Page 10 of K-9 Justice

The alarm could alert the neighborhood and the police to them breaking a threshold they had no business crossing during an active homicide investigation. But the punishment for givingSangre por Sangreany kind of lead on Ivy’s location was far worse. “Then we make this quick.”

“All right. I’ve been here a few times since the installation. The panel is in the entryway, on the right wall.” Ivy tested the doorknob, and it turned easily in her hand. She pushed inside.

But there was no sound of the alarm.

Shadow stretched out in front of them, and Carson’s nerves rocketed into overdrive. Every cell in his body wanted to maneuver Ivy behind him, to protect her from any threat that came their way, but doing so would deepen the cracks in their partnership. She’d trained with the best, employed the best and worked tirelessly to become the best. That hadn’t changed.

“The police department must’ve already disabled the alarm.” She unholstered her sidearm. FBI agents and officers alike knew without a doubt house calls were the most dangerous part of the job. No telling what waited for them on the inside of a home. Or if a homeowner had set a trap to avoid containment. Her bootsechoed off ugly tan tile lining a vaulted entryway, common in New Mexico houses.

Carson closed the door behind them.

The entryway dumped them into a front room furnished with leather couches, a mounted TV, a coffee table and an expansive rug to absorb the cold chill shooting down Carson’s spine. Light filtered in through the back of the house from the kitchen, currently out of sight. “You said you’ve been here before. Anything different from your last visit?”

The admission hadn’t meant much to him on the other side of the door, but he saw the relevance now. Ivy had been here several times, enough to know where the security panel was located and the basic layout of the home, past the fact her company had installed it. Which meant she and the latest victim had more than a professional relationship. They’d been friends. And not in the way a boss protected and interacted with her employees. There was a heaviness in the way she moved. As though expecting Dr. Piel to greet her with a smile and announce this had all been a misunderstanding. Why wouldn’t Ivy have told him of their personal connection from the beginning?

“No. Everything looks the same, as far as I can tell.” Ivy motioned to her right, down a length of hallway that angled into a different section of the house, as she took the left.

The place was much larger than he’d originally estimated, with multiple bedrooms and bathrooms. It was a lot for an unmarried woman who lived alone and spent most of her days patching up a team of private military contractors. He kicked at the base of the first door branching off the hallway and took aim inside. Empty. Gray carpet—new, from what he could tell—stretched out beneath a queen-size bed made up for guests. Another TV had been mounted on the wall. Nothing in the closet. No attached bathroom or signs of recent use.

Carson forced himself to move on. There was something off about this place. Why the hell had their victim bought such a large property? He searched the next bedroom, then an office and the primary bedroom. Everything in order. Everything in its place. No backups of lotion or conditioner or cleaning products. Personal photos and memorabilia were sparse and primarily in the largest bedroom. It was as though this place didn’t really serve as a home.

More like a safe house.

Tension ratcheted into Carson’s shoulders with every second he was separated from Ivy. Holstering his weapon, he retraced his steps until he located her going through drawers in the kitchen. “This place has four bedrooms.”

“I know. No bugs or surveillance, from what I can tell, though.” Ivy closed one of the drawers and moved on to another. “I would tell you this place was for friends and family that stayed frequently, but from what Nafessa has told me about her past, she didn’t have anyone close, and she didn’t like to host. She mostly kept to herself. Talked very little of her life outside of Socorro. It took months working with her before she let the smallest detail slide.”

There were pieces of this puzzle that were starting to line up, but Carson didn’t want to bring those into her awareness. Pieces he couldn’t prove. Yet. “That’s the first time you called Dr. Piel by her first name. Why didn’t you tell me you two were closer than her as a contracted employee with Socorro?”

“Because there’s honestly not that much to tell. She lived alone. Kept to herself. Whatever was between us was…new, in a way. Just within the past few months.” Ivy abandoned her search of the kitchen. “It started as greeting each other in the halls, to sitting at the dining table during lunch.”

“Who instigated conversation?” he asked.

“I don’t remember.” A healthy dose of suspicion tainted her voice, and right then, it felt as though the years hadn’t torn them apart.

This was what they were good at. This was what they did best. Working off each other, testing theories, testing statements. He’d missed that. More than he thought he had.

Carson memorized the decor and personal touches, which didn’t take long. Everything seemed to have a sense of order. Everything in its place. Or at least that was what the victim had wanted them to believe. That someone lived here. That this place was nothing more than a cookie-cutter home that served as a refuge to a private security physician. He moved into the living room, picking out more details. The lack of wear or imprints on the couch. The dust settling over the bookshelves. Adults played victim to their habits. A favorite spot on the couch while watching TV, a stack of books on an end table, even a preferred burner on the stove. But from what he could tell from this place, Dr. Piel didn’t have any. “Did she ever ask about you personally?”

“Of course. That’s what people do when they’re becoming friends.” Confusion deepened the lines etched between Ivy’s eyebrows, but it didn’t last long. She was never one to let an emotion—any kind of emotion—linger longer than necessary. She’d never seen a reason to. “If you’re worried I gave away your undercover identity, you can relax. Nobody in my office but my counterterrorism agent Granger Morais knows that information. He figured it out a few weeks ago, and he isn’t the type to spread the news.”

“And what did Dr. Piel tell you about herself in return?” Every relationship in existence—biological, romantic, created—was transactional. Give and take. There were rules to follow and expectations to meet.

“She came to New Mexico from Columbia University when I offered her the contract. General surgery. Before that, her background was in emergency medicine at an array of different hospitals.” Ivy folded her arms over her chest as she settled back against the kitchen counter. “She was an only child to a single mom. Her mom passed away when she was a teenager. Drug overdose. She put herself through school and went to medical school on scholarships.”

“Did you speak with her references before you offered her the contract with Socorro?” He pulled the couch cushions up, one by one. No crumbs. No loose change. Nothing to suggest this couch had been here more than a few days. Hell, he could still smell the plastic covering it had most likely been delivered in.

“Of course I did. She came highly recommended from each of her supervisors, especially at Columbia.” The defensiveness he’d come to expect played around her eyes and straightened her shoulders.

“Who reached out first?” he asked. “When you were looking for a physician, was she the one to make the initial contact?”

“Yes. I put the word out I was looking for a physician through my contacts in the Pentagon. She was one of the first who submitted her CV, and I made an on-site visit to Columbia.” Ivy rounded into the dining room, just within his peripheral vision. “What are you doing?”

“Has this couch always been here?” There was a fire burning beneath his skin now, feeding into a theory he couldn’t ignore anymore. “The times you visited, was this the same couch that was here?”

“What?” A realization seemed to spark in her eyes. “No. I…I spilled wine on the cushion last time I was here. She must’ve replaced the couch.”

“Why not just have the cushion cleaned or replace that single piece?” Instinct drove him to throw each cushion out of the way. “Why replace the whole couch?”

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