The Perfect Murder by Kat Martin
FORTY
Night had settled in, warm and humid, the hum of insects the only sound in the quiet. Hawk stood in the shadows outside the house, a big two-story structure behind wrought-iron gates sitting on several acres in a rural part of Crosslake. Jeremy Bolt’s private retreat.
Or in this case, the home of Martel Ames, the reclusive, wealthy son of the late Collin Ames, a successful entrepreneur who had lived in Atlanta.
The address on North Lakeshore Drive was surrounded by open space, with the added advantage of a boat dock, a water escape should the need arise. Though the property was fenced, it wasn’t electrified.
Wearing a pair of latex gloves, Hawk used the skills he’d learned as a spec ops marine to disarm the digital perimeter alarm system, which wasn’t particularly sophisticated. Clearly Bolt didn’t expect to be tracked to his residence. And if trouble managed to find him, he trusted his skills to handle it.
Not this time.
Hawk disabled the system on the house with the same ease as the fence, pried off a screen on one of the downstairs bedrooms, and slipped inside. He had spotted Bolt sitting in front of the TV in the family room. Hadn’t seen anyone else in the residence.
Approaching the open bedroom door, he quickly stepped back out of sight at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Bolt walked passed him; average height, with a lean frame and neatly trimmed brown hair, completely unremarkable in jeans and sneakers and a New Orleans Saints T-shirt. A man perfectly suited to blend in, to kill and disappear.
Pulling his Kimber, Hawk peeked into the hall and saw Bolt disappear into a room farther down the corridor. Moving quickly, he followed, flattening himself against the wall, peering in to see Bolt reaching for something beneath a nightstand. Then the far bedroom wall began to move, sliding open to reveal a hidden room on the opposite side.
Holding his pistol in a two-handed grip, Hawk leveled the weapon at Bolt’s back and stepped into the bedroom. “Don’t move. Hands in the air or you’re a dead man.” He meant it. Jeremy Bolt was one of most dangerous men in the country. Odds were he wouldn’t give up without a fight.
Bolt slowly raised his hands.
“Easy, now. No sudden moves.”
“How did you get in?”
“Your security system could definitely use an upgrade.”
“If it’s money you’re after, I’ll open the safe and you can take what’s inside.”
Hawk shook his head. “I don’t think so. What I want is for you and me to take a little ride down to the police station, where you’re going to tell the cops who you really are and what you do for a living. You’re also going to confess that you murdered Lee Haines and set his wife up to take the fall.”
Bolt laughed. It was a harsh, high-pitched sound that sent a chill down Hawk’s spine.
“Hands behind your back. Slowly. You don’t want to make me nervous.”
As Bolt moved to comply, Hawk pulled a zip tie out of his pocket. “Move an inch and I pull the trigger.”
Bolt stood stock-still. Hawk looped the zip tie around the man’s wrists, but before he could pull it tight, Bolt whirled and kicked, and the gun went flying. Hawk grabbed Bolt by the front of his T-shirt and swung a blow that sent him crashing into the nightstand. An instant later, the drawer was open and Bolt had a gun in his hand. Hawk dived toward Bolt and gripped his wrist, forcing the barrel into the air.
A shot rang out, then another, raining plaster down from the ceiling. They struggled, fighting for control of the weapon. Hawk was bigger, but Bolt was wiry and in prime physical condition.
The gun wavered, the barrel just inches from Hawk’s throat. Time had run out. Hawk forced the pistol toward Bolt and pulled the trigger, the shot exploding through his neck beneath his jaw, blowing off the top of his head.
Jeremy Bolt lay dead beneath him, blood soaking into the carpet.
Fuck.
He’d wanted Bolt alive. Unfortunately, he’d had no choice. Not if he’d wanted to remain among the living.
As Jase shoved to his feet, he glanced toward the room hidden behind the wall and started in that direction. He stepped through the entrance and froze, unable to believe his eyes.
Evidence was one of the reasons he had come. A guy like Bolt, every kill perfectly planned, no clues left behind—kept a room full of them.
Hawk holstered his Kimber and walked inside. Photos lined the walls, Bolt’s targets as he’d tracked them, then a souvenir of each kill. A trophy to relive his successes.
He spotted Lee Haines’s picture, pinned on the cork board next to a photo of Kenzie. There was a bullet neatly displayed in a small glass bottle, undoubtedly from the revolver he had used to kill Haines and left for the police to find. From the start, he had planned for Kenzie to take the blame.
Hawk had found what he’d come for. Now he had to get the evidence to the police without incriminating himself.
Ten minutes later, he pulled off the road and used his burner phone to call the crime desk at the Shreveport Times. The call went to a reporter on the night desk.
“This is Joe Murphy. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got a story for you, Joe. Be one of the biggest to break in the country this year. If you’re interested, go to 7845 North Lakeshore Drive. You’ll find the body of a hit man named Jeremy Bolt. Uses the alias Martel Ames.”
“Who is this?”
“You’ll also find a room filled with trophies Bolt kept of the kills he made.”
“I need to know who this is. Give me your—”
Hawk hung up the phone. A little ways father down the road, he pulled over again and tossed the disposable into the lake. With any luck, the reporter would do his job and the cops would find evidence that would clear Kenzie’s name.
Equally important, the police would be so busy following up on Bolt’s kills, they wouldn’t spend much time trying to find the guy who had ended him.
And Long Bailey would be safe.
Hawk turned the Yukon toward Dallas. His wife would be waiting. He smiled. It was time to go home.
It was getting late. Kenzie sat next to Reese’s hospital bed. The doctor had insisted on keeping him overnight for observation. Reese had grumbled and protested, but finally agreed. She had phoned Gran and also talked to Griff, made sure they knew she and Reese were both okay.
While the doctors were examining him, Kenzie phoned Chase, who called Brandon. Less than twenty minutes later, an armed guard arrived and positioned himself in the hall outside Reese’s door.
“Chase is on his way,” the guard said, a big African American named Otis Poole. “He was out of town, but he’s heading back to Dallas. Soon as he gets there, he and his wife are flying down.”
That had been several hours ago. Bran had called and spoken to Reese, who told his brother there was no reason for him to fly all the way from Denver since he was being released in the morning. Bran had reluctantly agreed.
But Chase was closer. Kenzie rose as the door quietly opened and the oldest Garrett brother’s blond head appeared. He walked in with Harper and each of them came over and hugged her.
“Sorry it took me so long to get here,” Chase said. “I was in Austin, meeting with a client. How’s he doing?”
“The doctor says he’s going to be fine. But a piece of wood or metal hit him in the head when the boat exploded.” She had told him some of this on the phone. “They ran a few more tests. He suffered a mild concussion, along with all the salt water that went into his lungs. The doctor wants to make sure there aren’t any complications, but he doesn’t expect there will be.”
Harper reached down and took hold of Kenzie’s hand. “How about you? Are you doing okay?”
“I’m good. Just so grateful Reese is going to be all right.”
“I did some digging after I got your call,” Chase said to her. “You didn’t mention you were the one who pulled him to the surface. Word is you saved my brother’s life.”
Her throat tightened. She blocked the memory of how close Reese had come to dying, the heart-stopping moments of terror. Instead, she managed to smile. “I used to be on the swim team.”
Chase’s hard mouth curved up. “Lucky for Reese.”
“You must have been terrified,” Harper added with such sympathy Kenzie’s eyes filled.
She wiped away a tear with the tip of her finger. “I couldn’t bear to lose him.”
Harper’s gaze shot to Chase and a look passed between them. “Why don’t we go get a cup of coffee?” Harper suggested. “Maybe something to eat. Chase can stay with Reese while we’re gone.”
She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to be there in case he needed her. But she hadn’t eaten for hours and she was beginning to feel light-headed. “All right, I could use a little food.”
“We won’t be gone long,” Harper said to Chase as she and Kenzie left the room.
In the cafeteria, Kenzie ordered a bowl of chicken soup and a cup of coffee while Harper just ordered a glass of iced tea.
“Chase is afraid Reese was the target of the explosion,” Harper said, once they were seated. “That’s the reason for the guard. What do you think?”
Kenzie shook her head. “I don’t know. The FBI is certain Reese was aboard the chopper that crashed purely by chance. But this is the second time he’s almost been killed, and both times the incidents were related to the Poseidon.”
“Maybe Reese will have some idea what’s going on when he wakes up,” Harper said.
“I’m staying with him tonight. I don’t want him to wake up alone.”
Harper reached across the table and covered Kenzie’s hand. “It’s clear how much you care about him. I think he cares a great deal for you, too.”
She glanced away. “I’m not sure what Reese feels for me, but he’s Reese, so it probably doesn’t matter. In time, he’ll be looking for someone new.”
“Just because he’s been that way in the past doesn’t mean—”
“It’s all right. I’ve known from the start what would happen. I just want him safe.”
Harper fell silent. Kenzie finished her soup and they started back. Visiting hours were long over, but Chase was family and law enforcement had cleared it. Reese was awake when she and Kenzie walked back into the room.
“So who wants you dead?” Chase asked him bluntly.
“I don’t know. But you can be sure I’m going to find out.”
“You need personal security until you do.”
Kenzie spoke before Reese could protest. “Don’t you dare argue. Your brother just wants you safe.”
Reese smiled. “Why do I need a bodyguard when I’ve got my own personal guardian angel?”
Kenzie blocked the memory of Reese’s body hanging limply in the water. “Next time I might not be there when something happens,” she said softly.
Reese’s gaze met hers and there was something in his eyes that made her heart squeeze.
His attention returned to Chase. “All right, fine. A bodyguard—for now.”
Chase and Harper stayed until the nurse finally shooed them out. Then, satisfied Reese was going to be okay, they prepared to return to the airport, where Chase’s twin Baron waited to return them to Dallas.
Reese tried to talk Kenzie into going with them, but she refused. Since he seemed to like having her with him, he hadn’t put up much of a fight. They would return on the jet tomorrow.
By noon, the doctor had signed the release papers and a big male nurse escorted Reese, in the mandatory wheelchair, down to the lobby. The other two men injured in the explosion were still there, but their conditions were reported as stable.
In the lobby, a good-looking, heavily muscled man with short dark hair Reese introduced as Jaxon Ryker, a former navy SEAL who worked at The Max, waited next to the elevator.
Jax would be acting as Reese’s bodyguard. The man looked as if he could handle the job.
“I appreciate this, Jax,” Reese said. “Though it’s probably not necessary. Sometimes my brother can be a little overprotective.”
Jax grunted. “Better safe than sorry, I always say.”
Kenzie firmly agreed.
Ryker stayed close but somehow remained unobtrusive. He drove them to the airport, where they boarded the Garrett jet and settled into their seats.
Reese was quiet as they waited for the pilot to go through the checklist, and the engines roared to life. The jet taxied down the runway and rolled to a stop, waiting for permission to take off.
Kenzie’s gaze moved over Reese, whose pallor was fading, his color returning. “You’re awfully quiet. Are you all right?”
He sighed. “Just trying to make some sense of all this. I’ve had plenty of time to think in the last twenty-four hours, and we both know that explosion wasn’t an accident. It’s only a matter of time until the authorities figure that out. But what the hell was the motive? Now that Arthur Haines is dead, even if Sawyer DeMarco were still alive, he’d have no reason to press for control of the rig. So who else wants it?”
“Maybe the explosion had nothing to do with taking over the deal,” Kenzie said. “Maybe whoever was responsible was after you personally. That’s what your brother is worried about. That’s why Jax is here.”
“I don’t deny it’s a possibility. But if someone wanted me dead, they could have done it a dozen different times. Instead, each time was connected to the Poseidon.”
“You need to make a list of your enemies, Reese, people who dislike you enough to want you dead.”
He grumbled something about the hazards of being a CEO, then fell silent as the jet began to rumble down the airstrip, gathered speed, and pushed into the air. As the flight smoothed out and the jet leveled off, his head came up as if an idea had struck.
“What if there was someone who wanted the rig, but also disliked me enough to kill me? Or maybe just didn’t care if I died as long as he got what he wanted?”
Kenzie turned toward him. “Who are you talking about?”
“Troy Graves.”
“Arthur’s partner?”
“That’s right. Troy and I met in college. From the start, we never got along.” Reese went on to explain how they had competed against each other in everything from sports to women, and Troy always managed to come out the loser. “In the years since then, we’ve been anything but friendly.”
“With Arthur dead, Troy’s now in control of Black Sand Oil and Gas,” Kenzie said. “That puts him in a position to get even for whatever grievances he might hold against you.”
“That’s right. If Black Sand winds up with the Poseidon, the company gets a badly needed boost, and maybe in the process, Troy gets rid of the competition—for good.”
