Desperate Girls (Wolfe Security #1)(25)
“Erik, I’d like you to meet John Kopek, also known as Bulldog. John’s our private investigator.”
“I know. Otherwise, he’d be in handcuffs.” Erik looked the man over, no doubt noticing the Ruger under his jacket. He turned to Brynn. “You told Hayes you were across the hall.”
“Bulldog stopped by to tell me something important.” She turned to him. “What’s going on?”
At the look on his face, Brynn braced herself.
“Michael McGowan is dead.”
BRYNN’S STOMACH clenched. “Mick McGowan?”
“That’s right.”
Brynn stared at him.
“Who’s Mick McGowan?” Erik asked.
“The lead homicide detective who worked on the James Corby case,” Bull said. “He was found at his house this morning. Gunshot wound. Investigators are looking to see if it’s connected to Jen’s murder.”
A woman breezed past them, looking alarmed at the word “murder.”
Bulldog turned to Brynn. “Hey, mind if we take this upstairs? We don’t need to tell your whole building this shit.”
Erik led the way upstairs, and Brynn was too stunned to talk. Mick McGowan. Gunshot wound. The words looped through her mind as she retraced her steps to Ross’s apartment.
When they walked in, Ross seemed startled to see Bulldog.
“Hey, what’s up? I thought you were in Vegas running down Perez.”
Bull looked to Brynn, in case she wanted to break the news. She didn’t.
“Mick McGowan is dead,” Bull said.
“What?”
“He was shot in his home,” Brynn added.
Bull sat down on an ottoman near Ross. Brynn took a seat on the sofa beside him while Erik remained standing.
“What the hell happened?” Ross asked.
“You remember Max Gorman with the Sheridan Heights Police Department,” Bull said. “He’s the lead on Jen’s case.”
Brynn nodded. “I talked to him last night.” Had it really only been last night?
“Mick’s been retired two years now,” Bull continued. “Gorman stopped by Mick’s place to talk to him about Corby. Found him in his kitchen.”
Ross shook his head. “How—”
“Shot dead with his own gun,” Bull told him.
“When?”
“The ME’s guy said it looks like he’s been dead a few days. The body’s in bad shape.”
“His own gun.” Brynn tried to get her mind around the idea. “So you’re saying—”
“They’re thinking Corby broke in, got hold of the gun, then got the drop on Mick somehow. Shot him in the head right there in his kitchen, then went over to Jen’s place.”
Brynn looked at Erik, who seemed impossibly calm in the wake of this news. He was watching Brynn’s reaction, but he shifted his attention to Bulldog.
“Any ballistics to confirm this?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Bull said. “But Mick’s gun is missing. So is his vehicle. A white Dodge pickup.”
Brynn let out a laugh, which was completely inappropriate for the moment. “Oh my God, still ? That thing’s older than dirt!”
Bulldog looked at her warily. “It’s a ninety-five.” He glanced at Erik. “So you guys keep your eyes peeled for the truck. There’s a BOLO out on it already.”
“You tell Reggie about all this?” Ross asked.
“Talked to him on my way here.”
Silence settled over the group. A hundred questions swirled through Brynn’s mind, but she couldn’t focus on any of them as she pictured the veteran police detective she’d worked with on so many cases dead on his kitchen floor.
Mick had white hair and an easygoing smile. He was a widower. And a grandfather. And a Cowboys fan. Brynn pinched the bridge of her nose as the details flooded back.
Bulldog stood up and checked his watch. “I need to get to the airport. But I wanted to tell you.”
Brynn and Ross got to their feet.
“Thanks for coming by,” she said.
“Yeah, no problem.” He shot a look at Erik, then turned to Brynn and Ross. “You two watch your backs.”
Erik found her in her kitchen with Hayes. He was leaning back against the sink, drinking Gatorade as Brynn crouched inside the pantry.
She stood up with a bottle of wine in her hand. She set it on the counter, then pulled open a drawer and took out a corkscrew.
“Get you anything?” she asked Erik.
“No.” He looked at Hayes. “She fill you in?”
“Yeah. I was about to call Liam and give him the update.”
“Good plan.”
Hayes walked out, and Erik turned to Brynn. “You okay?”
“Fine, why?” She opened a cabinet and took out a wineglass. “I mean, here I am standing in my kitchen without a bullet in my brain. I’m doing great.”
She filled her glass. It was white wine, and it probably would have been better chilled. But she didn’t seem to care as she took a sip.
“John Kopek is on our list,” Erik said. “But we didn’t know about his concealed-carry permit, and we definitely didn’t know he was stopping by here tonight. He should have called first.”