Emerson’s heart broke. She wished she could be there with him while she told him the devastating news. She wished she could promise to find his sister’s killer, but she couldn’t do that, either. All she could do was try her best to console a man who had received shocking, devastating news.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” she said.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
“It appears to be a homicide. If you’re up to it, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Did April mention any friends, anyone she was seeing?”
“We hadn’t talked, you know, by phone in months. She would send me a text every now and then. I know she liked living in the DC area and she had a job she enjoyed. I don’t think she had a roommate and she never mentioned a boyfriend. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”
“It’s okay. Do you think April would want to be buried in Iowa?”
“Right…um. I don’t have money to pay for—”
“She has a friend who’s stepping in to help with costs,” Emerson said.
“If April’s friend can take care of cremation, that would be appreciated. Can I give you my address so you can have her ashes sent home?”
Emerson took his address, expressed her condolences again, and hung up. Her heart was heavy and she needed a minute to collect herself.
Death was never fun. Never.
She made her way over to the console and sat back down. “Thank you for paying for April’s arrangements. You’re a good guy.”
He shook his head. “Not a good guy.”
As they stared into each other’s eyes, his gaze turned molten. When his low, husky growl filled the air, desire pulsed through her. Fighting against the need to kiss him was like fighting against a rip tide.
Instead of moving toward her, he turned back to his computer, severing their connection. His abruptness left her feeling the chill of his rejection.
“I’m gonna find the motherfucker who killed April,” he grumbled.
He wasn’t just keeping his distance, he was pushing her away. But she had told him they’d had their fun and it was back to business. Dismissing her disappointment, she returned to scrolling through the never-ending footage of video surveillance.
It was after midnight when she spotted something. “Check this out.”
She’d homed in on a masked member sitting at the bar on L1. He had an unruly mop of blond hair, a blond beard and moustache. He wore a blue button-down oxford with jeans and sat alone, nursing a glass of wine. She fast-forwarded. If a woman sat beside him, he would chat with her for a moment or two, then stop. He didn’t seem to be hitting on anyone or even trying to engage in much conversation. Emerson fast-forwarded again. He finished the glass, spoke to the bartender, and retreated into the Men’s room. A few moments later, he returned to his stool and ordered another glass of wine.
“Maybe he was waiting for someone who never showed, or he’s shy,” Stryker said.
Again, she fast-forwarded. When the lights flickered and the bartender announced last call, he ordered a shot, tossed it back, but stayed until the club closed. He walked out alone and continued on foot until he disappeared out of camera range.
“No car,” Emerson said. “Or he parked somewhere else and walked over.”
“There’re condo buildings around the corner,” Stryker said. “I’ll use my IDware.” Stryker placed his hand over hers, still clutching the mouse. She both craved and loved his touch.
A few clicks and they’d loaded Blondie’s image.
While waiting for the software to find a match, he glanced in her direction. “You’re doing a great job down here.”
“I feel safe with you. And I’m over being embarrassed. You’re right about the negative speak. I’m going to empower myself, even if I’m faking it.”
“Nice.” The longer they stared into each other’s eyes, the more she liked what she saw.
Bing!