They walked to the door together.
Valeriya looked delicate, but she could whip through a room like no one else and change beds in the blink of an eye. Once a month, Hannah had a local cleaning crew come through to give the house a thorough going-over, but on a daily basis she and Valeriya easily handled it together.
“Hannah!” Valeriya said, her eyes wide. “I hadn’t heard from you since—well, you know. I was starting to worry.”
“Come in, Valeriya,” Hannah said. “This is my cousin, Kelsey O’Brien. She used to live here in Key West.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Kelsey said.
“There’s a policeman out front,” Valeriya said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, trust me,” Hannah assured her. But was she?
“This is very scary,” Valeriya said. “I came to America to be safe.”
Hannah glanced at Kelsey. Safety was in short supply at this house right now.
“Valeriya, with everything that’s going on, you don’t need to come to work today. I don’t even have any guests other than my cousin and her fiancée. I thought she was bringing people with her, but it turns out it’s just the two of them.”
“I heard you’re secret agents,” Valeriya said breathlessly to Kelsey.
Word was out, Hannah thought. Key West was nothing but a small town when you got right down to it.
Valeriya turned to Hannah. “Hannah, please. I have to work. I can’t afford my rent if I don’t work.”
Hannah looked at Kelsey.
“Okay, Hannah. We’ve only been using three of the bedrooms, so—”
Valeriya smiled. “I will get to work right now.” Still beaming, she left them and went upstairs.
“I can’t let her starve,” Hannah said when she caught Kelsey’s dubious glance.
“No, but her behavior is pretty strange. I know you, though—you’d pay her whether or not she worked the hours.”
“Yes, I would.”
“So why is she staying and working?”
“Maybe she’s scared,” Hannah suggested. “She saw the body in the alley. And if she can’t make a living and has to leave the island, I’ll be in trouble when this is over and I start taking guests again,” Hannah said. If this is ever over, she added silently.
And Valeriya’s behavior was strange. Very strange. She had a child. Her mother lived with her and was her childcare provider. Why was she here when she could be with them?
Whatever Valeriya’s reason, Hannah decided, if working was that important to the woman, she could work.
“I guess you’re right,” Kelsey said.
“Besides, I’m afraid, too.”
“Of?”
“What if someone decides Valeriya knows something, or that I told her something?”
“First, people know she works for you, so she’s in danger already. Second, we won’t let her go home until Logan and Dallas get back, and then one of us will see that she gets there safely,” Kelsey said.
“Yes, but she needs to go shopping and things—she has to keep living. I should have called her. I should have told her to stay away,” Hannah said.
The words had barely left her mouth when they heard a long sharp scream from upstairs.
Followed by a massive thump.
12
The young man sitting sullenly in front of Dallas had neatly clipped brown hair and hazel eyes. He was tanned and fit, like someone who spent his days playing in the sun. Or working in it.
But he didn’t have the hands or fingers of a working man. His palms were baby soft, and his fingertips were callus free. He had the look of many South Floridians; Dallas was pretty sure one of his parents had some kind of mixed Northern European background, while the other had hailed from Cuba or one of the other islands, or Central or South America.
His first words to Dallas were, “You have no right to keep me here.”
“No? Actually, I can hold you for twenty-four hours without charging you. I understand you demanded an attorney, then decided you didn’t want one after all,” Dallas said.
Liam laid a file down in front of Dallas, then stepped to the back of the room and leaned against the wall, just watching. The plan was for him to stay there, silent, unless Dallas asked him something.
Logan was watching from the other side of the one-way mirror.
Dallas opened the file. “Martin Garcia. Born Miami Beach, Florida, 1991. Hmm. I’m looking at a couple of drug busts here.” He looked up at the young man. “Why do I get the feeling you’re lucky you were brought in for possessing the stuff rather than selling it?”
Martin Garcia smiled at him. “You can think anything you want.”
“What I want is for you to tell me about the murder of a man the other night—a man you were with until he was attacked.”
Garcia tried to keep up his cool, belligerent manner. He was leaned back in the chair, legs sprawled forward. Dallas ignored that and watched his eyes. As soon as the kid lowered his lids and looked to the side, Dallas knew they had him.