“Some of the things he researched might not sell, and there was legal risk too. He didn’t tell me a lot, but several years ago, someone threatened to sue him. I know Trent, though. He would never do anything wrong, never libel anyone. He resourced his material, checked his facts well, and he always vetted his sources. But when you’re freelance, you don’t have station lawyers or their money to back you. That’s when he started looking for a permanent job. It took him a while, but he got on with the station, and he seemed to be happier. At least . . .”

Jo leaned forward. “What?”

The sound of the TV droned on from the kitchen, underlining their whole conversation. Melanie glanced away with a heavy sigh. “He’d been under a lot of stress lately. He told me there was a story he’d been working on, and he didn’t know where it would lead. One time, he said he had to be careful. He wouldn’t tell me more, but he was edgy and seemed to be looking over his shoulder a lot.”

“Not a hint about the story?”

“No. He could get like that, where he wouldn’t want to tell me anything. Whatever this story was, it was something he’d worked on freelance, and he was closemouthed about that. He’d been at it for a long time, and he told me it was something big, and that it could lead to better opportunities for him. But I don’t know what happened with all of that. I told the other detective that you should ask Trent’s producer about what he was working on.”

“His name?”

“John Atchison.” She stared at Jo. “You didn’t know that?”

Jo felt she was getting suspicious, but she tried to keep the lie going. “Just verifying.”

“Did you talk to John?”

“Yes.” The lie fell easily from her lips.

Melanie tensed a little. “Do you know something more?”

Jo shook her head. “Did you ever read any of Trent’s notes, anything like that?”

She shook her head. “He had to protect his sources, even from me.”

“He kept his research on his computer?”

She nodded. “As far as I know.”

Trent’s electronic devices would’ve been taken by law enforcement and analyzed, and Jo had no way of knowing what they’d discovered.

“Did Trent talk about leaving anything in a safety deposit box?” she asked.

“The other detective asked about that as well, and I’ll tell you what I told him. I have no idea about that. He never mentioned a safety deposit box.” Melanie blew her nose and then studied the crumpled Kleenex. “Excuse me, I need to get another one.”

She got up and went into the kitchen. She shuffled around, taking her time, and after a minute or so, Jo started to grow worried. She peered out the front window to the quiet street. Melanie continued delaying, and Jo called out.

“Is everything okay?”

“Just a second,” Melanie replied. Another minute passed, and then she said, “You be a good boy.” She appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I was getting my cat a treat.”

Jo nodded as Melanie sat back down, fiddling nervously with a fresh tissue.

“Did Trent mention seeing anyone suspicious, maybe at his house, or when he was working?” Jo asked.

Melanie nodded, then paled. “Who are you really? Do you have ID?”

There it was. Jo tried to work around that. “I thought I showed you my badge.”

“No,” Melanie said. “You’re not with the police, are you?”

Jo didn’t say anything, just stared at her. Then something out the window caught her eye. A squad car had pulled up across the street. Melanie saw something in Jo’s gaze, and she glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at Jo.

“I don’t know who you are, or why you’re asking about Trent,” she said. “I texted the detective I talked to before, and he sent someone to help. You can talk to them.”

“I can’t,” Jo said.

“Who are you?” Melanie repeated.

Jo jumped up. “I can’t explain, but I needed to know about Trent.”

Melanie rose as well. “You won’t get anything else from me.” She put her hands out defensively between them. Jo looked past her to see two uniformed officers crossing the street toward the house. She didn’t wait, dashing past Melanie and into the kitchen. The cat had been sitting on the floor, and he leaped out of the way as Jo crossed to the back door.

“Stop,” Melanie yelled at her.

Jo ignored her, yanked open the door, and ran outside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“You’re sure?” Kline said into his phone.

The man on the other end was gruff. “Absolutely.” He spoke for a couple of minutes, finishing with, “I’ll keep you posted.” There was a suggestion in the tone.

Kline knew what that meant. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your money.”

“You bet I will. Talk to you later,” the other man said.

Kline ended the call and pocketed the phone. He had no fear of his calls being traced. The phone was clean, no way to tie it back to him, or JD. Kline stared out the windshield as he drove through the downtown streets. He barely noticed the heavy traffic, or the people out and about. He had a lot on his mind.

In the wee hours of the morning, he’d picked up JD from the woman’s apartment and driven him back to the mansion. By then, the place was long since quiet, and JD had retired to bed without a word. Kline, however, had stayed up longer, making sure everything would go smoothly, that the woman wouldn’t talk. Then he’d gone to his suite, only to have to wake up a few hours later to drive JD to the office.

Since then, his boss had been in meetings, and Kline had run some errands, and he’d kept tabs on the bank situation. Everything had seemed to be going well.

Until the phone call.

Kline drove into the Trammell Crow Center parking garage and took an elevator to forty-five. JD leased the entire floor, and the receptionist paid no mind as Kline stepped off the elevator. Everyone knew he was JD’s right-hand man, and no one asked any questions. A little fear of him went a long way, too. Kline walked a maze of hallways to a corner suite, tapped on the door, and entered. JD was on the phone, and he waved for Kline to come in.

“Yes, those figures look good,” JD was saying. “Let’s continue to pursue that.” He nodded subconsciously, then laughed. “We’ll see what the governor has to say about that. Thank you for your time.” He put down the receiver and looked at Kline. “Well?”

He strode to a leather chair across from JD’s large, mahogany desk. Taking a seat there, he stared at his boss. The room smelled strongly of air freshener. JD smoked cigars here, too, but he didn’t like the odor lingering in the air. The air freshener was just as bad, in Kline’s opinion.

“We’ve got a problem,” he announced.

He could speak freely in this room, which was decorated in a masculine style that reflected expensive taste. A bookcase held framed photos of JD with various famous people, evidence of his place in the city. There were no surveillance cameras in here, no listening devices. The room was swept every day to make sure of that.

JD leaned back in his executive chair. “What? Not something with the woman?” He looked smug.

Kline shook his head. “My contact at the police station called me. The employee from the bank is talking.”