She turned around. “You do?”
“He comes in about once a week. Gets a dozen doughnut holes and always pays with quarters.”
She glanced at his name tag. Evan. “And do you know his name?”
“Nope.”
“Does he come in with a parent? Or maybe a sibling?”
“Nope.”
“Does he hang out with anyone else here?”
“No. Just shells out his quarters and takes off.”
Brooke’s heart was racing now. She couldn’t believe this. And she wanted to call Sean, but instead she calmly pulled out a ten and paid for her food.
“What’s he look like?”
The teen rubbed his chin. “Skinny little guy. Red hair. Freckles. And the white bike, like you said. When he’s on foot, sometimes he brings a little white dog with him.”
Her pulse jumped. “What kind of dog?”
“I don’t know. Think it’s a mutt.”
He handed back her change, and she dropped it into the tip jar.
“Want me to call you if I see him again?”
“Thank you, Evan.” Brooke took out her business card. “You read my mind.”
• • •
Sean was pulling out of the parking lot when he got a call from Ric.
“Get anything?” Sean asked.
“Nothing. What about you guys?”
“Struck out. Callie’s going to do some drive-bys tonight, a few houses where the vehicles weren’t there on our first pass.”
“We had a lot of those,” Ric said. “Okay, let’s circle back in the morning. And I just got word from the ME’s office. The official autopsy report is done. He emailed it over.”
“Anything new?”
“I haven’t read it yet. He sent some stuff over to Delphi, though. The bloody clothing, the nail clippings. If she’d had time to put up a fight, I might be hopeful for DNA.”
“What about the tox screen?”
“I asked. Said it should be a few weeks.”
Sean wanted it sooner. Reynolds was still pushing the drug angle, probably hoping the public would think the killing was gang related. Sean needed anything he could get—such as a tox-screen negative for drugs and alcohol—to bolster his case that the drugs were a plant.
“Maybe we can get a rush on it,” Ric said, following the same train of thought as Sean.
“I’ll contact the lab tomorrow. One of their techs owes me a favor.”
“Good. You on call tonight?”
“Yeah. You?”
“I’m off. See you in the morning.”
Sean hung up and wended his way home. He needed to hit the weights tonight and work on his leg, but what he really wanted to do was go to Brooke’s.
He thought about how she’d looked last night at the crime scene. The case was weighing on her. He could tell. He’d learned to read the signs.
Sean wasn’t sure when he’d become so tuned in to her. Sometime before the shooting that nearly ended his life.
Brooke had been the first person to visit him in the hospital. He’d been doped up on pain meds, in and out of consciousness after one of his surgeries. She’d been in his room, sitting silently in a chair while a TV droned in the background. He’d drifted out and the next time he’d come to, she was gone.
She’d never mentioned it. She probably didn’t think he’d been aware of her, but he definitely had. Sean had sensed her there before he even opened his eyes. It was one of the strangest moments of his life, and all these months later he still couldn’t get it out of his head.
He picked up his phone and called her.
“Hey, I was about to call you,” she said. “I found something. At least, I think I did.”
“What is it?”
“Our witness. The child. He’s a regular at Sunrise Donuts. You know the place over on Sycamore right by Dairy Queen? I talked to the kid who works there—”
“Wait, hold up. You interviewed people?”
She paused. “Yeah. So what?”
“So, you’re not a detective. You can’t go around interviewing witnesses.” She was doing his job for him. Worse, she was putting herself in a position to potentially cross paths with a murderer.
“Do you want this lead or not?”
“Damn it, Brooke.”
“Fine, I’ll give it to Callie.”
“I want it. Do you have a name?”
“No, but I have a description.”
Even a mere description was the best lead they’d had all day.
Information was only as good as the source, though. Sean had become an expert at reading people and sorting through their lies and evasions. Yet another reason it bothered him that Brooke had gone out and interviewed someone who should have been talked to by a trained detective.
“How reliable is the source? Scale of one to ten?”
“I’d say he’s, I don’t know, maybe an eight?”
“How’d you get him to talk to you? Tell me you didn’t pretend to be a cop.”
“I was just friendly. I chatted him up. Why are you pissed off?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
Sean tried to tamp down his reaction. He wanted her involved, but in the laboratory, not out pounding the pavement.
“Have you had dinner?”
The question seemed to throw her, and she didn’t answer right away. “I ate something earlier.”
“Let’s meet for a drink, then. How about Schmitt’s?”
Silence.
Sean looked down at his phone. “Brooke?”
“Yes?”
She was on her guard again, and he didn’t know why. Damn it, one of these days he was going to convince her to have an actual meal with him. “It’s just a beer. You can catch me up on this lead you developed by impersonating a detective.”
“I told you, I did not—”
“Relax, I’m kidding. Will you please meet me at Schmitt’s?”
He waited. And waited. As the silence stretched out, he tried to figure out when, exactly, she’d gotten him so worked up he was holding his breath over whether she’d agree to have a beer with him.
“You know Flannigan’s?” she asked.
“The pub over on Oak Street.”
“I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”
• • •
Brooke didn’t have time to go home and change out of her yoga clothes, and part of her was relieved, because going home would give her the chance to bail out. She was taking a break from dating. But this wasn’t a date, it was only a drink.
So why was she parked in the Flannigan’s lot, rummaging through her gym bag, desperate for something to wear?
She eyed the door of the bar. Then she glanced around the parking lot before stripping down to her sports bra and pulling on a clean T-shirt. She tucked some loose strands of hair into her ponytail and checked the mirror.
Not great, but passable. Sean would be in his work clothes most likely—a button-down shirt, with his sleeves rolled up because it was the end of the day. Or maybe he’d be wearing that black leather jacket he’d worn to her house the other night.
Who cared what he was wearing? This was beer with a friend. Same as last night, except it was Sean instead of her coworkers.
Brooke spotted him as she stepped through the door. He turned around on his stool the moment she walked in. Maybe it was that weird connection they had going.
Or maybe he’d simply seen her in the mirror behind the bar.
His gaze locked on her as she crossed the bar. Sure enough, he’d worn the leather jacket, and she felt a twinge of excitement as the sexiest man in the room zeroed in on her.
“Saved you a seat.”
She took the empty stool. “It’s crowded.”
“It’s Friday. Considered by many to be the start of the weekend.” He looked her over. “You changed.”
“I had a yoga class.”
Sean flagged the bartender, and she sauntered over with a fli
rty smile on her face. “Get y’all something?”
Sean nodded at Brooke.
“I’ll have a Guinness, please.”
“Make it two.”
The bartender left, and Brooke turned to Sean.
“Yoga and Guinness.” He smiled. “I like that.”
“Gotta feed your soul.”
“So”—his smile faded—“you want to tell me how this went down?”
“How what went down?”
“You finding our mystery witness.”
“I haven’t found him yet.”
“It’s only a matter of time now that we know where to look. What’d you do, canvass the neighborhood?”
“Not really.” Brooke shifted her gaze to the large Irish flag on the wall. Beneath it, in a row of cozy booths, couples were enjoying their drinks, and she felt a tug of envy.
She glanced back at Sean and shrugged. “Basically, I just did some poking around.”
Two beers appeared in front of them, cold dark brews with frothy heads. The bartender smiled. “Anything else, Blue?”
“We’re good, thanks.”
She winked and walked off.
“Blue?”
“She knows I’m a cop.”
Brooke managed not to roll her eyes.
Sean lifted his beer and clinked the glass against hers. “Here’s to you.”
“Why?”
“That was some decent work you did today.”
“Gee, thanks, Blue.”
“I’m serious. You took what sounded like a far-fetched theory and turned it into a real lead.” He leaned closer. “But next time, stick with the physical evidence. Leave the interviews to the detectives.”
The beer was cold and bitter and soothed the tension lingering in her chest. “You’re very territorial about this.”
“Not territorial. Protective.”
“Of the case?”
“Of you.” His bluntness startled her. “You shouldn’t be mixing with potential suspects. It isn’t protocol and it definitely isn’t safe.”
“I hardly think this kid is your suspect.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know how he fits in. Could be it’s his dad or his uncle or his older brother. We don’t know how all the players tie together. If this kid was in her house—”
“He was.”
“How do you know that?” His words had an edge now. “For all we know, this kid with the baseball cap got knocked off his bike the night of the murder, but has nothing to do with Samantha Bonner.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t believe anything yet. I’m still building a case theory.”
She looked at him for a long time, considering it.
The bar was loud and getting louder. It wasn’t the normal place to discuss a homicide investigation, or anything else of a macabre nature. But here they were.
He sipped his beer, watching her. “So, fill me in. What’s this description you got?”
She gave him a rundown of her conversation with the teen at the doughnut shop.
“You notice any cameras?”
“What, like security cams?”
He nodded.
“No. But I doubt there would be any. It’s a doughnut place, not a liquor store.”
“I’ll check.”
“Why?”
“Maybe they have this kid on tape.”
“If they do, you wouldn’t actually release that, would you?”
“Depends. Video footage can be one of the fastest ways to ID someone.”
“No video.” She put her hand over his. “Promise me, Sean.”
“I doubt we’d go that route, given the circumstances. We don’t want to put a target on his back.”
Brooke’s stomach knotted. “There might be a target there already if the killer knows there was a witness. And if that witness happens to be the same kid who was bumped off his bike—”
“A lot of ifs.”
Brooke couldn’t disagree. Yet she couldn’t shake the certainty that they were onto something. The fingerprints, the tire mark, the trashed bicycle. It all added up to a dangerous situation for this child, whoever he was.
“We’ll find him,” Sean said, reading Brooke’s mind. How did he always seem to do that? She looked into his eyes and felt that warm pull.
Sean leaned close to her. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you always like this?”
“How do you mean?”
“So involved in your cases. Revisiting the crime scene, combing the neighborhood for witnesses. You’re going way above and beyond here.”
“Do you ever go above and beyond?”
“Yeah, and sometimes it lands me in trouble.”
“Well, you get it, then. It’s not all lab work. A lot of what I do happens outside the laboratory. Thoroughly exploring the crime scene is critical to the job because evidence is transitory. It can disappear before you even know it’s there.”
“This can’t be your only case, though. I’m guessing you have a few other open files?”
“More than a few. We’re always backlogged.”
He watched her expectantly as he sipped his beer.
She looked away, skimming her gaze over the people around her. A lot of them were her age or younger, out living it up on a Friday night. Brooke couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone anywhere with a man for the express purpose of having fun.
Two years with Matt had changed her. She was wary now, skeptical of people’s motives. And worse, reluctant to trust her instincts when it came to men.
That pissed her off because she’d had so much confidence before. She’d felt so in charge of her life.
Sean was watching her steadily. Those eyes of his seemed to look straight into her soul.
“It’s the kid thing,” she said, getting back to the matter at hand. “I hate when children get caught up in the twisted stuff adults do to each other.”
“You really believe he’s involved.”
“Yes, I really do.”
“Another round?”
The bartender was back, and Brooke was surprised to see they’d drained their beers. And also surprised that her hand was still resting on top of Sean’s.
Brooke reached for her purse. “I should get home.”
“This is on me.”
Sean took out his wallet, but she ignored him and left money on the bar to cover her drink and the tip. She didn’t want him to think this was a date.
The place was filling up, and they had to squeeze their way through the crowd to get to the door. When they were out in the cold, damp air, Brooke took a deep breath. What little relaxation she’d achieved at her yoga class was long gone.
Without a word, Sean started walking her toward her Prius. No oversize black pickup pinning her in tonight, thank God. She cast a look around the parking lot.
“What kind of yoga do you do?”
She glanced at him. “Bikram.”
He winced. “Too hot.”
“You’ve tried it?”
“Running’s much better for working up a sweat. Yoga’s good for stress, though.” He glanced at her. “Like you said, gotta feed your soul.”
She would never have guessed he practiced yoga. It didn’t fit her image of a tough-guy cop. Given his build, she’d always pictured him pumping iron in a gym.
“So, tomorrow’s Saturday. Prime time for doughnuts,” she said as they reached her car.
“We’ll have someone check out the shop. Maybe he’ll show.”
“I can try to swing by there, too. Before I head to the lab.”
“Brooke.”
“What?”
He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her.
For an instant, pure shock. Then she registered the warmth of his fingers against her cheek, the press of his lips. His mouth moved against hers, and she opened for him—just like that, no hesitation. The most natural thing ever.
The touch
of his tongue sent a surge of heat through her. Sean was kissing her. And all she could think was how right it felt, how perfect, and she let herself sink into him.
She liked the way he kissed her, liked the feel of his hand against her face as he tilted her head for a better angle. It went on and on until she was clinging to him, gripping his shirt in her fingers.
He eased back, and she blinked up at him, dazed.
“Wow,” he said in a husky voice.
“Wow.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.”
She leaned back. “You have not.”
“Okay, months.”
She stared up at him. The corner of his mouth curved in that sly smile, and she reached up and pulled his head down for another kiss.
He kissed her back, and the sweep of his tongue brought another rush of heat. He glided his hands down to cup her hips and eased her back against the car, lining their bodies up, and she burrowed her hands inside the warmth of his jacket. He felt so good, everything about him. He was strong and solid and warm. She slid her hands around his waist and up his back to pull him even closer, and she was pressed between the cold hardness of her car and the hot hardness of Sean’s body.
“Brooke.”
She kissed him, desperate not to talk right now. She only wanted to keep the kiss going. She wanted to keep tasting him and feeling the rasp of his stubble against her skin. She pressed her breasts into him, craving his heat, wanting more of him as her entire body started to throb. When she rocked her hips against him, he made a low groan deep in his chest.
His hand slid up to her breast, and the brush of his thumb over her nipple made her squirm closer.
“Come home with me.”
She didn’t answer, and he kissed her again. She melted into him. But then he pulled away, and she saw the intensity in his eyes.
“Brooke, come home with me.”
She jerked back, snapping out of the trance. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
He watched her, searching her face.
“I’m taking a break from men.”
Confusion came into his eyes. “Why?”
“It’s complicated.” She glanced around. God, what was she doing? One drink, and here she was throwing herself at him in the middle of the parking lot.
He stepped back, giving her space. She opened the car door and scooted around it, putting it between them so she wouldn’t lose her resolve and kiss him again.
Touch of Red Page 7
