Reese sipped his scotch. “And this helps us...how?”
“According to Hawk—and I agree—the murder had to be a hit. And it had to have been done by a real pro.”
Reese frowned. “So not a fight that got out of hand or a crime of passion?”
“No way.”
Reese felt a rush of relief. He’d always believed in Kenzie’s innocence, but he didn’t like the uncertainty that crept in once in a while. “Hawk have any ideas who might have done it?”
“Several, actually. His personal favorite is a guy who works for the mob in Louisiana. He’s a real ghost. No one even knows his name.”
“What makes Hawk think he’s the guy?”
“Apparently, the shooter’s known for getting the job done without leaving any trace evidence. He’s meticulous in his research and planning. Knows the target inside and out. What the subject does, where he lives, who’s in his bed. He formulates a plan, eliminates his quarry, and does whatever it takes to divert attention away from himself.”
“Like using the gun that was in Lee’s house, then tossing it for the cops to find.”
Chase nodded. “He probably knew Haines had the pistol and where he kept it. The shooter might even have known it was registered to his ex.”
“If the guy was that good, why did it take him three bullets to put Haines away?”
“Probably the same reason he used Haines’s gun then planted it. To make it look like an amateur instead of a pro.”
Reese sipped his scotch. “Why would a Louisiana mob hit man want to kill Lee Haines?”
“No idea. But I’ll keep working on it. Unfortunately, Bran’s headed back to Colorado. He’s got to finish getting the new office set up by the end of the week. He didn’t want to leave but I told him we could handle things here.”
Bran’s wife, Jessie, loved the city, and he was always up for a new challenge.
“Bran’s going to keep digging,” Chase said. “He’ll let us know if he comes across anything useful.”
Reese sipped his whiskey. “I remember Kenzie mentioning Lee’s brother is a Louisiana state senator.”
“Could be something.”
“Next time I see Kenzie, I’ll ask her about it.”
Chase nodded, finished the last of his beer, and slid out of the booth. “Your drink’s on my tab. I’ve got a pretty wife waiting at home. I’ll let you know if I turn up anything new.”
As his brother left, Reese felt a pang of envy. Once he had wanted the kind of life his brothers now had. After his divorce, that had changed. Marriage to Sandra had soured him. He wasn’t sure he would ever try it again.
Kenzie’s image popped into his head and arousal slipped through him. There was no doubt he wanted her. More than that? He needed time to find out.
NINETEEN
Gran fixed ham and green beans for supper. While the ham was baking, Griff finished his homework. Since Kenzie was upstairs helping him, she and Gran hadn’t had time to talk, but Kenzie knew her grandmother had seen the article in theSpectator. Maybe now she was beginning to understand what Kenzie had tried to explain about the problems of an office romance.
“Dad’s funeral is tomorrow,” Griff said glumly as he sat at the desk in his bedroom. It was decorated in navy blue and white, a sailing theme because Griff loved the water so much. “I wish it was already over.”
Kenzie ran a hand over his dark hair and pulled him in for a hug. “So do I, sweetheart. But funerals are a way for people to show their respect for the person who died. And they come to be supportive of the family.”
He closed his notebook. “I saw on TV where sometimes the killer shows up. The cops come so they can see who’s there, then they can check them out, get evidence, and arrest them.”
“It’s not exactly like the movies, sweetie.”
“I’m going to watch for anyone who looks suspicious. Maybe we can catch him ourselves.”
She bent down to his level and cupped his cheek. “You need to leave the detective work to the police.”
