“I don’t. I trust you,” he said, but she pressed him on it.

  “Do you? Do you think I made the right call before? Letting a possible suspect go?” she challenged.

  If they were going to accomplish anything over the three days that they had for their investigation, there couldn’t be any doubts between them. “I think you made the right call. We need more info on Wilson before we go off half-cocked.”

  “I agree,” she said, but curtly, still stung by his earlier question.

  Because of that, as they neared the hotel, he leaned close and said, “You lead. I’ll follow.”

  She jumped against him, but then the tightness in her body fled as quickly as air from a popped balloon. With a hurried peek, almost as if to confirm that she’d heard him correctly, she said, “First stop, the bar.”

  He followed her, protecting her back as they swam through the ocean of bodies on the dance floor and mingling by the bar. Once she sat on a stool, he slipped in behind her, once again shielding her with his body.

  * * *

  HIS PROXIMITY WAS both distracting and comforting. She focused on the latter and scanned the nightclub for any sign of their suspect or any other kind of unusual behavior. Unlike at the earlier hotel, nothing was making her radar ping.

  There were dozens of gorgeous young women at the bar and on the dance floor, unaware of the danger they might be in. Women just out for a good time the way she and her friends often went out on a weekend.

  They ordered drinks, seltzers for both, and after about half an hour, she took his hand and led him toward another area in the club. There were a number of tables there packed with an assortment of patrons that reflected the diversity of South Beach in every imaginable way. Both gay and straight men and women, in couples or not. Locals and tourists of every race, mixed or not.

  She led Trey to a more intimate corner, drew him to her side and went on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “I’m not seeing anything. You?”

  He laid a big hand on her waist, angling his body to partially cover hers while turning to watch the dance floor and in and around the bar. “Nada. Maybe we should try La Luna?” he said, referring to the location where she’d seen Doug with their suspect.

  That was probably the last place their unsub might be, given the attention he had drawn to himself, but there was clearly nothing going on here. “Sure. We may get lucky.”

  They walked together through the club and lobby, vigilant for any signs they might have missed. On the sidewalk, he once again assumed a position to protect her, and they hurried a few doors down to La Luna. It was as busy as the other locations, and they took their time scoping out the bar and dance floor. Moved from one area to the next, cops’ eyes on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary, but with no luck.

  They had exited the club and were walking into the temporary pedestrian area on Ocean Drive when Trey paused, reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He pressed a finger against one ear to combat the noise from the clubs as he brought the phone up to the other.

  She waited, impatient, but hoping it was good news. When the barest hint of a smile flitted across his lips and he nodded, it confirmed what she had hoped.

  He swiped to end the call and faced her, still smiling. “Facial recognition software got a hit from an old photo on a high school yearbook site. Sophie and Rob are doing an age progression as we speak to see if an older version matches the sketch we have. They’ve also got some more info on the bank accounts.”

  “Time to head back to SBS,” she said and hustled to return to their car.

  He fell into step beside her, teasing her with, “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

  She shook her head, certain he was teasing, but also imagining what he might think if she did what she wanted to do with him. But as she’d warned herself before, she couldn’t let him distract her.

  At least, not now. But once this case was over, she intended to show him exactly what she wanted.

  * * *

  TREY WAS VIGILANT the entire drive to the South Beach Security building, constantly checking the rearview mirror and his surroundings for any signs that they were being followed.

  Nothing.

  It brought relief, but not for long, as they sat with Sophie and Rob at the dining room table in the penthouse and his cousins worked through what they had found.

  “The good news is that we got a hit,” Sophie said. She pulled up the yearbook photo that had been uploaded to a website and projected it onto the wall of monitors at one side of the room, using a laser pointer to point out the suspect’s name and face. With the click of a button, his face morphed from the boyish look of a high school senior to someone harder and older.

  “That definitely looks like our suspect,” Roni said with a harsh laugh. “Amazing,” she added.

  His cousins never failed to astound Trey with their skills. The man they had identified was remarkably close in appearance to the one they’d seen at the Del Sol earlier that night. Close, but is it close enough? he wondered.

  With a quick nod, Sophie flashed more information and photos on the screen. “Miguel Walsh. Local boy apparently. Mother escaped Cuba in the 1970s. Father is of Irish descent. Went to South Dade High School in Homestead. So-so student. Did two years in the army,” she said and gestured for Rob to continue.

  “Military time appears to be uneventful. After he returned from Afghanistan, he took a job as a security guard with a small agency. Mall cop kind of work. That’s where things start to get dicey,” Rob said. Clearing the info and photos from the monitors, he put up another set of pictures and continued with his report.

  “While we were waiting for you, we did some additional investigations. Two years ago, Walsh left the security agency and went to work at the offices for MCP Enterprises. MCP was originally known as Magic City Provisions. It started in the early 1950s as a supplier of Latino food products to area bodegas and independent supermarkets. With the Cuban diaspora of the 1960s, their business boomed.”

  “Lots can go on in an import/export business. Who knows what they’re really into,” Trey said, having had at least one case where a similar business was a front for drug smuggling.

  Roni chimed in. “Is it possible to track down more info on MCP? Find out who runs it and what properties they own?”

  “You’re thinking about the Terminal Island lot where the shipping containers were located?” Trey said.

  Roni nodded and added, “Or another location where they could be hiding other women.”

  Sophie and Rob exchanged a look. “We can try, but I suspect the property may be in the name of a shell company,” Sophie said.

  “Let’s go back to Walsh’s job at MCP,” Trey said and gestured to Walsh’s photo.

  “We don’t have much on that yet, but we’ll keep on digging,” Rob said.

  “Thank you. With what you’ve given us, we may be able to ask for a search warrant,” Roni said, looking over at Trey.

  Trey nodded, but despite what his cousins had uncovered, he still felt they were far away from an answer to their cases. Especially Doug’s murder and the IAD investigation. “Thank you for all this, but what about the bank accounts?”

  Sophie coughed uneasily, which had always been one of her tells when they played cards as kids.

  “Josefina?” he said, pressing her the way he’d heard her mother do more than once when they were children.

  “The money came from a numbered account in Switzerland,” Sophie said, obviously uncomfortable.

  “But we can get the name of the account owner, right?” Trey pushed, and Sophie coughed again and shook her head.

  “If you’re thinking of the government getting that information years ago it was because those particular banks had branches in the U.S. The government pressured those banks to give up the secret information or face daily fines in the millions for not doing so. But recently the Swiss have been a little more cooperative with authorities if illegal activities are suspected,” she explained.

  Trey’s gut twisted into a knot, and he clenched his fists on the surface of the table. Roni reached over and laid a hand on his, offering comfort. “That doesn’t mean Doug was dirty,” she said, leaning toward him, her face filled with compassion.

  “It doesn’t, especially since there’s something off with the deposits,” Rob said, tapping some keys to bring up the bank accounts. As he spoke, Sophie highlighted the information on the monitor.

  “The wires we tracked were done after Doug’s death, but his accounts show they were deposited before his death,” Rob explained.

  “Someone doctored his accounts to try and make him look dirty?” Roni said and squeezed his hand.

  “Possibly,” Rob confirmed.

  “But why put the money there at all? He’s dead, right? Why throw that kind of money away?” Roni pressed.

  “To throw us off the scent of the real dirty cop,” Trey said.

  Chapter Eight

  Roni nodded and sat back, contemplating all that had happened since the night Doug had been killed and Trey had nearly died. Attempting to recall what she’d either said or reported to anyone in order to figure out who might be that dirty cop.

  “Roni?” Trey asked, shifting in his seat slightly to examine her face.

  She shook her head and said, “I don’t think I mentioned seeing Doug with our unsub to anyone else. But Heath was working undercover with me that night. I don’t know what he saw.”

  “Sounds to me like this Heath person is a possible suspect,” Sophie said, and Rob added, “Maybe we should check him out as well.”

  “Maybe. I’ll let you know,” Roni said, although she felt dirty about possibly asking them to investigate her partner. Just as guilty as she was feeling about hiding the fact from Trey that she was supposedly working with IAD. Not that she’d really given them any information.

  This time it was Trey comforting her by turning his hand over and twining his fingers with hers. “We have to do what’s necessary to get to the bottom of this. It’s not just about Doug or your safety. It’s about those two missing college students and who knows how many other women.”

  “I get it. No stone unturned no matter how painful it might be,” she said with a bob of her head and hoped he would feel the same way if he found out IAD had asked her to help with the investigation.

  “Speaking of stones, we’re hoping you can get us an address for Walsh and some info on a John Wilson. He’s currently staying—”

  “In the penthouse suite at the Del Sol,” Rob immediately replied.

  Roni was taken aback. “You know this man?”

  “Everyone in Miami’s tech industry knows John Wilson. He made a fortune selling his AI startup to Google. His big thing now is building Miami’s tech sector. He’s brought lots of other tech companies down to the area,” Sophie explained.

  “Sun, sand and no income tax. Lots of places to party,” Rob said with a shake of his head.

  “Like the Del Sol? He’s rich?” Roni asked, wanting confirmation.

  “Filthy rich, but that doesn’t mean squeaky clean. You may want to talk to Carolina and Mia about him. They’ve been to his parties in the penthouse,” Sophie said.

  Trey’s fingers tightened on hers at the mention of the Twins. “We will. Thanks.”

  Worried about what Trey would say to the Twins, she whipped out her cell phone and brought up the photos of the man who had been soliciting women to head to Wilson’s penthouse.

  “Do you think that these photos are clear enough for you to get a hit with the facial recognition software?” she asked and showed them the photos.

  Sophie and Rob both leaned forward to look at the images.

  “He looks a lot like Walsh,” Rob said, and Sophie seconded his observation.

  “They do look alike, but there may be enough differences to get a new hit. Email the photos and we’ll get on it,” Sophie said.

  “In the morning. Sophie has a tendency to get lost in these things, but we need to get some rest and I imagine you do, too,” Rob clarified.

  Roni shot a look at the time on the phone. Just past midnight and she’d been going since six that morning. “It is time for some rest. Thank you again for all that you’ve done.”

  “Sí, gracias. You’ve given us a lot of information,” Trey said and rose, wincing as he did so.

  If it had been anyone else, Roni would have asked if he was okay, but she knew Trey wouldn’t appreciate her calling attention to any possible vulnerability in front of his cousins.

  When Trey took an unsteady step forward, she shot to her feet and swooped around to hug Sophie and Robbie and guide them toward the elevator. “Get some rest. We’ll touch base in the morning.”

  “Buenas noches,” Sophie and Rob said, almost in unison, making Roni chuckle. In some ways they were as twin-like as Carolina and Mia, maybe more so since they were brother and sister.

  After the elevator door closed, Roni faced Trey, who was standing by the table, rubbing his shoulder. “You okay?”

  With a shrug that had him grimacing, he said, “I need to take a painkiller, but I’m not a fan of them,” he freely admitted.

  “I’ll get you some water,” she said and hurried to the kitchen area in the large open space of the suite. She filled a glass with ice water from the fridge and handed it to him as he limped over. He took the glass from her, popped a pill into his mouth and downed the water. But as he set it in the dishwasher, he said, “I’m sorry I got you involved in this.”

  She shook her head and guilt again twisted her gut that she wasn’t being completely truthful with him. “I was already involved, remember? Those missing women are my case.”

  With a shrug, he said, “You’re right, but no one was trying to kill you.”

  “The moment that unsub knew that I had seen him, I was in danger,” she said and laid a hand on his chest to try and soothe his upset.

  He covered her hand with his and stepped closer. “I will keep you safe.”

  “I can take care of myself and you, Trey. We will solve this,” she said, certain that together they could do almost anything.

  He cupped her cheek. “We will, but at what price? Doug’s reputation? Our relationship?”

  She narrowed her gaze at his words. “Our relationship?”

  He stroked his thumb across her lips, rousing unwanted emotions. Now was the absolute worst time to give in to her attraction. “I know you too well, Roni. I see it in your eyes that something’s bothering you. Besides me, that is,” he said with a wry smile.

  With a playful shove against his chest, she said, “You’re way too full of yourself, Trey.”

  “I am, but I’m right. Something’s bothering you,” he pressed.

  “I guess I’m doubting myself a little. Walsh looks like our suspect. So does the man at the Del Sol. What if it was someone else behind the wheel of the car?”

  He considered her carefully, his gaze traveling over her features. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Get some rest. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

  It would be a long day, especially once they had an address for Walsh, talked to the Twins about Wilson, and she connected with Williams. The three Ws, she thought with a silent laugh, but maybe by the end of tomorrow they’d know more.

  “Good night, Roni. Sweet dreams,” he said and brushed a quick kiss on her cheek before he walked away.

  She watched him go but knew her dreams would be anything but sweet if they included Trey.

  * * *

  THE SMELL OF coffee woke him from a troubled sleep filled with images of the night Doug had been killed and the car barreling toward Roni.

  He flipped onto his back in bed, gritting his teeth as his shoulder and ribs protested the movement. The doctors had told him it would take time to fully heal but he hated being less than one hundred percent, especially when Roni’s life was at stake.

  Not to mention the Twins. He was unhappy that they were regulars at the clubs where the women were disappearing and that they might have connections to Wilson. Like Sophie had said, filthy rich didn’t mean squeaky clean. There had been too many recent cases of wealthy individuals involved with the sexual abuse of women.

  Especially sex workers like the ones who were rescued on that fateful night. Women who were invisible, which was probably why no one had reported them missing. It was that kind of invisibility that had allowed people like the Green River Killer and the Long Island Serial Killer to get away with their crimes for so long.

  And if Eddie hadn’t tipped him off, those women might have been sold into slavery.

  Eddie, he thought, and swiped his cell phone off the nightstand. It had been a little over a week since he’d been able to speak to his informant. The only thing that gave him hope that he was still alive was the fact that Eddie’s body hadn’t turned up somewhere. But then again, he could be in the belly of an alligator down in the Everglades.

  Despite those concerns, he dialed Eddie again and as it had before, the call immediately went to voice mail. In a way, that was a relief because he suspected that if Eddie wasn’t clearing out his voice mails, the mailbox might be full.

  He left a message asking Eddie to phone him and ended the call.

  Slipping from the bed, he grabbed a T-shirt and fleece shorts from the pile of clothes Carolina and Mia had purchased for him. He’d grab a shower later, after he’d had a chance to coordinate what they were going to do today.

  Exiting the bedroom, he found Roni in the kitchen, buttering some toasted Cuban bread and making café con leches with espresso and hot milk.

  “Smells delicious,” he said and covered his stomach when it growled with hunger.