Page 25 of Once a Killer

“You wrap these up and put them back in the freezer. I’ll get these going in the oven.”

“Works for me,” he said as he opened a drawer and grabbed the plastic wrap.

As the pizzas baked on a pizza pan, they sat at the kitchen table. Bree pulled her phone out of her pocket and opened it. Checked her emails, answered a few, deleted more. Then she scrolled through the news as she waited for the pizzas to cook.

He eased back on his chair and took another sip of beer as he watched her, savoring the cold, bitter taste of the IPA as it slid down his throat. She typed like she did everything else -- concisely, with no wasted effort. In control. No hesitation to figure out what to say. Bree Gordon was an interesting woman.

And damn good at her job.

Once she’d stowed her phone back in her pocket, she got herself a glass of ice water and sat down again. Studied him, as if trying to see beneath the surface.

Clearing his throat, he said, “You told me there were some things you wanted to ask me. Said we’d discuss them at home. We’re at home, dinner’s cooking, and no one’s pounding on my door. So what did you want to know?”

“I’d like to know where you got your money,” she said, holding his gaze.

Chapter 9

Bree watched Jameson rear back, shock in his expression. After a long moment, he said, “How do you know I have a lot of money?”

Gotcha. She forced herself not to smile. “I didn’t ask if you had a lot of money. I asked where you got your money. That could apply to someone with millions or someone with a hundred bucks in the bank.”

He leaned against the back of his chair, studying her for a long moment. Finally he asked, “What does my money, or lack of it, have to do with what’s going on?”

She tilted her head, tried to figure out how to answer it so she’d get as much information as possible. “I know you have money,” she said quietly, noting his shock without reacting to it. “You own this apartment building. And even if you bought it several years ago, it probably didn’t come cheap. It’s in a nice neighborhood. Close to public transportation and arterial roads. Easy access to Evanston as well as the Loop. Close to an expressway.” She held up her hands. “Far as I’m concerned, smart purchase. Let the tenants pay the mortgage for you.

“Besides the building, you have that lab. Has to cost a bit of change every month. Rent. Utilities. And salaries for four engineers. They’re probably not getting a huge salary, but even enough to live on is a good amount of money when you multiply it by four. Maybe you’ve had some engineers who’ve sold their programs and moved on, and you’re collecting your 7% from them. But I’m not sure even that would be enough to finance what you’re doing. So you have an income source.

“I’m not asking to be nosy. I’m asking because I’m wondering if it has anything to do with the fact that you’re being targeted. Does someone know where you got your money? If it’s family money, maybe they’re aiming to kidnap you. Get ransom money. Or if it’s about your program, maybe they want to hurt you enough to slow down your work on it. Give them more time to figure out how to grab it.

“I know I’m prying into something very personal. But I like to have as much information as possible. The more information I have, the more I can assess where a threat may be coming from.”

He watched her, stone-faced. Finally he said, “What if I don’t want to tell you how much money I have and where I got it?”

She shrugged. “I didnotask how much money you had. Not my business. I asked where you got it. If it’s family money, that’s all I need to know.”

“It’s not family money,” he said immediately, staring down at his hands. “I grew up poor. Dad was a drinker. Mom worked two jobs to keep food on the table.” His jaw worked. “How I got named Jameson? Mom said it was what Dad loved best. So she named me after his favorite booze.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, sliding her hand across the table to touch his hand. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

But she would. She hadn’t wanted to open old wounds. “You know what? Forget about it. I’ll just accept that you have money and it doesn’t matter how you got it. Unless you stole it from some rich guy who now wants his pound of flesh.”

“Didn’t steal it from anyone.” A flash of anger tightened his face. “I earned it.”

“Okay.” She wanted to question him further. How could a guy who wasn’t much over thirty earn that much money? But if he didn’t want to share, she’d live with it.

The timer dinged, and she jumped up to get the pizzas and defuse some of the tension in the room.

She pulled down two large plates. Tugged the pizzas out of the oven and slid them, one at a time, onto a cutting board, then grabbed a knife from the block on the counter and cut each of them into four slices. She handed him the plate with the pepperoni and took the other plate with the veggie pizza.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, until Jameson dropped his piece onto his plate. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Jameson. I probably shouldn’t have even asked, but I was trying to figure out who might be after you. And where there’s money involved, that’s always a good place to look.”

He picked up his slice, tried to take a bite and dropped it onto the plate again. “Too hot to eat,” he said. “Might as well tell you where the money came from. But you have to promise not to tell anyone else.” He glanced away, staring at the floor. Finally looked up at her. “I’m not embarrassed or ashamed of where it came from. I just don’t want… grief about it. From anyone.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone, Jameson.” She picked up her pizza, blew on it and took a tiny bite. Dropped it back onto the plate when it burned the roof of her mouth. “I don’t tell people about my life. Why would I tell them about yours?”

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