The Target by L.J. Sellers Page A

About who would benefit from his death?”
    A flash of anger in her eyes. “I signed a pre-nup, so I didn’t marry him for his money. But his son and I will inherit his estate. What’s left of it.”
    “Do you have a copy of his will?”
    “You’ll have to ask his lawyer.”
    He asked for the lawyer’s name and contact information, then continued with questions about Avery’s immediately family—‌his son, parents, and siblings, hoping to contact them all. Sometimes wives were the last to know when a man was in trouble. “Had anything unusual happened in James’ life recently?” Her mention of depression made him think the chain of events leading to the murder may have started a while ago.
    “He was hit with a paternity lawsuit. A woman named Alicia Freison claimed he was the father of her three-year-old son.”
    Cortez made notes. Avery’s beating and death could have been about blackmail or extortion. Someone probably wanted his money. “I’d like to see her legal papers. She could be a person of interest.”
    Veronica stood, her voice bitter. “The lawsuit was bullshit. She’s probably one of those DNA grabbers who stalk celebrities.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “They follow movie stars and famous athletes around, waiting for a chance to snatch a strand of hair or a drop of saliva.” The widow made an angry grabbing gesture. “Then they file a paternity claim or blackmail the celebrity into keeping the claim quiet.”
    Vile.
Such a person might kidnap and kill a movie star too. “I need everything you know about this woman and her lawsuit.” He couldn’t wait to tell Hawthorne he already had a lead.

Chapter 9
    Friday, July 11, 8:40 a.m.
    Dallas flashed her ID badge and hurried through the TecLife doors before they locked again. First-day jitters made her clutch at her shoulder bag. She had to be professional at this administrative gig—‌so she could keep the job long enough to gather incriminating intel. No pressure. She stopped at the reception area and spoke with Adrian. “Jace Hunter again. Cheryl Decker said you’d get me set up with an email account.”
    “I will. Welcome.” He held out his hand. “Write down how you want your first and last name to read, then I’ll add
at teclife dot com,
and you’ll be good to go in an hour.”
    She jotted down
JaceHunter
on a sticky note. “Anything else I need to know?”
    “Ms. Decker likes her coffee really hot. We have an espresso machine in the break room, but you’ll need to nuke it before you take it back to her.”
    Coffee fetching?
Whatever
. Dallas smiled. Between both paychecks, she’d be the highest paid barista on the planet. Waiting tables in college had taught her that there was value in serving others. And had given her opportunities to charm strangers with elaborately fabricated background stories.
    “Did your boss tell you about the morning staff meetings?”
    “Not yet.”
    “First floor atrium at nine-fifteen sharp.”
    “See you there.” She was eager to meet everyone and size them up. The weak links—‌who she could extract information from—‌were easy to pick out. One of the three top executives was most likely the mastermind, and she had to narrow it down to focus on a target for her probe. Catching the perp in an act of setting up a sabotage would be the ultimate reward. More likely, she’d have to cobble together emails, bank statements, and photos to create enough evidence for a conviction or plea deal.
    Dallas took the elevator to the third floor and strode down the hall. The click of her heels was an unexpected but happy sound. In the Phoenix bureau, she wore pants and sensible shoes like everyone else. It felt good to wear a skirt and show some leg. She stepped into Cheryl Decker’s front office without knocking, dropped her bag on the assistant’s desk, and glanced around. A small window next to the door opened into the hallway, but otherwise the room was suffocating and dreary. She’d have to