Page 90 of Broken Boss

I can’t believe she’d just disappear like this. When I came home to an empty house, I figured she probably needed a night or two away, some time to decompress. We’ve been so close. Closer than anyone else I have in my life.

Had, the little voice corrects, forcing the fact that she’s gone.

In a burst of desperation, I decide to drive to her apartment.

That would make you no better than her lunatic ex.

Brought back to reality, I focus on that particular subject instead.

Kieran Tate.

As much as I want to shut down and forget that Autumn ever existed, it’s impossible for me to leave loose ends. Kieran and whatever he has planned for Autumn is a loose end.

If she never wants to see me again, so be it.

But I’ll keep her safe, even from afar—no matter what it takes.

A week goes by, colorless, soundless. It’s like I’m living underwater. I spend my days eating the bare minimum of food needed to keep me going and burying myself in work. At night, I get home and immediately down a glass or two of whiskey. I’m usually out cold within a couple of hours.

First thing Monday, I wake to the shrill sound of my cell phone, the name Rick Guerra taking over the screen. He’s a private investigator I hired hours after Autumn pulled her disappearing act.

He’s been following Kieran.

He’s the last piece I need to put this whole thing away, behind me.

I pick up, not bothering to say anything, squinting in the dawn light.

“Sharpe. Got something interesting for you—late last night I caught him down at a pawn shop. The Silver Lion. He pawned a necklace. Guess who it belonged to?”

Brows furrow. A headache insistently pushes away any lucid thought. “Who?”

“Ivy O’Connor.”

I sit up, diagonal on the bed, suddenly fully awake.

“You’re sure?”

“I am. It’s in the photos you gave me—the ones her family provided, not the ones from the crime scene.”

“So you’re saying he took it.”

“Yes. If he’s the one who killed the girl, he took it as a trophy, I’m guessing. A lot of killers will do that.”

“You’re sure it was him, Rick?”

“Positive. Got pictures, too, and I checked with the pawn shop—they have fourteen cameras in the main room, all save and backup. Should be good for the next three months if you can get a detective down there.”

“Perfect. Any chance you can bring the photos by today? To my house, not the office.”

“’Course. Text me the address and tell me when.”

Hanging up, I feel more clearheaded than I have in a long time. This is the nail in the coffin—this is what I need to prove Kieran Tate is the one who killed Ivy O’Connor twelve years ago. Not Stephen Cooper.

Everything after this moment is instinct. I reach out to Jacobson and set up a meeting—if my call with the DA goes well, then he should be able to show Alex a photo of Kieran to see if she IDs him in a group.

And if she does…

If she does, Stephen Cooper gets out of jail. Autumn gets her brother back.

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