CHAPTER TEN

The sun hung high and hot as Ella and Luca whipped along the dusty back roads, eating up the miles between Liberty Grove and Ricky Toledo"s estate. On paper, this whole thing was a long shot. Following a hunch based on a blurry satellite image was no way to collar a killer. And Ella couldn"t shake the feeling that they were about to shake a tree full of rotten apples right down on their fool heads.

But if being sensible was a requirement for the job, she"d have hung up her badge before her first field assignment. The juiciest leads were always the ones marinated in poor choices and served with a side of gut instinct.

So she sat with it, let it ripen like fruit in the sun.

Beside her, Luca drummed his fingers on the armrest. ‘So, working theory: If Toledo was the ultimate bachelor, living that single life in the "burbs, our killer could"ve followed him home from some campaign stop or fundraiser. Waited for the right moment, then–'

‘Bam.' Ella mimed a blow to the head. ‘Lights out, Councilman. Drag him out back for a little moonlight swim, watch him sink, then haul ass to Liberty Grove to dump the body.'

‘The water smell could"ve been from his pool if it hadn"t been cleaned in a while. Or if the unsub held him under in the shallow end and stirred up all the grunge.'

‘Hell of a way to go.' Ella hung a sharp left onto Hemlock Lane. The SUV's struts protested as they bounced over the supersized speed bumps. Apparently the well-heeled of Bristol didn"t appreciate plebes joyriding through their manicured slice of heaven. The wrought iron fences and electronic locks made that crystal clear.

‘Up here,' Luca said.

Toledo"s place rose up like a cardboard cutout against the too-blue sky. Even half-obscured by a gauntlet of towering magnolias, Toledo"s sprawling plantation-style manse was a behemoth. Buttermilk-yellow with black shutters and honest-to-god Corinthian columns. Like the beautiful bastard lovechild of Twelve Oaks and a McMansion. The attached three-car garage probably cost more than Ella"s entire apartment complex.

Ella killed the engine and the sudden quiet rang like a struck gong. For a long moment, they just sat, staring up at the colossus of new money and old values. Then Luca said, ‘Smack my ass. Toledo wasn't shy about flashing the cash.'

‘Boy probably had to beat donors off with a stick.' Ella popped the door. ‘Alright, that"s enough rubbernecking. Let"s take a look at this place, see if there are any footprints or scuff marks or a driver's license that fell out of our killer's pocket.'

‘I like the optimism,' Luca said and piled out. Ella followed, and the heat slapped her in the face as soon as her boots hit the gravel and sweat sprang up like a rash at her hairline. God Almighty. No wonder this town was withering on the vine.

Luca seemed to be faring no better, tugging at his t-shirt like it offended him as they slogged their way up the long drive. But somehow, he managed to pull it off well, whereas Ella felt like a melting wax statue.

The house loomed larger with each step, the empty windows staring down like a skull"s eye sockets. No movement behind the blinds, no sweet iced tea sweating on the porch rail. Just an echoing stillness, a mausoleum"s hush. The front door was solid oak, stained a deep mahogany, with a heavy brass knocker that probably cost more than Ella"s car.

Luca raised a fist to bang on it, but Ella stopped him with a look. ‘Something tells me Toledo isn"t gonna answer, what with him being dead and all.'

Luca rolled his eyes. ‘Procedure, Agent Dark. I know it"s a foreign concept, but we gotta at least pretend this is all above board.' But he stepped back, ceding the point.

‘The pool is round the back.'

Ella skirted around the side of the house, following the decorative stone path to the back gate. Eight-foot, wrought iron, with pointed finials marching along the top like a row of spears. The latch was a heavy padlock, solid as a rock.

Ella reached out to give it an experimental tug, but it didn"t budge. She glanced up, gauging the height, the distance between posts. Doable, but not exactly discreet.

‘You sure about this?' Luca"s voice at her elbow made her startle. He was giving her one of those looks, the kind that read her intentions without the need for words. ‘We're being GPS tracked, remember?'

Ella raked a hand through the sweaty tangles of her hair. Luca was right. She needed to explain every move she made to the top brass, but the secrets of the dead had a way of staying buried if someone didn"t dig them up.

‘We"ve got probable cause coming out our ears,' she said firmly. ‘A dead politician, a hinky crime scene, and a pool that may or may not be ground zero for this whole mess. No way a judge wouldn"t sign off on this.'

Luca still looked skeptical, but she could see him wavering. He wanted this as bad as she did. Wanted to feel the thrill of the hunt, the pieces falling into place. And he trusted her, God help him. Trusted her to steer them right.

‘You're the boss, boss.'

Ella flashed him a grin. ‘Duly noted. Now give me a boost, Hawkins. Time"s a-wasting.'

He laced his fingers together and braced himself against the gate. Ella stepped into the makeshift stirrup, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance. The rasp of his stubble was electric against her palms.

‘On three,' she said. ‘One, two–'

Luca heaved and Ella pushed off, launching herself up and over in one smooth motion. She caught the top of the gate and swung her legs over, dropping lightly to the manicured grass on the other side. The shock traveled up her bones, but she stuck the landing in a way that'd make her old gymnast teacher proud.

"Alley-oop," she called back, dusting her hands on her trousers. "Your turn."

Luca backed up a few steps, then took a running leap at the gate. Those long legs eating up the distance like it was nothing. He grabbed the top and heaved himself over in one powerful surge. Ella absolutely did not stop to appreciate the flex of his shoulders, because she was a professional.

He landed beside her with a thump then straightened up. ‘And the other kids laughed when I took ballet.'

‘Well, who's laughing now?'

Luca surveyed his new environment and said, ‘Toledo certainly was. Look at this place.'

Ella took in the backyard, fingers instinctively hovering millimeters from her holster. The place was a humdinger. The pool dominated the yard; a sunken kidney of glassy turquoise so pristine it looked almost fake. It was ringed with a poured concrete patio dotted with high-end outdoor furniture – chaise lounges, glass-topped tables, a massive stainless steel grill that probably had its own zip code.

But what caught Ella"s eye was the pool house squatting at the far end, a miniature version of the main domicile. Stucco walls, red roof, picture windows black and lifeless.

She jerked her chin towards it. ‘What do you think? Secret love shack?'

Luca tried the handle on the door leading into the house but it was locked. ‘Only one way to find out, and getting in the main house is out of the question.'

They picked their way around the pool, alert for any sign of life. Ella"s hand hovered over her holster, not quite touching but ready to draw at a moment"s notice. The door to the pool house was ajar, just a crack. Ella nudged it open with her toe, peering into the cool dimness within. It wasn"t much more than a single room, barely big enough for the daybed shoved against one wall and the mini-fridge humming in the corner.

Luca moved past her, eyes scanning the walls, the floor. What were they looking for? A dropped wallet? A matchbook? A handkerchief with the killer's name stitched into the fabric?

But the room offered up no clues, no smoking gun. Just dust motes dancing in the slanted bars of light and the faint tang of chlorine hanging in the air.

‘Definitely not a love shack,' Luca said.

They did one last sweep of the room but came up empty. No bloodstains, no boot prints. Just a sad little bonus space for a man who already had too much.

They stepped back into the punishing sunlight, temporarily blinded. Ella raised a hand to shield her eyes and squinted at the pool. The surface glimmered placidly, not so much as a ripple marring its mirror-like sheen.

‘This pool,' Ella said. ‘It's been sanitized within an inch of its life.'

‘And it's got a filter system, still running,' Luca pointed. ‘Only thing we"re liable to find is an errant Band-Aid or a"

Then Luca's head whipped around, towards the sliding glass door he'd tried to prize open before heading to the pool house.

‘You hear that?'

‘Hear what?'

Ella went still, straining her senses. At first there was nothing but the buzz of cicadas and the low hum of central air, but then – there. The creak of hinges, the soft shush of rubber soles on tile.

A sudden, sharp snap behind them – a lock dislodging, a heel scuffing a tiled floor. They whirled as one, hands flying to holsters.

The back door gaped wide, a rectangle of cool, shadowed dark. And framed in that void, trembling like a baby deer from nose to toes – a woman. Not a witness, and sure as hell not a ring of angry farmers here to clear up any evidence. She was young, mid-twenties at most, with dark hair scraped back into a severe bun and a pinched expression. Latina, if Ella had to guess, with the kind of bone structure that spoke of indigenous ancestors.

And she was wearing a starched blue uniform with ‘Purely Spotless Inc.' stitched over the breast pocket.

The woman stopped short at the sight of them, eyes going wide. Her hands flew up in an instinctive gesture of surrender. ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?'

Ella took a beat to holster her weapon, palms out, expression arranged in something she prayed was close to harmless.

‘FBI. We didn't mean to spook you.'

‘I – I"m sorry, you can"t be back here. This is private property,' she trembled.

‘We"re well aware, ma"am,' Luca said, smooth as Kentucky bourbon over ice. ‘I"m Agent Hawkins with the FBI, this is my partner Agent Dark. We"re investigating the murder of the gentleman who owns this property.'

The maid – housekeeper, domestic engineer, whatever – blanched at the comment. She swayed on her feet, blood draining from her face so fast Ella wondered if she might faint dead away. ‘Murder?'

Ella gentled her tone, telegraphed her movements slow and soothing as she ghosted closer. ‘That"s right. Ricky Toledo. Found dead this morning. We think he might"ve been killed here.'

‘Mr. Toledo? He's… dead?'

‘I"m afraid so, Miss...?' Luca let the question hang.

‘Alma,' she said faintly. ‘Alma Ruiz. I'm Mr. Toledo's housekeeper. Or…'

Her face crumpled, but she visibly got hold of herself. Smoothed out into the professional mask of the service class.

‘We're sorry to be the bearers of bad news,' Ella said. ‘Could we ask you a few questions about Mr. Toledo?'

Alma pressed two fingers against her eyes then glanced up at the sun. She slid the door open further and gestured for the agents to come inside.

‘Come,' Alma said. ‘We have a lot to talk about.'