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“I thought it would save some time,” I said. “Did you order a hit on Kyle Brooks?”
“Would I do such a thing?” he asked, spreading his hands out. Just a good ol’ boy, that was Sean Nyelund. “I don’t know where you came up with that idea.”
I questioned him for twenty minutes or so and couldn’t get a straight answer out of him. It could mean that he’d done it. It could mean that he was thinking about doing it—or that he enjoyed the hell out of frustrating me. Hard to tell.
Finally, he said, “Go away, Mr. Smith. You bore me. Come back if you have money to invest.”
“You take care, now,” I said, tipping an imaginary hat. “I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”
He grunted and turned back to his computer.
Nadia worked her magic under the cover of my opening the door, and then we strolled out past the receptionist.
“He pulled a gun on you,” Nadia said, belting in.
“I saw it,” I told her. “You saved me, darlin’ girl.”
She laughed. “Or reassured him that you weren’t about to attack.”
“Could be,” I acknowledged, but thought that Nyelund would happily have shot me if he could have gotten away with it. Something to keep in mind.
“What did you learn?” she asked. “I couldn’t tell anything about him.”
“The jury is out on Nyelund,” I told her. “He makes such a point of not answering questions, he might as well be fae.”
“Does he know that you’re a werewolf?” she asked. “And that werewolves can smell lies?”
I shook my head, relatively certain of my answer. The public might know about werewolves—but I wasn’t taking out advertising. Kyle knew, but he was pretty much the only human who did. Using Adam’s name might make Nyelund suspicious—Adam had become a celebrity once the word got out that he was the local pack Alpha. If I were Nyelund, though, I’d bet that the celebrity part was why I’d used Adam’s name, not the Alpha-werewolf part. And should he think I was a werewolf anyway, he couldn’t prove anything and it just might make Kyle a mite safer.
If Nyelund was smart and subtle, Phi
llip Dean, the next man on my list, was a different kettle of fish. He’d done some time after Kyle worked his magic in court—but only because he was stupid and talked his way into jail by threatening the judge. Dean was a nasty brute who’d inherited his father’s money a couple of years ago. The money wasn’t really enough to hire anyone—but he had the contacts, and it was only a matter of time before he killed someone. He’d almost managed to make it his ex-wife and wouldn’t mind at all making Kyle Brooks his first kill.
He also, as it turned out after I made a few phone calls, was vacationing in Florida—Disney World.
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t him,” I told Nadia. “But he’s kinda a long shot anyway. Doesn’t think ahead very well, though he’s cunning enough when cornered.”
“So? Where to now?”
“Ms. Makenzie Covington.”
“A woman?”
I smiled at her. “Most of Kyle’s clients are women, but he takes on cases for men, too. Ms. Covington is a real piece of work; tried to pose as the abused wife so that she could take her ex to the cleaners—she was not happy when Kyle proved that she inflicted her bruises herself. Her ex-husband’s bruises were also her doing. She lost visitation rights—not that she cared about the kids, but it humiliated her in front of her friends. Two years from now, she’ll be off tormenting her third or fourth husband, and wouldn’t make my list. Six weeks after her divorce, though, her ire is still focused pretty hard on Kyle.”
“Why not on her ex?”
I smiled a bit grimly. “By the time she got through with him, all he could say was ‘Yes, dear’ and look at the ground. Kyle was the one who humiliated her and protected her victim.”
Makenzie Covington worked at home—which was currently a condo in South Richland. She was striking rather than beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, and strong features, she looked like a passionate woman who lived life to its fullest. Which was sort of true. She didn’t recognize me when she answered her doorbell.
I introduced myself and Nadia.
“I’ve never met a private detective before,” she cooed at me. “Won’t you come in?”
It didn’t take long to figure out that it wasn’t her. If she’d ordered a hit on someone, she wouldn’t have welcomed a pair of private investigators into her home and gotten all hot and bothered about it. Sometimes being a werewolf gives you interesting insights into people.
Still.
