“And it’s for old prints, right?”
“Yes, and prints that are difficult to recover.” She got out the bottle of cyanoacrylate. “Fingerprints are made of sweat, amino acids, proteins, and fatty acids. Sweat evaporates relatively quickly while the other compounds remain for a longer period of time. Fingerprint powders adhere to sweat and without it, the powders have a difficult time adhering to the other compounds.”
She placed drops of the cyanoacrylate into a disposable metal cup and set it in the cabinet. “The cyanoacrylate—Super Glue—fumes don’t need the sweat to develop the fingerprint. That’s why it’s good for older prints. Also, prints are hard to lift from uneven surfaces and hard-to-dust surfaces such as bottles, knives, and guns. The Super Glue fixes the print and gives you multiple chances at lifting it.”
“But you didn’t do this with the whale.”
“Even with multiple chances, I would likely have failed due to the extremely uneven surface. But casting can give me perfect prints every time.”
“So why not cast all the time then?”
“Cost and sometimes ease. Like now, I can develop multiple items at one time.” She poured water into the chamber’s reservoir in the door and turned on the auto cycle humidify setting. “Water speeds up the process. The machine will automatically shut off and clear the fumes, and then we can look at the prints if there are any.”
“And until then?” His stomach growled. Not surprising. They only had a few fries since breakfast.
She looked at him. “You’re hungry.”
“I could eat, but if you want to keep working, I’m right here with you.”
“We could go up to my place. I could whip up an omelet.”
“You sure you want to do that?”
“If feeding you means I can work later tonight, then yes. I want to do that. Just let me wash my hands first.” She removed her gloves and crossed the room to the sink. As she scrubbed and watched the bubbles disappear down the drain, she was already regretting her impulsive decision to invite him into her personal space. But there was nothing to do about it now, and she had to make the best of her hasty decision.
She dried her hands and grabbed the DNA samples. “We can drop these off with Emory on the way.” She glanced at Chad. “Be back soon. You want me to bring you an omelet?”
He shook his head. “I figured we’d be here late so I brought a wrap from McDonald’s, but thanks.”
She led the way to the stairwell and jogged down to Emory’s lab. She wasn’t present, but her assistant, Lara, stood behind a lab table. In her late twenties, she had neon-blue hair cut in an adorable pixie style, and she’d spiked the top. She looked up and smiled.
“More DNA evidence in the Barnes investigation,” Sierra said and laid the log in front of Lara to sign.
Lara scribbled her name. “I’m taking off as soon as Emory comes back, but I’ll make sure she gets this.”
“Thanks,” Sierra said, and despite Lara’s questioning looks at Reed, Sierra left without introducing him.
She went straight to the elevator and once inside she punched the number six. “I’m on five but we have to cross over to the other tower. Only place to do that is the ground floor and skybridge on six. Since you mentioned the view, I thought you might like to take the skybridge. At this time of night, we should be able to catch an amazing sunset.”
“Sounds good.”
She met his gaze, but the space felt far too small for his larger-than-life presence, and she looked away. When the bell dinged, she hurried out and onto the bridge that swayed a bit under their footfalls. The sun was just dropping below the downtown buildings, and the sky was painted in striations of reds and oranges, a vibrant purple color filling the sky above them.
Reed stopped next to her and stared out the window. “Wow. Just wow. Amazing.”
She took in his tough profile, and his nearly perfect shape outlined by his fitted shirt. She noticed the muscles in his forearms and imagined him turning to wrap them around her waist and kissing her.
“Amazing view is right,” she said and decided she should actually look at it instead of him.
He planted his hands on the safety railing. “You must never get tired of this.”
“I’d like to say I come up here a lot, but usually I’m still in my lab at this time of night.”
He turned to look at her, his eyes alight with happiness that warmed her clear to her toes. “Then thank you for taking time to share it with me. And for cooking, too.”
His compliment made her blush for some odd reason. To hide her reaction, she headed toward the stairwell. She rarely blushed, but something about him made her color easily. Knowing she never wanted to marry, she hadn’t dated a lot. She would rather further her career than go on dates where it usually ended with the guys upset with her because she wouldn’t make a commitment. So maybe that was it. Maybe she was just out of practice in interacting with men in a romantic way.
She led him down the steps and into her condo.
Had she left the place a disaster?
Not spending much time here, she didn’t really have a chance to make a huge mess, but it wasn’t exactly tidy. Journals lay on the coffee table and on the sectional covered in a nubby gray print. She grabbed them up and started to stack them on the glass coffee table covered with a layer of dust.
“You don’t have to do that for me. I’m going to sit at your island and watch you work in the kitchen. Or help you, if you want me to.”
She sighed and went into the adjoining kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” He slid onto a stool and rested his forearms on the counter.
“You’ve been watching me all day. Nearly anyway.” She planted her hands on the cool stone counter. “Aren’t you tired of that?”
She expected him to say it had been boring, but he locked his gaze with hers, and she couldn’t seem to look away from those intense brown eyes and his impossibly long eyelashes.
Which she should of course. For so many reasons, number one being that he was the bossy, controlling kind of guy she avoided at all costs.
“You must know by now that I find you very attractive,” he said, his voice husky.
“Yeah, I might have caught that.” She turned away to get orange juice, eggs, shredded cheese, and omelet fixings from the refrigerator that she kept ready for quick meals at the end of her long days.
“I’ve been getting the same feeling from you.” He sounded unusually tentative.
Surprised, she glanced at him on her way to grabbing a frying pan. “You’re a very good-looking man, Reed. I’m sure you know that.”
“That’s not what I meant at all.”
She poured two glasses of orange juice. “I know.”
“You’re going to make me come right out and ask, huh?”
Her back to him, she cracked eggs in a bowl, started whipping them with a wire whisk, and took a quick look over her shoulder. “I’m attracted to you.”
“But,” he said, glass in hand. “There’s a big but coming. I can already hear it.”
“But I told you I don’t want to get married and have a family.”
“I’m pretty sure I haven’t asked you, so we don’t have to worry about that just yet.” His tone was humorous, but she was too nervous with having him in her condo to laugh, so she worked on the omelets and made a few slices of toast in silence.
When she turned to serve him, she found him looking at his phone.
“Dig in,” she said and sat two stools away from him so she didn’t need to look at him.
He forked a bite. “What will you work on when we get back to the lab?”
She nearly sighed her thanks for the change in topic. “I’ll finish up the gun and ammo first. Then get the serial number for you so you can check it. I’ll finish up the prints for you, too.”
“And then you’re going to kick me out.” He took a bite of the omelet and chewed. “And here I thought you worked late.”
“I think we
both will benefit from a good night’s sleep tonight.” And some time apart.
He studied her face, seeming to look for some hidden meaning. She needed a break from the intensity of this man’s study, but even more from the way he seemed to be able to capture her interest without trying.
She took a bite of her omelet.
“This is good. Thanks again for making it.” He paused his fork midair. “Do you cook often?”
“Me? No way.” She laughed. “Omelets are my go-to meal after a long day. Or I scramble the eggs with the same fixings and put it in a tortilla. That’s about all I can do, other than call for takeout.”
“I like to cook,” he said and took a big bite of the toast.
She gaped at him.
His eyes narrowed. “It’s not that weird is it? Guys cook more often these days.”
“I know, but you. I mean, I get this vibe of a super tough agent who lives for bringing in bad guys at all costs, even at the expense of a personal life. But here you sit on a Sunday night. And you cook!”
“I meant it at lunch today when I said there’s more to life than a job.” He polished off his toast in one giant bite.
She really shouldn’t keep this personal conversation going, but she had to clarify. “You mean like family?”
He took a drink of the juice. “Yeah. Like yours, for example. I can imagine with five brothers, things get crazy when you all get together.”
“Yeah,” she said remembering the last time she’d gone to their Sunday family dinner, which was months ago. “I keep looking for silence in the middle of all of it.”
“Something tells me if you were ever faced with silence on a permanent basis, you’d want the noise.” His eyes darkened with anguish.
She had to sit on her free hand not to reach over and pat his. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m terrible. Wishing away what I have when you lost your parents at such a young age.”
“Terrible, no. I just think you should appreciate it more.”
“Maybe after I work through my Dad lying to me, I will.”
They resumed eating, but in an uncomfortable silence that she couldn’t wait to escape. The minute she took her last bite, she grabbed her dirty dishes and took them to the dishwasher.
He brought over his plate just as she turned to retrieve them. She bumped straight into him. With his free hand, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against his firm body to steady her. She looked up into his eyes now warm brown and filled with the same emotions burning through her. She felt a strong pull of attraction deep in her stomach. She rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him. He set down his plate with a clank, bringing her back to reality. She’d completely lost herself in those amazing eyes and broke the hold to push away.
“We should get going.” Gulping deep breaths, she set his plate in the dishwasher. She shoved the door closed and nearly fled from her condo before she lost all common sense and turned back to kiss him—as she still desperately wanted to do.
12
Sierra rushed into her lab as if someone was chasing her and almost shouted for joy at seeing Chad still working hard. “Oh, good, you’re still here.”
He looked up from bagging the ledger and gave her a funny look. “Just finished the copies.”
“Perfect,” she said, still breathless from her interaction with Reed or maybe from the race down here.
“I’ll go put a copy in the locker for Blake so the forensic accountant can review it,” Chad said, eyeing her as if he noticed her distress.
They worked together so often he likely did. She nearly shouted at him to stay, but nodded her understanding and forced out a smile.
He kept watching her. “And your prints are done fuming.”
“Perfect,” she said again, as that was the only word that came to mind, and she hurried over to the fuming cabinet.
“Wow.” Reed’s voice came from right behind her, and she jumped.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He had in more ways than one in less than five minutes.
“That’s cool,” he said, his tone softer and more intimate, making things even worse for her. “Three super clear prints on the gun’s grip.”
She couldn’t seem to form any words so she snapped on gloves and took the Glock to her lighted magnifying glass. “They’re all a match for Eddie’s prints. Not unexpected.” She grabbed the magazine and bullets and reviewed them, too. “None on the magazine or bullets.”
“That’s odd, right?”
She nodded. “He could have worn gloves when he loaded the magazine, but why?”
“My thoughts exactly.” Reed took a long breath, and he was so close she felt him inhale the air.
“Maybe he bought it like this and whoever loaded the ammo didn’t want to be tracked.”
“Maybe. But I assume he was given the gun with a full magazine so where was it discharged?”
“We might not get that answer until we talk to Eddie when we find him.”
“If we find him.”
She wouldn’t respond to that as she had to believe God wanted her to find her biological father. Otherwise, why had this all happened in the timeframe that it had? Had God put her here because Eddie needed her? Or maybe it was because she had to find him to get the answers she needed. Either way, she wouldn’t stop looking until she located Eddie.
“I’ll still need to enhance these prints with powder and lift them.” At the print station, she completed the work while Reed watched. She couldn’t seem to let go of their brief contact in her kitchen, and her hand trembled. Fortunately, she was swirling the brush so Reed probably didn’t notice it, but she sure did.
“So that’s it then?” he asked after she finished.
“Not quite.” She took the Glock to the counter holding her microscope, disassembled the gun, and set the pieces on paper by her microscope.
“Wow, you field stripped that like a pro. You shoot?”
“Good grief, no. I see the terrible things guns do to people all the time, and I’m never going to own one.”
Reed didn’t speak so she looked at him and found disappointment in his expression.
“I know that you need to use a gun on the job, and I’m thankful you and other officers have them for protection. And to protect innocent civilians. So I’m not judging you. I just don’t want them in my life.”
It seemed like he wanted to argue, but she looked back at her magnifying glass to stop him. Pushier men than Reed had tried to get her to change her mind about firearms. Her father. Her brothers. Not only was her dad retired law enforcement, but all of her brothers followed in his footsteps and were currently LEOs. They tried to force her to learn to shoot for years, which of course, meant she took a complete opposite stance, and who knows, maybe that was her main reason for not owning a gun.
She checked each gun part under the microscope, but sadly, she didn’t locate additional prints. She would fume them, too, just to be sure. She gathered them up and repeated the fuming process. “I’m going to go back to reviewing fingerprint cards while that processes.”
“Guess I’ll catch up on email then, as—no offense—but that’s unbelievably boring.” Reed chuckled.
She laughed and said, “Told you you’d be bored.” Then she turned her back to him and got to work. Before long, the fuming chamber dinged, and she went back to it.
She opened the door and removed the spring guide. “Well, would you look at that?”
He strode over to her.
She held out the spring guide. “A partial on the tip.”
“Eddie’s?”
“I don’t think so, but let me get a better look.” She held it under the magnifying glass. “No arch. So not his.”
“Means someone else handled this gun. With where the print is located, it could’ve happened during cleaning.” Reed tipped his head and stared ahead. “What if the ledger and gun were left to implicate Barnes, and he didn’t actually leave them behind himself?”
&n
bsp; “Good possibility.” She smiled. “And one I’m glad to hear you consider.”
“I have no choice when you keep uncovering evidence that makes your theory viable.” He didn’t sound happy, but he also didn’t sound mad, so she had to believe he might honestly be rethinking his opinion.
She checked the gun’s other parts, looking inside the frame and at the barrel, but found nothing else. So she lifted the partial print and added it to the pile of prints that she would send with Reed. When she finished, she glanced at the clock to discover it was after ten. She pushed back from the table and lifted her arms overhead to stretch.
“You hit the gym a lot,” he stated.
“Um…yeah.”
“I could tell when we bumped into each other in the kitchen. You have abs of steel.”
“I could say the same thing to you.”
His eyebrow went up in that quirk she was coming to know was common for him.
“Strong core muscles help me do my job,” she explained. “Never know what position I might find myself in at a crime scene.”
“And we know it’s all about that for you. The job I mean.” He honestly sounded sad.
She didn’t know if he was sad for her or him, but she wouldn’t venture into that personal realm.
She handed him the note she’d written the Glock’s serial number on. “Right now all I want is some sleep.”
He packed the paper in his briefcase with other files he’d taken out while she worked. She handed over the cards and gave him the log to sign them out. He compared each card with the log and signed for each one. Though it took some time, she appreciated his thorough handling of evidence.
He put the cards in his briefcase and snapped the hinges closed. He grabbed his go bag. “Lead the way.”
She walked him to the elevator, and they rode down to the lobby where Danny Carlisle was on duty.
“How was the ballet?” she asked the tall, solidly built guy with a buzz cut.
He rolled his eyes. “I think I might’ve died of boredom if my wife hadn’t kept tapping me and pointing out her favorite parts. She was so excited to be there.”
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