Page 189
A humorless laugh escaped her. “Probably.” She shook her head. “But no. Not yet. The truth is the truth.”
“Truth about … what?”
She pointed to the ammo tin. “It’s in there.”
Another long look before he slowly reached over and tugged the tin closer.
He lifted the clasp and peered in. “Files?” he murmured and started unpacking the contents.
Newspaper clippings, each one secured to a neat manila folder.
One by one, he spread them across his desk.
Felicity’s heart hammered against her ribs, her palms damp as he read.
“Prominent Businessman Dies in Boating Accident.”
“Investment Banker Found Dead in Apparent Overdose.”
“Visiting Russian Oligarch Killed in Hunting Mishap.”
“Philanthropist Dies After Fall at Luxury Ski Resort.”
“State Senator Killed in Single-Vehicle Collision.”
Finally, he reached the last item.
A glossy photograph.
Five men stood with Vasily Liminov, glasses raised in celebration.
Behind them, a towering Christmas tree glittered with lights and gold ornaments.
And in the center of the group stood a fifteen-year-old girl.
Felicity wondered if Beau could hear the frantic pounding of her heart.
The sheriff studied the photograph for a long moment.
His gaze flicked to her.
Back to the photograph.
He placed the photograph down. “Who’s the girl?”
She knew he knew. Still, it was hard to say. “Katerina.”
“Why was Katerina with the men?”
“Entertainment.”
He swore softly and rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“And the accidents” — he gestured to the files littering his desk — “weren’t accidents.”
It wasn’t a question.
Felicity said nothing.
