He nodded, still studying her. He hadn’t known her when he’d been a kid; he would have remembered her. Her eyes were unforgettable.
“Please remember, don’t say anything about Jose,” he told her.
“I don’t know anything, do I?” she asked innocently.
He smiled. “Thanks.”
Liam gave her a quick hug as she rose. “See you later,” he told her.
Dallas followed him through the front of the house. The entry and parlor were large with a check-in counter created from an old telephone desk. The place was Victorian to a T and beautifully kept.
He found himself pausing to look back. He knew that Hannah had stayed in the kitchen, but despite that, he had the feeling that he was being watched.
“What is it?” Liam asked him.
He shook his head and looked at his friend. “What the hell happened to the knife?” he asked.
“Dallas, the crime scene techs are good. Really. This may be an island paradise and we may only be a small department, but we’re up to par. If there’s a knife out there to be found, they’ll find it.”
“That’s just it...it should be out there to be found, but I’ll bet you it isn’t.”
“You think the killer hung around to see him die, then took it?” Liam asked.
“Have you got another answer?”
“Let them do their work,” Liam said quietly, then opened the front door and stepped outside.
Dallas nodded and followed.
He still felt as if the house—or someone in the house—was watching him.
Had Hannah O’Brien really been alone?
*
Hannah rose when they left and looked outside. From the kitchen window she could see that her yard was still crawling with cops and crime scene techs.
She headed to the front and bolted the door, feeling suddenly nervous in her own house. She generally kept the house locked, and guests were given keys. But she’d never been particularly worried before about making sure that it was locked, especially during the day.
She headed to the back of the house and made sure that door was locked, too. She found herself looking out at her usually peaceful yard. It really was beautiful. She paid for someone to come frequently to clear the pool of leaves from the foliage that surrounded it, because she just couldn’t make herself screen it in. There was something too pretty about the crotons and palms and old banyans. But today her normally serene view felt disturbing.
She couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the dead man. His face was burned into her brain; she had knelt by his side, ready to administer help, until his wide, sightless eyes had assured her it was too late.
Undercover agent.
She hadn’t suspected. He’d been perhaps thirty or so, nice looking, dark haired, with a slightly scruffy jawline. He’d been wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
He’d looked like any tourist, or even a local.
Good thing Agent Dallas Samson wasn’t trying to go undercover. The man reeked of law enforcement. He was tall, with exceptionally broad shoulders and a lean, muscled physique that probably came from hours at a gym. His sandy hair was cut short, and his gray eyes looked as predatory as an eagle’s. He’d worn jeans and a short-sleeved tailored shirt, not a suit, but even so, she’d pegged him as some kind of a cop even before he flashed his badge. He’d said that he was from Key West. She sure as hell didn’t remember him. And if she’d known him, she didn’t think she would have forgotten him. But then, he was a friend of Liam’s. Liam been a few years ahead of her in school, and they hadn’t really become friends until they’d both come back to the island after college, though she’d been close to Katie O’Hara, now Liam’s sister-in-law. The island could seem small, with everyone knowing everyone else, and then you’d find yourself surprised when you met someone new who turned out to have lived there all his life. It was also the kind of place where some people stayed forever and would never leave, while others were just passing through.
She winced as she looked out the window. It wasn’t as if Key West didn’t have crime. Any place that dealt with that much tourism—hundreds or even thousands of people coming and going daily—was going to have crime. Paradise could be a great place for a thief.
But murder was a rarity.
And she had never—never!—discovered the victim before.
She jumped back suddenly as she realized that someone was looking in.
It must be one of the crime scene techs standing at the back door.
But as she stared out, she froze.
Her eyes met those of the man staring in. They were dark and brown and expressive. She knew those eyes. She knew that face.
Jose Rodriguez—a dead man—was standing at her back door.
3
Stuart Bell and Shelly Nicholson seemed to be an intelligent young couple.
They’d taken a small suite, so it was easy just to speak with them in their room. The couple was seated on the sofa, and Liam and Dallas had chairs facing them.
“You’re saying that was a real man—and now he’s dead?” Stuart asked, staring at the two of them blankly.