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Brock’s attention was on Killian. “That means something to you.”
“Got to check something,” Killian said, dropping the pic on the desk and strolling for the door. He glanced back and saw Brock right on his heels.
“Not fucking staying here.”
Killian had never in his life rolled his eyes, but he did then.
“She did it,”Brock said, looking around Cedar’s place, a note in his tone that Killian hadn’t heard before, a remnant of his younger self.
“She moved in with me,” Killian said, looking up at the camera.
Brock’s head snapped around. “Didn’t waste any time.”
Killian met his hot stare with one of his own. “In my shoes, you wouldn’t have either.”
He didn’t like it, but Brock had to admit, the man was right.
“How the fuck did she get that up there?” Killian thought out loud.
Brock followed his stare then grinned. “She always did like climbing trees.” Looking back at Killian, he said, “Want me to go, Sheriff? I am younger and more spry.”
“Fuck you.”
Killian grabbed the lower branch and pulled himself up, working his way to the camera. He tossed it down to Brock. By the time he joined him, Brock was looking through the footage.
“What are you looking for?”
“The cigarettes don’t fit.”
It was Brock’s turn to give Killian a look. “Is that code?”
Killian took the camera, advanced the footage. “Found cigarettes but not the smoker.”
Brock wasn’t amused, particularly when he glanced back and saw the perfect line of sight to Cedar’s place.
“Son of a bitch,” Killian hissed.
Brock studied the picture. “Guessing you know him?”
“Yeah, and if you’re right, we found her sugar daddy.”
“What are we waiting for?” Brock asked.
“You want to be sheriff?” Killian bit back.
Brock grinned. “Being wanted for first degree murder kind of throws me out of the running.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Killian walked back to his truck, stopped and asked, “You carrying?”
“What do you think?”
Killian dropped his head, shook it. “I need a new job.” He started back to his truck. “Let’s go.”
A half anhour later, Brock studied the house, much like what he grew up in, but whoever lived here had more money than taste. Parking, they climbed out. Brock eyed the license plate, three-dollar signs. What a douche.
Killian stepped up to the door and knocked. The housekeeper opened it, looked from Killian to Brock, fear moving over her face, before she stepped back and held the door wider.
“Where is he?” Killian asked.
