Could she have grown tired of waiting for Marco to call her back and tracked him down at his hotel? Could Louis have let her into Marco’s suite while Marco was bathing? Could she have demanded to speak with Marco anyway? Could Louis have tried to appease her to get her to leave, confiding that they were holding a very valuable car as a bargaining chip for more information about what had happened to her husband and they would call her as soon as they knew more? Could she have lost her temper and murdered them both?
I flipped to my camera roll and squinted at the photo of Trina, Nick, and Garrett sitting around the table in Ike’s kitchen. Through the small window above the kitchen sink, I could just make out the shed outside. It was large, containing a single bay door. It could just as easily function as a garage.
Ike had made it painfully clear to us that he was planning to eliminate us and take the Aston Martin. Not for Marco, but for himself. Theonly way he could have kept a prize like that from his boss was if he was certain he had a safe place to hide it.
I enlarged the image on the screen, zooming in on the shed. The paint was patchy with grime, the hardware on the bay door covered with rust. A shiny silver padlock secured one side. A massive dog door flanked the other.
There was no question the shed was secure.
The only question was, what was inside it?
The dog followed me, curiosity piqued, as I moved to the sliding glass door at the rear of the living room. I peeled back the heavy drape and flipped the lock as quietly as I could. Easing it open, I slipped out into the backyard. The dog whined as I closed the glass between us.
I ducked low, sneaking under the kitchen window, blinking against the cloud of strawberry-vanilla smoke that ghosted through the narrow gap where Trina had left it cracked.
“Does your husband have any friends or associates who might have connections to foreign business entities…?” Nick’s question faded as I darted to the shed. I rounded the corner and pressed my back against the side, careful to stay out of view as I pulled my phone out of my pocket.
“Finlay! Where are you?” Vero’s voice was a frantic whisper as I held it to my ear.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, checking the back of the structure for another way in. “There’s a shed in Ike’s yard. Some kind of garage.”
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know. It’s padlocked shut.” There were no windows. No other doors I could see as I peered around the back. Except for the dog door…
The vinyl flap wavered in the breeze. I knelt, pushing it open to get a look inside. The shed was pitch black, the dense air carrying the earthy reek of damp ground, stale kibble, and unwashed fur. Careful not to drop my phone, I got down on all fours and pushed my head through the flap. Narrowing my shoulders, I wedged my torso through it, my knees sinking into the wet grass outside. I turned on my phone light and held it aloft, blinking as I waited for my eyes to adjust. The beamglinted off a stainless-steel water bowl beside a dog bed in the corner. A snow shovel and a rake hung from nails on the wall beside me, and a bag of potting soil and some boxes markedXMASandEASTERlined the opposite side. Oil stains and tire tracks marked the exposed dirt floor.
“There was definitely a car in here,” I said, angling my light for a better look. I doubled back over a bright red suitcase. It didn’t look like it had been stored in here. It wasn’t stacked with the other boxes, covered in dog fur and dust. It was clean, standing on its wheels beside the door, as if it were waiting for someone to reach in and grab it. A luggage tag hung from the handle on its side, and a tiny silver travel lock had been snapped around the zippers. Had Trina stowed it in here so the police wouldn’t spot it?
If so, where was she going? And, more important, why?
A dog flap swung open somewhere behind me, followed by the sound of heavy panting.
“Oh, no,” I said as a cold nose tickled my ankle. My jacket caught on the plastic frame as I tried to wriggle my way backward through the opening. I stiffened when the dog grabbed my shoe in her mouth and pulled. “No, no! Stop that!” I hissed, shaking my foot.
Vero gasped. “What’s wrong?”
The dog whined, her teeth tightening around the sole. An icy wind chilled me through my sock as my sneaker was ripped off my heel. “Ike’s dog has my shoe.”
My head smacked painfully against the frame as I thrust myself backward through it. I landed on my butt outside of the shed.
“No! No, no, no!” I whispered, scrabbling toward the dog as she abandoned my sneaker and dropped it onto the grass. Her throat worked around one quick swallow. I wedged the phone under my jaw, gingerly using both hands to pry open the dog’s mouth, but it was empty. Her tongue hung loose as she panted, dripping drool on my knees. She watched me with perked ears as I whispered, “This is not good.”
“What’s not good?”
“I think the dog ate Ike’s tooth!” I crawled in frantic circles, searching for it in the damp grass.
“Try giving him the Heimlich! Maybe he’ll cough it up!”
“I can’t give the Heimlich to a dog! I wouldn’t begin to know how!”
“Hold on. I’ll look it up on YouTube.”
Nick’s voice came faintly through the open window. “Has Ike ever mentioned the name Feliks Zhirov before?”
“Doesn’t ring any bells,” Trina said.
“What about the name Finlay Donovan?”
