“And the night we picked up Petrov and Graves out in the desert? That was you? You’re the one who assaulted them and called 911?”
“They made the mistake of coming after Ms. Kegan again. All I did was protect my client. They were lucky I called the cops instead of leaving them to freeze their asses off in the desert.”
Galen grunted and leaned toward him across the table. “So you aren’t the guy who killed him.”
“Hell, no. If I’d wanted Petrov dead, he’d be dead and buried and you never would have found a trace of him.”
Galen’s chair grated as he slid it backward, got up, and began to pace the tight quarters of the stark white room. The faint smell of stale fear-sweat lingered in the stuffy air.
“Tell me why you believe Petrov was hired to take out your client.”
“I told you...she’s doing a story someone doesn’t want her to write.”
“But I’m guessing you don’t know who that someone is.”
“I wish I did.” He straightened, liking the detective’s no-bullshit style and coming to a decision. “If you want to know who killed Petrov, I’d suggest you look for the guy who hired him to go after Ms. Kegan. Petrov mentioned someone named Weaver. That’s all I know.”
“Weaver. What’s his first name?”
“No idea.”
“So that’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
Bran leaned back in his chair and looked up at him. “I can tell you this much. Ms. Kegan’s late father was a colonel in the army. Some of what she’s working on is of a highly sensitive nature. At this time, neither of us is at liberty to talk about it.”
Galen’s jaw tightened. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card, and flipped it on the table. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.”
Turning, he opened the door, stalked out, and slammed it behind him. Bran picked up the card and tucked it away just in case. He almost smiled to think what would happen when the detective questioned Jessie.
* * *
“You know I can hold you for forty-eight hours without pressing charges.” Galen stood on the opposite side of the table, his palms flat as he leaned down and glared at her.
“Seriously? You’re going to arrest me? Petrov and Graves came after me. All my bodyguard did was protect me. If anything, he restrained himself from hurting the men even worse.”
“Why didn’t he reveal his identity after the attack when he called 911 and gave the men’s location?”
“Because he didn’t want to go through exactly what he’s going through right now.”
A muscle ticked in Galen’s cheek. “You said Petrov and Graves were trying to stop you from writing the story you’re working on. What’s the story about?”
“I’m sorry, that’s my business. I’m an investigative journalist. Sometimes researching the subject matter involves a certain amount of risk.”
Galen blew out a frustrated breath. “You and Garrett, you’re a real pair.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
The detective shook his head. He’d been asking her the same questions for the last half hour, getting exactly the same answers. “All right, you can go. Just don’t leave the area. We might have more questions for you.”
“Fine.”
Bran was sitting on a bench along the wall waiting for her when she walked out of the interview room. She smiled. “We can go.”
He smiled back, clearly relieved. When they arrived at the SUV and climbed in, there was a note under the windshield wiper on the driver’s side. Bran reached around and grabbed the slip of white paper.
“What’s it say?” Jessie asked.
“‘You want info on Weaver, meet me at the Rooster, at ten o’clock tonight.’ There’s a cross at the bottom and the initial G.”
She leaned over to read the note. “It’s supposed to be a grave. Gravedigger. Harley Graves.”
He nodded. “He must have seen the news and heard they were looking for me, figured I’d come in to talk to the sheriff sooner or later.”
“The Red Rooster. I’ve driven past it. Kind of a seedy country Western bar.” She grinned. “Looks like we’re going honky-tonkin’ tonight.”
Bran cast her a glance, clearly unhappy with the idea. “I can’t leave you alone so I guess you’re right.”
Since it sounded like Graves might have useful information and she was tired of being cooped up in the hotel room, no matter how roomy it was, she was looking forward to the evening.
On the other hand, Petrov was dead. Whoever killed him was likely still after her.