Page 142 of Dead Man's List

His chuckle rumbled up from his chest. “Don’t have a gun. Had to make do.” He inhaled deeply, his voice changing. Becoming shaky. “You scared ten years off my life.”

“I had him under control.”

“I know. It’s the only reason I didn’t hit him myself. But you still scared me. What if he’d had a gun?”

“Kevlar.”

“Doesn’t protect everything.” He exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “I know you’re careful. But…”

“I know,” she whispered. Then she pulled back far enough so that she could meet his eyes. Those lovely green eyes behind the Clark Kent glasses. As usual, they were open and honest and said a million things that she couldn’t parse right now. “Thank you. For having my back. And for trusting that I could handle myself. But especially for recording everything. It will make a huge difference.”

“If they can use that to get a guilty plea out of that miserable sonofabitch, then Rita can report the crime without having to testify in court. Not at that trial at least.”

She’d still have to testify at Drummond’s murder trial, but Kit believed that Rita could handle that. Especially if the man was being punished for the sexual assault.

“Thank you,” she said again, then lifted on her toes to kiss him. Just a quick one, but it still made him smile. “You’re my knight in shining armor.”

“Wielding my trusty nine-by-thirteen baking dish.”

She wanted to laugh, but she found her eyes stinging instead. “I think I’m having an adrenaline crash.”

“Then let me drive you home.”

She wanted to say no. But he was right. She shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car right now. “Okay.”

La Jolla, San Diego, California

Thursday, January 12, 12:15 p.m.

“Wow,” Kit breathed as Connor drove them up the winding driveway to Peter Shoemaker’s home.

The house itself was spectacular. Up on a hill, the house wasdone in an old Spanish hacienda style, but with a literal twist. The house wound around itself, creating a spiral effect.

“The entire back side is semicircular,” Connor said. “All windows. Backs right up to the bluffs. The views of the ocean at sunset are breathtaking.”

Kit rolled the car window down a few inches and was immediately met with the sound of crashing waves and the smell of salt water. “How do you know what the back looks like?”

“I googled it,” Connor said. “It was featured in a magazine about fifteen years ago. The Shoemakers have lived here for ten years, so they weren’t the owners then. But I can’t imagine that they changed much. This house sold for twenty mil. When you spend that much, you don’t want a fixer-upper.”

Kit swallowed hard. “Twenty million dollars?”

“Yep. You ready to meet the wife?”

They’d come to both search Shoemaker’s home and question Aylene Shoemaker about her husband’s alibi. He’d told Joel that he’d been with Aylene on Wednesday after school when Brooks Munro had been abducted, at school the next two days, then at home with her again the next two evenings. They’d already confirmed that he’d been at school all day from Wednesday through Friday, but the rest of the time was still in question.

They were checking alibis of all nine participants in the murder-for-hire scheme, but as Kit had predicted, getting the location and activities for all nine was proving difficult. Hopefully Peter Shoemaker’s wife would be able to back her husband up. They’d at least be able to cross his name off their list.

Kit wished that Sam could be with them today, but he’d had clients that morning and an afternoon of volunteering at New Horizons. He had to be exhausted. At least she and Connor had been able to sleep four or five hours. Sam couldn’t have gotten more than an hour’s sleep before his day had begun.

They crested the hill and Connor tapped the car’s brakes. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell?”

Kit’s thoughts of Sam evaporated at the scene before them. A police car sat alongside a Rolls-Royce in the circular driveway in front of the home where two uniformed officers were restraining an older man. The man appeared to be in his mid to late sixties and he was shouting and fighting them.

Kit and Connor hurried to the action, showing their credentials. “What’s the problem, Officers?” Kit asked.

“This man was trying to break into the house,” one of the uniforms said.

“I was not!” the man thundered. “Iboughtthis house. My daughter lives here. I’m trying to get in there to check on her, but my key isn’t working.”