold air hits my face, smelling of ozone, solder, and dust baked into wiring. Towers of servers hum in tight rows, their blinking lights throwing pulses of green and blue across steel and concrete. The sound is constant and low, like a growl that never fades.
Kaz’s chair is empty. His console dark. The emptiness there is louder than any alarm.
Alexei’s mouth tightens. “If your guy isn’t here, why am I?”
“I’m not a novice,” I answer, already striding to an isolated machine that isn’t connected to Malice Media or even the internet. I want to get this over with so I can go reassure Ella. At least Wynd got her somewhere safe. “Plug in your damn drive.”
Alexei fishes out a black thumb drive, rolls it across his knuckles, then tosses it to me. I catch it, shove it into a port on the unit that’s safely disconnected from my garnet.