“Special delivery from the post office two days ago. Propane yesterday.”
That gave him some place to start. “Did you make sure the security system was on at all times?”
“That’s what you pay me for,” Mario said, voice sore as if Sebastian had poked a bruise. Mario’s hawks squawked in the background.
Things weren’t stacking up right. Sebastian rubbed a hand over his chin. Could someone who’d just escaped a prison riot, killed two marshals and traveled four hours from a murder scene have been careful enough to leave no trace?
Kershaw wasn’t into finesse. He was into results. Leaving evidence would mean nothing to someone bent on revenge. He’d have wanted Sebastian to know he was the cause of his grief.
Sebastian spun on his heels and faced the closed door of Olivia’s room. If not Kershaw, then who? Who would want Olivia dead?
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