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they had done to his brother. “And you know what to do with this Ramon and his team once the job is completed.”
    “Yes, I told them that after they’re done we’d meet back at the hotel so they could be paid. I’ll take care of them then.”
    “And everything that has anything to do with us is clean? The flights, hotel, everything?”
    Yury nodded.
    “Good. Just make sure everything goes smooth. They got me in the SHU for I don’t know how long, so it will be hard for me to get updates. I’ll try to get one of the guards to get me some phone time. If I call, make sure you answer.”
    “Of course. What got you in the SHU?”
    Viktor shook his head. “Just something that needed to be done. When is your flight back?”
    “Monday morning.”
    “I’ll try to get us another face-to-face next week. I want those photos in my hand. They die by any means necessary. If you don’t think this hired team can get it done, I want you to take care of it.”
    “I understand.”
    Someone banged on the metal door. The key clanked, unlocking it. The door swung open, and the guard stuck his head in. “Time’s up.”
    Yury stood, closed his briefcase, and took it from the table. He looked at Viktor. “We’ll talk soon.”
    Viktor nodded, and Yury left the room.
    The guard walked to Viktor—still seated. He twisted the key in the lock that held Viktor’s cuffed hands to the chain on the table. “Was it worth your five hundred bucks?” he asked.
    “Every penny.”

Chapter 5 - Kane
    After Callie and I finished dinner, I spoke with Hank regarding Susanne Riaola’s so-called boyfriend. The man in question claimed he’d never had any kind of relationship, other than professional, with Susanne Riaola. He was married, had two children, and had been on a church retreat at the time the homicide took place. Hank confirmed the man’s attendance with the church. Riaola was lying. Pax’s text message came in a half hour after I left the station—the smaller set of prints did belong to the deceased woman. It got us no further in our investigation.
    I was up by six and in my office by seven thirty. I needed to get together everything I could before Charles Riaola arrived for our interview—I was still grasping at a sliver of hope that he’d show. I grabbed a seat at my desk and played my voice messages—the machine showed just one message left an hour prior. The message was from Nick at the airport. Riaola’s car had been rented from United Auto Rental and was returned at 5:03 a.m. at the Atlanta airport. He wasn’t driving back. The car’s mileage showed a little over a hundred miles since rental—not a tenth of the mileage that the round-trip drive from Atlanta to Tampa would be. United Car Rental did not have GPS tracking on their cars. The only flight he had booked was his original return flight, which would land around one p.m.
    I tossed the desk phone on its base and leaned back in my chair. The guy trying to steer us in a different direction ate at me, plus he was in no hurry to return to the area. While the rental car’s mileage didn’t add up, his actions said he was involved. He still could have disconnected the odometer or acquired another vehicle. He could have hired the murder out. I figured I’d try calling Riaola to confirm our meeting at noon. I dialed his number, but the call went straight to his voice mail. His phone was turned off.
    I let out a puff of air through my nose and dialed Waterman back—he answered within a couple rings.
    “Nick Waterman.”
    “Hey, it’s Kane.”
    “Did you get my message?” he asked.
    “I got it. So he dropped off the car he had early this morning and didn’t book anything sooner than his original flight?”
    “Strikes me as weird behavior. I just checked, and he could have grabbed a couple of different flights this morning. If something like that happened to me, nothing would have stopped me from being home as soon as I could.”
    “Yeah, I know. Now, the car he