“I’ve got calls and emails in to all of them,” he replied.
“I have an update on the security cameras at the vics’ homes,” she said. “There weren’t any cameras at the B-U crime scene or the Y.”
“No cameras at my cousin’s?”
“Unfortunately not, and I confirmed all the reports with the detectives. The first L had a doorbell camera, but it was live-feed only.”
“Jesus,” he bit out. “Nothing stored in the cloud?”
“No. I reached out to the company, but they don’t offer storage. We do have video from the second L. The victim had a front-facing camera that captured someone walking up to it.”
“Man or woman?”
“I watched it and couldn’t tell. The person’s wearing a black ski mask and black clothes. After he spray-paints the lens, we’ve got nothing. There’s no audio.”
“We’re not getting a damn break,” he bit out. “Forced entry?”
“No,” she replied. “I think we’re dealing with a very cunning killer.”
His growl shot through her like a cannon.
“We gotta contact neighbors to see if they saw or heard anything,” he said.
“I’ll jump on that now.” Brit got busy on her laptop, then made a call.
The minutes ticked into hours. They stayed on point, were focused, and jotted notes on the white board.
Throughout the afternoon, he’d glance over at her. Something was definitely off. Her eyebrows were knitted together.
Gotta be the case.
At the end of the workday, he said, “Let’s sync up.”
She nodded. “I spoke with the lead crime scene tech from the BU. The first floor had been completely wiped down. No fingerprints in the living room or kitchen. Both victims’ prints were found upstairs, but no other prints were lifted. There wasn’t a dirty glass in the sink or a dish on the counter.”
“Gotcha,” he said.
“The blonde hair found at the first L crime scene wasn’t the victim’s. Unfortunately, they don’t have a match. They found an earring at the second L crime scene. They did lift prints— partial prints—which weren’t the vic’s.”
“They run it?”
“Yeah, but they didn’t get a match.”
Dammit. “That would be too easy.”
“Well, we’re moving in the right direction. Either the killer is getting sloppy or he feels invincible.” Brit scooted close, dragged her laptop over. “Check it out.”
He soaked up her profile. Large, espresso-colored eyes, a tiny uptick to her nose, perfect lips that beckoned. She’d tucked her long hair behind her ear, giving him a clear line of sight to her delicate neck.
“Eyes over here.” She tapped the laptop with her long fingernail.
He dragged his gaze to the picture of the earring. A black flower petal, in its center a small, white pearl.
“Could be a trophy from another vic,” Rebel said. “Could be what you said. He’s leaving something behind to taunt us.”
He leaned close. Her breath hitched. The kiss was going to happen. He couldn’t stop it. A moan ripped from his throat.
“We can’t get found out,” she whispered.