We didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. My mind was whirring, the events of the day replaying themselves on fast-forward. I wondered if Zeke had ever had cause to get revenge on someone before. I would like the chance to dothe same to Bergen. An image of him popped into my head and I wondered where he was. I hadn’t been able to figure out where he went when he left me, although I assumed it was somewhere within Chicago since the police said they’d been at his place. I’d have hired a private detective, but my finances had been wiped out. It had taken me years to pay off the debt he’d accrued in my name and by then, there hadn’t seemed much point in hunting him down.
When we arrived at the building that housed King’s Security, Zeke parked in the underground parking lot and we took the stairs up.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, my stomach growling.
He patted his flat belly. “I could eat.”
“I’ll stop at the café and get us something.”
We parted ways, and I made a beeline to the café. While I stood in line, I looked around, wondering whether any gossip had spread yet about the police having been in to question me. Nobody was staring, but I thought I noticed a couple of pairs of eyes skirt away.
When I reached the counter, I ordered a pasta salad and a caramel latte for me and a sandwich with black coffee for Zeke. I’d ordered lunch for him before when he and Ronan were in meetings together, so I knew what he liked. They called my order, and I carried the food up another flight of stairs and down a corridor, past the open-plan area where Zeke’s staff worked, and to his door. Several people smiled at me. I tried to smile back, but it was strained.
I paused in the doorway, watching Zeke read something on his computer screen. His dark hair fell over his forehead and the swirl of a tattoo peeked out from beneath the neckline of his shirt. His expression was intense, and his fingers moved quickly over the keyboard as he began to type. My breath caught, and I tried to tamp down the flutter of attraction low in my gut.
He really was a sexy man. Sexier than Bergen. There was just something about him that was nearly impossible to resist. I pressed my lips together. Had I judged him unfairly because he had a surface resemblance to my ex? I’d never thought so, but after today, I was beginning to believe I might have been wrong about him. Maybe there was more to him than I’d believed.
ZEKE
I sensedFiona watching me and bit back my instinctive need to ask whether she liked what she saw. I was trying to put her needs first, and that meant less flirting.
“That smells great,” I said, turning to face her. “What did you get?”
A flush stained her cheeks, as if she knew that I knew she’d been staring at me. “A chicken sandwich with coffee for you, and pasta salad for me.”
“Thanks, Fi.”
See? I didn’t even call her “Fifi.”
She set my coffee and meal on my desk, then took hers to the chair she’d brought in earlier and sipped her drink. Whatever it was, it smelled sweet.
“Need a sugar high as well as a caffeine pick-me-up?” I asked.
“Whatever will keep me going.”
I considered pointing out that she didn’t have to keep going. She could leave the research to me and my team while she took a much-needed nap, but I understood why she didn’t want to. She no doubt felt powerless, and being involved would help her feel like she was doing something.
“I’ve pulled up the gallery’s staff list,” I told her, grabbing the sandwich and pulling it closer. “It seems the cafe staff don’t have access to the gallery itself outside of normal working hours. Their key cards allow them to enter the building via a side door, but provided the doors between the cafe and the gallery are locked overnight, they can’t get further in. It’s up to whomever opens the gallery to unlock the connecting door.” I bit into my sandwich and moaned. She’d remembered exactly how I liked it. I shouldn’t be surprised. Fiona was one of the most competent people I knew.
“What about the part-timers you mentioned?” she asked. “Do they have key cards?”
I chewed and swallowed. “Not according to our records.”
“So that leaves the gallery staff,” she mused, digging her fork into a piece of pasta.
“And three of the artists whose work they display.” I hadn’t thought to ask about that earlier, but fortunately, whoever installed their system had kept good records.
“Interesting.” She looked thoughtful. “That’s not common. Or at least, it didn’t used to be.”
“Worth looking into?” I asked around another mouthful of food.
“Isn’t everything?”
“At this point, yes.” If we got new information to narrow things down, we could be more selective about who or what we investigated, but for now, there were no bad leads.
I finished the sandwich and washed it down with coffee, then wiped my fingers on a napkin and returned them to the keyboard. “The criminal records for each staff member are in this file too. Let’s check them, shall we?” I opened Patience’s first. As I’d expected, she was squeaky clean. “Not even a parking ticket for your buddy Patience.”
Next, I checked her assistant, Glen. Unlike Patience, hedid have a couple of parking tickets, and one for speeding, but other than that, there was nothing of interest. One by one, I opened the others and scanned the summaries. Clean. Clean. Another speeding ticket.
