She looked away, scrunching her face in distaste.
“Look, whoever got to Suresh…” Something clicked in his brain like a chambered round.
Valerie couldn’t have killed Suresh herself, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t called in someone else to do it once she found him. With her partner out of the picture, she could take his share of the money. If she was guilty of treason, murder wasn’t such a stretch.
Fuck.
The idea had merit. And yet… The woman had puked, for God’s sake. Unless she was sick with remorse, he wasn’t buying her as a killer. Sure, she was an accomplished con artist, an expert liar. But, thanks to his dad—aka The Dick—Scott knew how to read people.
Everything from Valerie’s micro-expressions to her posture had been consistent, from the moment he’d started watching her for Hollowell. Not once had she shown even a hint of duplicity.
But that only made him doubt his skills. He needed time to sort things out in his head, because suddenly the instincts he’d trusted for so long were in question.
“What did you do with your phone?” he asked her.
Her dark brows came together and she tilted her head. “What phone?” She gestured to her bag. “I only have the burner for an emergency. I haven’t even taken it out yet.”
“You didn’t have a cell phone in the bar?”
“I haven’t used one since I tossed my iPhone in a dumpster at a strip mall in Manassas. I didn’t want to be traceable.” She snickered. “If I’d only known…”
At least his stalking skills were still unimpeachable. “How did you know Suresh would be at the pub?”
“I didn’t.” Her gaze sharpened on his face. “Why?”
Scott half shrugged. “He didn’t look happy to see you, so it wasn’t a planned meeting. I’m wondering how you found him.”
“Luck and guesswork.” She sighed and chewed her lower lip. “He talked about Zachari once at a holiday party after drinking too much. The name stuck with me. I’ve been driving around randomly hoping to run into him since I got here. Then I saw a banner for Sunday Night Football.”
Her fingers toyed with a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. “Jay was a huge Cowboys fan. He always preferred to watch the games at a sports bar, so I figured it was worth a try.” She blinked several times and hugged her knees, staring unseeing down the beach. “Now I wish I hadn’t.”
She appeared sincere. Was she that good of an actress?
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Scott said, trying not to picture the guy’s dead stare and bloodied face. He’d seen death too many times to count—delivered it plenty of times—but that didn’t mean he liked it.
Valerie’s eyes were dull. “If you didn’t kill Jay, who did?”
Guess the lack of trust went both ways. And if she didn’t do it, Scott being the culprit made a lot of sense from her standpoint. After all, why would Hollowell have Scott follow her to find Jay and then use someone else as a killer?
Jesus, everything had gone fucking catawampus.
“It was one of the feds. I saw his face clear as day under the streetlight.”
She raised her eyebrows at his words, but he was certain the man with the gun had been Hurley. He’d even been wearing the same ugly deck shoes.
“Have they been following me too?”
He nodded.
She absorbed that for a moment. “You think the shooter wanted revenge for the agents who were killed?”
Scott sighed. “Hell if I know.” Nothing made sense right now.
“But if you all knew where I was, and someone wanted revenge, why not take me out?Iwas the one with the agents, not Jay. Their deaths were my fault.”
“Maybe Hurley planned to come for you next. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to wait around to find out.”
Valerie hugged herself tighter. “Why didn’t they arrest me back in Virginia?”
