She blinked back at him, confusion and embarrassment in her stare. Then, she blinked again and it was gone, replaced with a hard professionalism. “Good night, Davis.”
She stepped out of his vehicle, walked up the stone pathway to her house and let herself inside without a backward glance.
HE WAS AN IDIOT.
Leila Petrov had been inches from kissing him and he’d backed away. Now, not only had he missed out on the chance to taste her, he’d blown the tenuous trust they’d been building. But that was a professional line he couldn’t cross.
Besides, she’d been vulnerable. And he’d been lying. Every moment he spent with her was a lie, because even though she knew he was there to find out the truth about the defective armor, she had no idea how badly he needed to see someone punished for it. She had no idea that regardless of whether she’d been involved, he would always hold her responsible, since she ran the company.
He liked her. Too much, probably. He didn’t want to use her. Not even to help the investigation. Not even to avenge Jessica’s death.
Davis slammed his fist on the top of the steering wheel as he drove away from Leila’s house. His body was telling him to turn around, knock on her door and come clean with her. His mind was telling him he needed to do the same thing, for the sake of the case.
But he couldn’t do it. She’d had too much loss and betrayal in her life already. He wasn’t about to add to it.
His cell phone rang and Davis hit the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel, eyes still on the road. He glanced at the dashboard screen, an apology already on his lips. But he swallowed it as he realized the name on the display. Melinda Larsen was calling him. Not Leila.
The surge of disappointment he felt surprised him as Melinda asked, “Hello? Davis, are you there?”
“Yeah.” His voice didn’t sound quite right, so he cleared his throat. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“Kane and I have been looking through Petrov Armor’s potential illegal gun sales, as you know.”
That was quite a partnership. Even though they sat in the same briefings all the time, Davis couldn’t imagine quietly confident Melinda Larsen and now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t Kane Bradshaw working a case together. “Did you find anything?”
“Maybe. We’ve got photos from a joint FBI-ATF gang case. Illegal arms sales were only a peripheral part of the case, but we were running anything we could find, no matter how small. One of those things was a partial plate on a Lexus that showed up in a photo. The driver isn’t visible and we’ve only got part of the vehicle, but the partial matches up to Theresa Quinn, head of—”
“Research and development at Petrov Armor,” Davis finished. “But a partial plate? How partial?”
“It’s not a slam dunk, not even close. Hundreds of red Lexuses match this partial. But in Tennessee? On the edge of a gang meeting?”
“What do you mean by the edge of a meeting?” Davis asked as he changed lanes, heading toward the TCD office instead of home.
“It’s possible it’s not connected. But again, a Lexus in this part of town? Right near where a gang member was meeting up with someone for a gun sale?”
“Who made the sale?” Davis asked.
“We don’t know. They never showed. ATF said they think the guy got spooked. Or the gal, if this vehicle really does belong to Theresa Quinn.”
“Anything else?” Davis asked hopefully. It did sound like a potential lead. Theresa definitely didn’t seem to respect Leila, maybe a result of working with her father for years in illegal sales without the young CEO realizing it?
“I’m coming into the office,” Davis told Melinda.
“Good. Kane and I are still wading through case files, but we’d love to hear how you’re faring on the inside.”
“Having a lot more fun, I’m sure.” Kane’s voice carried from the background.
“Not really,” Davis muttered. Before Melinda could ask, he said, “I’ll be there in two,” and hung up.
He made it in one minute, and found Kane and Melinda sitting on opposite sides of the long conference table where the team had its morning briefings. Each had a laptop open, and Davis wondered how many hours they’d managed to work together without actually talking.
“There’s a reason Petrov Armor has never been charged,” Kane told him. “If they’re selling guns on the side to criminals—which I think they are—they’re savvy.”
A hard ball of dread made Davis’s stomach cramp. It should have been good news—not that Petrov Armor was talented at avoiding prosecution, but that there was another route to try to collect evidence. But all Davis could think of was the conviction in Leila’s face when she’d told him it wasn’t their armor. The hope in her eyes when she’d suggested maybe the armor had been switched after it had been shipped out of their facility.
She truly believed the core of her company was good. It looked like she was very, very wrong.
“Undercover work is tough, isn’t it?” Melinda asked, making Davis realize she could probably read every one of his emotions.
Suddenly Kane’s attention was fixed on him, too, and Davis forced a shrug. Tried to push Leila out of his mind. “It’s a big company. But the number of people who could have pulled off both illegal gun sales and defective armor shipments is probably pretty low. Assuming we think it’s the same person.”
“Someone in power,” Kane agreed. “Possibly more than one person, since we still think it’s pretty likely Neal Petrov was involved when he was alive. Who’s on your short list for his partner in crime?”
“Obviously Theresa Quinn is on our list,” Melinda said, then looked at Davis. “What about Neal’s brother, Joel?”
“Maybe,” Davis hedged, not liking the idea that both Leila’s father and her uncle might be criminals. But he tried to think objectively. “Neal and Joel could have been in it together all along.
