The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,52

when I remembered I was pissing off a killer. Of course there was another killer I’d pissed off too, one not as polite as Trey, whose current victim was a medium-to-large weight bag.

“You and your brother own the shop under a cotenancy agreement,” he said. “Equal shares, equal access, equal right to alter property as long as said alterations—”

“This is Eric’s doing?”

Trey returned to his workout. “The signed probate papers were all Phoenix needed, and Eric brought those in complete with your signature.”

“Doesn’t he have to ask me first?”

“No.”

I kicked the weight bag, and pain arced across my instep. “Damn it!”

Trey frowned. “You shouldn’t—”

“Don’t tell me what I shouldn’t do! I’m sick and tired of it!” I kicked the bag again, and again. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were supposed to be all about rules and shit!”

“I am, but—”

“You tell me you’re here to help, you tell me you’ll take a bullet for me, and then you go and—”

“I thought you knew.”

I stopped kicking the bag. “What?”

“Eric said he was going tell you.”

“He lied.”

“No. He was telling the truth at the time.” Trey steadied the bag. “But apparently he changed his mind.”

Before I could reply, my cell phone chirruped at me in a happy way, letting me know I had a text message. I pulled out my phone. It was from Eric. It said that he was coming in that night, that I was welcome back at the house, that he’d see me later.

I deleted the message. “When did he have the camera installed?”

“Monday morning.”

Before Eliza’s death. Before he had any reason to believe that I was in danger and needed protecting. Not for my safety. So he could spy on me.

I put the phone away. “Trey, do I have the same rights to alter the property without alerting Eric?”

“Of course.”

“So I could dismantle the whole get-up if I wanted?”

“You could. But there may be systems in place besides the obvious alarms and cameras.”

“Wouldn’t you know if there were?”

“I should. But then, I’m obviously not being told everything.”

He said it without a hint of emotion, but I could sense the irritation running under the words. I’d learned a few things about Trey Seaver—he believed in rules and didn’t like it one iota when other people didn’t follow them.

“So will you come to my shop tonight and help me figure out what’s what?”

“Simpson is the technical expert, not—”

“Will you?”

He unfastened his handwraps, exposing bare knuckle. “Certainly.”

Chapter 27

Trey arrived exactly at seven, just as he said he would, back in his official suit, but tieless. His leather shoes crunched on broken glass.

“Garrity told me about the break-in,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s a mess.” I showed him my new broom, still wrapped in plastic. “Just getting around to cleaning it up.”

But Trey wasn’t paying attention. He placed his briefcase on the counter and popped it open. “I’ll perform a basic sweep first, then decide if more intensive measures are called for.”

He scanned the shop, making notes on his ubiquitous yellow pad. He frowned a lot. The place did look rough—wooden slats nailed where the window used to be, gravel and crushed glass and the detritus of a dozen law enforcement shoes, the whole scene washed sallow by the fluorescent overheads.

Trey pointed with his pen. “The windows were wired to an alarm, but not the doors. I don’t understand.”

I did. Eric was less concerned with keeping me safe than with keeping tabs on me. I would have tripped a door alarm and spoiled his plan. My temper ignited again. When I finally got my hands on him…

Trey pointed at the ceiling. “What’s up there?”

“I don’t know. Crawl space?”

“I’ll check it later.” He moved behind the counter to examine the now-defunct surveillance camera. He fingered the tangled wires and broken black plastic like an archeologist perusing a pottery shard. “This is a wireless system. When it was operational, it could be accessed through an Internet connection, both archived and real-time footage.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that registered users could log in and view the shop at any time, from anywhere.”

I dropped the broom and joined him behind the counter. “That means we can see what happened the night it got smashed!”

“No, we can’t. The account is password protected.”

“You can’t override it?”

“I could, but that would make this a Phoenix situation. I’d rather keep it a favor. There are fewer complications that way. And less paperwork.”

I looked to see if he was making a joke, but his delivery and expression were both deadpan. I understood his point, however.