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“I understand. As much as I feel it deep in my bones that he has something to do with this, I need the focus to be on finding Ari. She might be hurt somewhere.”
Or worse, buried alive.
A text ding goes off on his phone, and he glances down at it. “Got it,” he says, reaching for his mouse. I walk around his desk, not caring if I’m breaking some sort of privacy law. He says nothing, so I lean over and read the list over his shoulder. The first list is the plane roster from Hawaii.
“Look at seat 55B. There was just something off about this guy.” He scrolls down, and the seat is unoccupied.
“No one was sitting in the entire row.”
This is the reason we hate when people move around. The row was empty, and he probably wanted more room, so he changed seats. Martinez opens the next file. Thirty names are on the list who were continuing to Austin. He scrolls as we read the names. None look familiar.
Until my eyes stop at one that grabs my attention.
Oh my gosh. She was on my flight, and I never even saw her.
“We’ll start working on researching the guys on the list,” Martinez says as I grab my purse.
I didn’t tell him I saw a friend’s name on the list. She’s not who they’re looking for, and their focus should be one hundred percent on researching the men on the plane. His dark eyes narrow at the purse in my hands, and he tilts his head. “If he is back, I’d rather you not go anywhere by yourself.”
“I’m not worried about me. Focus on Ari.”
He sighs. “This is a long shot, and it could lead nowhere, but just in case there is something with the guy in 55B, the police are wondering if you’d be willing to work with a sketch artist? Since he’s fresh in your head.”
“Of course. Anything that might help.”
“I’m going to have one of our guys walk you over to the police station.” Of course he is. “One question before you leave…did Paxton know you were coming to town?”
This again? What is with his blatant disapproval of Paxton? I can’t help the snarky tone when I reply, “No. We haven’t talked in a year. And I wasn’t even supposed to be here.”
It stings to think about us growing apart. We were perfect for each other. But Paxton’s world is rooted here, and I can’t have that life. I needed to find my own path, and he needed to stay on his. It’s a truth that still hurts after all this time.
But I’ve accepted it.
He raises his palms in a defensive gesture. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask.”
I bite my tongue, wanting to argue that they cleared him. So why keep poking at a dead end?
As we walk out the front doors of the building, I blow out a long-winded breath. The scorching August sun beats down on me, its heat clinging to my skin. It’s been a long time since I needed to shower from just walking outside.
When we pass a homeless man, sitting against a building, he’s not moving, and I wonder if he died from heat exhaustion. But then he coughs once and opens his eyes. His weary eyes lift when he grins at me, showing off his toothless smile. I smile back and then dig into my purse, pulling out a hundred-dollar bill. I fold it up and hold it out for him. He holds his calloused and weathered hand up. I imagine those hands have lived a couple of lifetimes.
He glances at the Ranger and then back to me. “God bless you,” he says as he unfolds the single bill and notices it’s a hundred.
“Keep that safe,” I whisper, glancing around to double-check no one is watching us.
His grin grows devilish as he nods and sticks the money down his pants.
“Don’t you worry, nobody will try to get it now.” He laughs at my wrinkled nose. I guess if that’s what works. But, gross.
“You really shouldn’t be doing that if you’re carrying around large bills,” the Ranger warns. “There’s people always looking for their next target.”
I nod, realizing he’s right. I just felt sorry for the guy in this heat. The distant hum of cicadas fills the air, blending in with the city sounds—occasional honking and the construction happening across the street. I’ve found it interesting that each city has its own sounds. Something I never would’ve thought about before all the travel I’ve done during the past year and a half.
I blow the hair out of my face when I make it to the building and push through the front doors to the busy lobby, the scent of coffee from the street vendor following me in. It feels weird being back here, and memories creep in. A couple late-night dinners I brought Paxton when he was busy with a case. Just so I could see him that day.
“Ma’am?” the Ranger prompts, shifting my attention back to him. “We need to go through the security line.”
Once through, the Ranger tells the lady at the front desk who I’m here to see.
