Lance grabbed for the knob, opened the door, and slipped through the opening. His leg jerked, pulling him backward.
The dog’s mouth was clamped around his boot at the ankle. The dog gave his leg a death shake, yanking Lance’s whole leg back and forth. He kicked at the dog’s head with his other foot. He caught the dog’s jaw with his heel. The giant jaws opened, and Lance pulled his foot free.
Undaunted, the dog lunged for his leg again. But Lance dove through the opening, shutting the door just as the Rottie hit the wood on the other side.
Leaning on the door, Lance breathed, his pulse slamming, sweat gathering under his arms. On the other side of the door, the dog sniffed deeply at the half inch of space between the door and floor. It did not bark, and it did not scratch at the door. Lance pictured it staring.
And maybe plotting revenge.
Lance examined his boot. The dog’s teeth had punctured the leather. Better to replace his footwear than his foot.
The dog hadn’t been there before Lance went into the office. Had it simply been in a different room and heard him? Or had someone let the beast into the hallway because that person knew Lance was in there?
He walked quickly down the hall and peered over the balcony to make sure no one was in sight before he jogged down the stairs. He hurried down the corridor and stopped in the powder room to wash his hands. By the time he returned to the basement, his heart was no longer trying to race right out of his body.
“We were just wondering what had happened to you.” Angry red stained Kieran from the neck up.
The strain on Morgan’s face told Lance that something had happened while he’d been gone. He gave her a questioning look, but a small shake of her head convinced him not to ask.
“I don’t have any more questions for now.” Morgan’s posture was stiff. “Thank you for speaking with us. You’ve been very helpful.”
“You’re welcome.” As Kieran made eye contact with Morgan, something nasty flashed in his eyes. His protective instincts on alert, Lance automatically moved closer to her.
This creeper is going on the short list of suspects for so many reasons.
Kieran turned back to his new gun, his body language dismissing them.
Asshat.
Morgan led the way out of the basement. David showed them to the door, and they walked back to the Jeep.
Lance climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. “What happened?”
“His personality changed while you were out of the room.” She told him about Kieran’s Jekyll-and-Hyde attitude shift. “We definitely need more information about Kieran Hart.”
Lance steered the Jeep down the driveway and through the gate. He paused at the road to check for oncoming traffic and squinted up through the windshield. “I wonder if the house across the street has a security camera.”
“We should try,” she said. “Maybe we can see what time Kieran came home. Underneath his inherited sophistication, Kieran gives out a nasty personal vibe. And he was probably lying. I seriously doubt it was a coincidence that he was at the club the same night as Haley. He couldn’t cover his anger when he talked about her and Noah, though he tried. I think he followed her there. Or knew she would be there from her social media page and went there to try and talk her into getting back together. Men like Kieran don’t take being dumped well. They prefer to be the dumpers rather than the dumpees.”
“I agree. It was not a coincidence that he was trying out his new handgun during our interview either. Also, I found these.” Lance reached behind him and pulled out the envelope of photos from under the back of his jacket and shirt.
Morgan opened the envelope and used the light on her phone to look at the pictures. “Where did you find these?”
“Stuck under his desk drawer.”
“These are pictures of a dozen naked women. Not just Haley.”
“Yes,” Lance said. “I told you sex crimes are like roaches. When you find one, you know there are hundreds more you haven’t yet discovered.”
She stuffed the pictures back in the envelope quickly. “What should we do with them? Possessing photos of women you’ve slept with isn’t a crime. We’d have to prove he took them without their consent and that they had an expectation of privacy, which might be difficult. I’m sure Kieran’s attorneys will argue that the women were willingly naked in his bed, in his house, and that they were willingly nude with him. I doubt the prosecutor would bring charges, and in order to sue him in civil court, the women would have to prove damages. He hasn’t used the photos in any way to harm them.”
“We’d also have to track down all these women, tell them about the photos, and persuade them to file complaints.”
“Most would probably be too embarrassed.” Morgan propped an elbow on the vehicle door and rested her head in her hand. “Normally, cases of privacy violations involve revenge porn or the sharing or posting of intimate images. Not only did Kieran not do either of those things, but he also used an instant camera that does not record a digital image.”
“We’ll hold on to them for now. If we don’t need them later, we’ll burn them.”
Morgan lifted her head. “He’ll know you took them.”
“Probably.” Lance was counting on it. “But he’s not going to call the police, is he?”
“No,” Morgan agreed. “He can hardly report the photographs as stolen property. But when he sees that his images are gone and makes the connection that you stole them, he’s going to be very angry.”
“This is true.” Lance thought it would be interesting to see Kieran’s reaction. Would he pick on someone his own size? Or did he only bully women? Lance suspected the latter was true.
The Tudor-style home on the other side of the road was smaller than Kieran’s family estate but still generously proportioned with at least two acres of green lawn surrounding it. There was no gate blocking access, and Lance turned into the long driveway. He pulled up to the walkway and parked.
“The family that lives here hasn’t fared as well as their neighbors.” Morgan studied the house through the passenger window. “The roof needs replacing, the landscaping is overgrown, and there’s rot under the eaves.”
“Must cost a fortune to maintain this place.” Lance climbed out of the car.
“What happened to your pant leg?” Morgan stared down at his foot. The hem of his pants was ripped.
“Kieran has a dog. A big dog. I’m grateful only my pants and my pride were damaged.”
“I didn’t hear any barking.” Morgan followed him up the front walkway.
“I guess he was taught not to bark with his mouth full.”
They climbed four steps to a brick stoop. Lance rapped on the red arched door. A fiftyish man in jeans and boots answered his knock. Sunlight shone on his shiny, shaved head, and the smell of marijuana clung to him like Pigpen’s dust cloud.
Lance had not expected a pothead in this neighborhood, which only reinforced the idea that assumptions were inherently flawed.
“Can I help you?” he crossed his arms over a Rush concert tee from 1983.
“Are you the homeowner?” Lance handed him a business card.
“Yeah, I’m Dexter Montgomery.” He coughed, then expelled air smelling intensely of pot. “You can call me Dex.”
“Nice to meet you, Dex,” Lance introduced himself. Then he motioned toward Morgan. “This is my associate, Ms. Dane. We’re investigating possible suspicious activity in the neighborhood last Friday night. We were hoping to get a copy of the video feed from your security camera that faces the street.”
“What kind of suspicious activity?” Dex asked.
“The kind that suggests someone might be casing the neighborhood,” Lance lied. “We’re trying to verify the report now, which is why we’re here. Your camera feed would be most helpful.”
“You can’t be too careful these days,” Dex said. “I’ll cooperate.”
“Thank you.” Lance nodded. “I’ll need the name and number for your security company, and they’ll need your permission to release the video.”